My 4-year-old son now enjoys (21) letters. He has formed the habit of drawing pictures, writing his name on them, and then putting the artwork in a(n) (22) . He then insists (23) posting his handwork to the neighbors, and a mail box he chose belongs to the elderly couple who live next door. To be honest, I didn’t think much of it, but I had (24) to warn my neighbors of the drawings suddenly appearing in their letterboxes—I just didn’t have the time to do so, because I was a little (25) recently.
On Tuesday of last week, I was walking down to school to collect my son when I met Mary, my elderly neighbor, (26) at her mail box. She said, “Jodie, is it your little son that has been posting items in my letterbox to me?” I was at once (27) , “Oh yes, Mary, it is. I’m sorry. I meant to tell you…” She (28) me off, “Jodie, I just love his mail. I’ve kept every item he has sent. You don’t know how much (29) the letters has made my day. I just love them.” While I was walking down to school after our talk, many thoughts came to me. Mary doesn’t have a lot to fill her days, (30) she was a mother to a number of children herself who receives fairly regular visitors. The small act of getting some mail—pictures drawn by the hand of a young child—has brought (31) to her days, just as my visit to my grandparents does.
I have decided that my son should (32) this practice. He should also start sending some items to his grandparents in Perth as well. It will most (33) make their day.
It’s doing the little, (34) things that can often make a big (35) in someone’s life.