I have a collection of love letters. They’re not a rough bundle of loose sheets, torn from a junior-high notebook, or even a stack of postmarked envelopes sent from a summer destination. These letters are older than that—written to me in my infancy, and my toddlerhood, and my adolescence. These letters were written to me by my mother, each year on my birthday, when she was young and I was small.

These letters say, “You adore Daddy, and are his secretary and painting companion.” They say, “You’re in second grade now, and are doing very well. You’re learning to multiply, are reading in a 3rd grade class, and had your painting in the school art show.”

They say, “You love to be wrapped up in your baby blankets, like to wear your blue slippers around the house, and you like your tiny Mickey Mouse character that we bought you at Disneyland.”

I have forgotten about my tiny Mickey Mouse, can’t remember what my blue slippers looked like, and the memory of my favorite baby blanket, cool and satiny against my skin, has dimmed. But like a dandelion pressed between the pages of an old book, my forgotten childhood waits for me in the pages of my birthday letters, the pages that say, “As big as you sometimes feel, you still have the need to sneak in and snuggle in the early morn.”

As a child, these letters are a gift—a snapshot of what life was like when I was two, and five, and twelve. They’re my life’s story unfolding under the neat, teacher-like penmanship of my patient mother, who writes in the letter of my 6th year, “I hope that these notes will help us to clearly remember this time of our lives, which I’m sure will be the easiest, difficult as they sometimes seem to us now!”

How easy it was for her to sit down at the kitchen table once a year while my birthday cake was baking, her toes unpolished and the dishes not yet done. As a modern mother, I order my daughter’s cake from the local bakery a week in advance, keep a standing appointment with my manicurist, and even have hubby’s help with the dinner dishes. But it is still easy to sit down once a year at the kitchen table and write the kind of letter to my daughter that my mother used to write to me…a love letter.

Thanks to the folks at Once Upon a Family, writing these little love notes just got a whole lot easier and even more lovely! The “Dear Sweet Child Letter Box,” is a delightfully nostalgic keepsake box that holds booklets for letter-writing. Made of ivory cardstock and tied with a satin ribbon, each booklet has a die-cut cover to preserve a photograph of your child with each passing year. With 21 booklets in all, this set is certain to become a family heirloom and a treasure trove filled with memories.

A touching gift for the new mother in your life, or a gift for yourself that you’ll one day give to your child, the “Dear Sweet Child Letter Box” will hold much more than letters—it will also hold all these years of love.

Mamie