The grocery receipt was the most important purchase we made

My three-year-old wanted the receipt. I put it in my pocket.

He asked again. I said we were getting in the way.

We were already beside our cart, away from the checkout. I was getting in my own way because I wanted to finish the trip.

He had been watching the paper come out of the machine. He had asked the cashier if it was ours. She said yes and handed it to me.

In his version of events, we had purchased a magnificent strip of numbers and I was hoarding it.

I handed it over. He immediately unfolded it onto the floor.

I said I needed it back.

He said, “But it's my list.”

There wasn't anything on it I needed him to keep secret or understand. I did want the receipt until I had checked one charge. We stood there doing the least graceful negotiation in the store: one adult trying to preserve a document, one child trying to run a shop.

I took a picture of the part I needed to check and let him keep the paper. That solved this receipt. It did not establish a universal household policy about receipts.

At home he laid it across his toy cash register. My husband asked why it had footprints on it. Our son said the shop had been busy.

Later, while clearing the table, I almost threw it away. It looked like rubbish beside the actual rubbish.

He moved it to a box marked with a scribble and announced that the store was closed.

Tomorrow he may forget the whole arrangement. Tonight I know which crumpled strip I should ask about before clearing it.