My little scribe

Thanksgiving, at my parent’s house.  My mom always sets a great holiday table:

It was made even more special this year by the addition of hand-lettered placecards, featuring Matthew’s four-year-old penmanship. He made them when he was at my parents’ house last time, and it was a complete surprise to me:

He seemed to have lost a bit of steam when he did Scott’s card.  “Dad” ended up looking more like “Papi” (which, actually, is a term for father in some cultures, isn’t it?).

I love it all: the wiggly script, the image of Matthew bent over the cards with his mouth slightly open as he makes the letters, his shy pride at our lavish praise.  I also loved the fact that he kept calling them “postcards” instead of “placecards.”  That’s my sweet little guy.

Thanksgiving memories are  made of this.

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