Bought once, not rented

What it costs

Try it for two months, free. After that, one payment, once, and the trail is yours the whole way, from day one to the day they leave home. There is no server to pay for, so there is no subscription to pay for.

One time, one family

Paid once by the parent who starts the trail. Nobody else ever pays to be on it.

  • Two months to try it, free, with everything on
  • Then one payment, once. No renewals, ever
  • Voice, photo, video and written crumbs
  • Every year and every child, no limits

Priced at launch. Waitlist families keep the founding price.

Always free for the family you invite

The other parent you invite, and one day the grown child. Seats for the grandparents come later, in their own time. No account, no card, nothing to cancel.

  • Joining a trail someone invited you to
  • Leaving crumbs on it, in your own words and voice
  • Reading every year of it, as often as you like
  • Taking a copy with you, whenever you want
  • Receiving the whole trail, one day, as the grown child

And if the two months run out before you decide: everything you wrote stays yours to read and to take with you. Nothing is ever locked away.

We don’t promise features on a schedule. We promise Daycrumbs keeps working, keeps up with iOS, and never holds your memories.

Once a year, if you want it

The yearbook

The one thing worth paying for again: the year, printed and bound, arriving without you having to make it. Subscribe and each year assembles itself for your approval. Or order one whenever the mood strikes.

A linen-bound yearbook standing upright: a family photo inset on the cover above the serif title The year of Ellie and four embossed amber crumbs

A year on the shelf

Hardcover, printed from the trail, with the voice notes one small code away. Subscribers pay less and skip the work; anyone can buy a single year, including the grandparents.

A spiral-bound wall calendar open to July: three family photos from past Julys above the month grid, one day marked with an amber dot

The trail calendar

Every month opens with your memories from that same month, years apart.

A walnut frame holding a print of a small worn sneaker with laces tied in an uneven double knot, the quote I did it myself, and the caption age 2

The framed little thing

One quote, one date, framed for the hallway.

A warm amber ceramic mug with a cream band reading the way she says spaghetti in italic serif, steam rising

The quote mug

Their words, on your morning coffee.

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