Three generations at one table is the whole idea. Print the sheets or open the box, pass the pen around, write each letter the way you always do, and laugh at Grandpa's capital Q. Take a photo, or seal the envelope. A person looks at every letter. Then everyone's handwriting at that table is kept, side by side, forever.
Grandma's grocery list, her recipe card, the way she signs "Love." One Sunday afternoon at her table, all of you, a pen and a few sheets. Her grandchildren will type their birthday cards in it for the rest of their lives. The sheets are big, the boxes are generous, and the letter she writes at the end is the part the family keeps.
The year they learn to write, their handwriting is like nothing else, and it's gone by summer. Keep it at six. Keep it again at eight, at eleven, at eighteen. Thirteen years of one person's handwriting, the first wobbly name beside the one on their college applications, side by side in one family account.
age 6
real
age 8
example
age 11
example
age 18
example
I love you mom. can we get a dog
Who it's for
Because your kids will want it one day, and you're the only one who can write it.
At six, when every letter is an event. Then every year it changes.
They write to the kids. You keep the pages. That's the whole gift.
While they're still writing. A Sunday afternoon, all of you at the table.
The one who always sends a card. Now you can send one back in theirs.
Every first-grader's handwriting, once a year. Every signature on the wall.
Handwriting, kept forever
How it works
Print it tonight, at your own table.
$49one price, everything included
- 1.Download the sheets. Print them on plain paper.
- 2.Any black pen. Write each letter the way you always do.
- 3.Open the site on your phone and photograph each page; it checks the corners and the light as you go.
- 4.Their handwriting is ready within the hour, on your phone and your computer, ready to type in.
For yourself, for the kids this afternoon, for the friend who'd never mail anything. Same handwriting, same care. Keep the pages; they're the part worth framing.
The same sheets, yours to print the moment you pay. Letter size. Any printer, plain paper, a black pen.
The Forever Kit is coming. The same sheets mailed to you on heavy cotton paper, with the pen and a letter from us.
The font belongs to the person whose hand it is. The pages are theirs. Nothing you write trains anything, ever, and we'll say that out loud for as long as we exist. Fonts go obsolete; a page in your mother's hand does not. That's why we tell you to keep the pages.