We'd already decided. Then we forgot.
Most of what gets decided at home gets decided out loud: at the counter, in the driveway, halfway through dinner. Then it evaporates. A few weeks later we're having the same conversation, a little less sure what we said the first time.
That's always frustrated me. Kitchen Table is where those three sentences go before they're gone. The new mattress, the back tree, the couches. Not the purchase, just what we agreed.
Write it down. Find it later.
Nothing stands between you and save.
The keyboard is up when it opens. Write the title, write what we decided, tap save. If there's more worth keeping, tap to add it. Nothing is required past the first two lines.
What comes next, not when.
Dates slip. A list built on deadlines turns into a list of things you're late on, and that's the last thing a house needs.
Settled decisions just hold their place in line. Drag one, or nudge it up or down, as life rearranges itself. Add a date if it helps; nothing depends on it.
Mark something Done and it moves to a dated shelf at the bottom. Everything behind it moves up a number.
Did it hold up?
Eight months after something's decided or done, Kitchen Table brings it back once and asks. Write a line and it joins the record, so next time we know whether we got it right.
Wave it off and it's gone for good. No ratings, no scores, no asking twice.
A money plan is a sequence. One step at a time.
After a money meeting you don't have a list of decisions. You have an order: this first, then that. Money gets its own tab, kept apart from everything else.
One step is Now. The rest wait their turn. Finish one and the next moves up. Some steps never finish, like retirement, so once they start they stay on for good.
No bank links, no balances, no budgets. A target is a note you type, if you want one.
What it leaves out.
It's a record of the conversation, not a system for running a house. Everything here was left out deliberately.
Either of you can write it down.
Send an invite from the list and it becomes one shared list, edited from two phones and two iCloud accounts. Whoever is holding a phone when the conversation ends writes it down, and the other sees it.
It lives in your iCloud.
There's no server of mine in the middle. Only the people you invite can see it.
Keep a copy whenever you like: every decision, photos included, as one file in Files. Restoring only adds what's missing, so it's safe to run twice.
Hear when the beta opens.
A public beta on TestFlight is days away. Leave an address and you'll get a note when it opens, and one more at launch.