I have always believed that it is up to us to be the guardians of our chidren's precious childhood memories, that it is our job to squirrel away their first teeny tiny socks, to scrapbook the (never ending stream of) baby scrawl, and important artwork, to keep journals of all their yesterdays, mark their growth on the jamb of a door, write letters they will not open until they are old enough to appreciate, and fill a jar with tiny scraps of infant wisdom and hilarious childhood malapropisms! And then last week, I came across this: F.Scott Fitzgerald's Progressive Record of Autographs, and it struck me as quite the most scrumptious method of acknowledging and delighting in our little babba's ascent to maturity. I just hope Finn isn't seventeen before he stops mixing up his B's and D's. Finley May Boherty just won't pass muster...