baby cups

When you paint silver, you are really painting whatever you see reflected there. Most of these cups came to me from my dear late mother-in-law and I treasure them. One is monogrammed and dented, and I can almost hear the clatter of it banging on the metal high chair tray of the toddler who would grow up to be my husband. His mom would certainly have let him use it. I gave up using the precious silver spoons my children received as baby gifts after the last one took a spin in the disposal. The tall goblet has my monogram and came to me as a bridesmaid's gift from my cousin's wedding long ago. The champaigne I drank out of it that day did it for me forever. I love that cup, not because of the champaigne, but because of the memory it holds of the tow-headed boy cousin who took great delight in filling and refilling it for me that long afternoon.