Dear Eliza, 24 Months Old

Happy birthday kiddo! Today you are two!

I am so happy we spent this special day together. The morning started out with the gift of bacon and a birthday donut. Most days aren't going to start much better than that. We sang "Happy Birthday" twice so you could blow out the candles out a couple times.

I stayed home from work, and we all went to pre-school for your special day. Your Grandma Vicki joined the fun. You got to wear a crown and the class sang you "Happy Birthday" again. Lucky duck. Your Mom created a special booklet about you that Teacher Judy showed to the class. It included your handprints, original art and pictures of family. You acted a little shy with all the attention, but you didn't cry under the pressure. Good job. 

Tonight we ate gnocchi for your birthday dinner. You pronounce gnocchi very well, likely better than 98 percent of all Americans. You thought your birthday was yesterday and asked for pizza then, which we ordered for you anyway. Pizza and pasta back-to-back is my kind of Italian diet. It's a carb-induced way to get back into the swing of things at home.

This past week, your Mom and I felt brave and flew us all out to Indiana (by way of Chicago) so Matteo could meet our extended family. We used buddy passes from your Grandma Vicki and Papa Steve to pay low fares and take open seats on flights. As a result, the flight times were not favorable and we ended up taking a redeye flight on the way out to Chicago. You were supposed to sleep but instead stayed up the entire night, too excited to be on an airplane and hold my happiness for ransom until you could watch Elmo on the laptop. You loved seeing all the airplanes at both Sea-Tac and Chicago airports and loved pronouncing "Chi-ca-go" over and over. You can obsess over three-syllable words.

That was a long night to get through, but the payoff was that you were so exhausted the next day you fell asleep on my chest. I'll take a sleepless night for some sleepy cuddles.  

One of the highlights of the trip was going to the Fort Wayne Children's Zoo. They had awesome exhibits and the animals were close up. You always love water animals and were enthusiastic at the sea lion tank watching them lap back and forth. My favorite part was the walk-through kangaroo exhibit. The zoo had a couple rides, too. You were so elated to be on a "choo choo train" and enjoyed the lazy river ride through the Australian exhibit. When we were in line you kept saying "boat-a ride-a" like an Italian speaking English. 

Your all-time favorite phrases right now are "No Daddy" or "Hold you Daddy." In both cases, I have my hands full. If I ask you any question, it's usually a "No," almost out of principle. You used those phrases a lot in Indiana. It takes you a little while to warm up to people you haven't seen for awhile, so I got a good arm workout.

The same thing happened today at preschool. You said "Hold you Daddy" over and over. You didn't care about the kids. You just wanted to perch high in my arms and get some Dad time, a weekday rarity. I'll take what I can get, too. 

Love, Dad 

Dear Matteo, Three Months Old

You are such a smiley little guy. I can't handle it.

You have good eye contact, and whenever we lock eyes you're so satisfied to capture my attention that it makes you twist into big, gummy smile. Keep up that behavior and extend it to everyone you see. We need more people in the world who will look a stranger in the eye and give the gift of a smile. 

Though you always have eyes for your Mom, you've become entertained by Eliza and watch for her, too. We have a hard time getting Eliza not to pull, jump, or otherwise clobber you, but you don't mind at all. Whenever she starts to rough-house you just smile and cackle at her, egging her on. I'm glad you two are off to such a good start. 

The only time you're unhappy is in the early evenings. We call it your "witching hour" because that's when you turn into a screechy, slightly uncontrollable infant that demands something that we can't quite figure out. You eventually calm down and turn into a pumpkin again, but it's touch-and-go there for an hour or two.

You are sleeping really well and through the night most of the time. THANK YOU. 

Last weekend we made our annual getaway to Lopez Island, and you went on your first ferry ride. In past years we camped at Spencer Spit but opted for a cabin to make life easier. We invited the Ballews to join us, so you also got to spend time with cousin Harry. 

Selfishly, that trip was exactly what I needed. Life has been feeling busy. There was a moment that first day when we were settling into the cabin and I felt like a ton of bricks. I couldn't move off the couch out of plain exhaustion. You couldn't move because you're a baby. We were both tired for different reasons -- me, lack of sleep and a little stress; you, milk drunk -- and eventually nodded off. 

When I woke up, you were still asleep on my chest and all was right in the world. All the schedules, emails, appointments and pending decisions went away in that moment. I felt thankful to have a little buddy who shared my passion for naps. The world also needs more naps, or at least I do. 

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 23 Months Old

The days are getting shorter. We're starting to get cooler weather and rain in the forecast, which is a good thing for all the forest fires happening in the mountains. Despite playing it close to home due to your brother's age, I'd like to think we made the most out of summer. 

We didn't go on any official camping trips, but we had a tent pitched in the backyard for several weeks. You used it as a default playhouse, and we spent a total of four nights outside! We had a couple false starts because it was too light too late, but these last weeks have worked out better with your sleep schedule. I learned the trick was to remove everything from the tent that would distract you, which is pretty much everything you don't sleep on. I hung some "special lights" (strand of twinkle lights), that you became quite obsessed with and focused your busy little mind so you could get to sleep easier.

You fell asleep once I could get you to stop talking.  

You talk all the time. All the time. Motormouth. I have a reputation of being rather extroverted, always saying what's on my mind. You are my child in this respect. You have a complete language now, though I can only understand 70 percent of it without your Mom translating for me. She gets twice the exposure to your language so is totally fluent. You're stringing together multiword sentences with subjects and verbs, though missing most other parts of speech. That's OK. Your soft, mumbled, cavegirl language gets the point across most of the time.

Of course, the summer was also filled with a lot of time at the parks, beaches and zoo. You have strong opinions about where you go and what you do. This includes what you wear to those places. Yesterday, we went to the Puyallup Fair and you were sporting some Wayfarer shades and a demin jacket, a dress and leggings. You looked hip as shit and definitely outdressed the rest of us. I expect this will continue. On the subject of the fair, you went on your first ride -- a slow boat -- and ate your first fair scone! You are such a Northwest kid and I love it!

The end of summer also means school is starting. UPS students have been back in class for a couple weeks, and Tacoma schools started. We are putting you into pre-pre-school at Narrows Co-op starting next week. You'll go twice a week for a few hours. We took you to the sign-up day and I thought, "Holy shit my kid is starting school." You're still so little to me but your life is really starting as you get more exposure to the world and its systems, like education. We're excited for you to get a little more social time with other kids and start to get challenged by other adults, like Teacher Judy (not to be confused with Judge Judy, who you can also learn from). We know you've got the chops to start school. You can count to 15 and cut corners counting to 20. You know your alphabet and several songs. You're also starting to "read" books back to us, reciting select book pages from memory and showing the book away from you like you see at library story time. Let's start some college applications.

Factors like schools and our small house have caused your Mom and I to think hard about the next few years. We went on a real estate hunt in the last month, which isn't so unusual with your Mom's passion for open houses and the Redfin app. We put an offer on a great house in Maple Valley but lost it in this crazy competitive real estate market. The house was great -- bigger, big property, newer construction, mother-in-law downstairs -- and Maple Valley is a great place to live -- great schools, good community vibe, lake access, etc. Losing the house was a good thing. I wasn't ready to leave Tacoma. I wasn't sure we should buy in such a high market when we can be comfortable at our current cost of living. Instead of trying to make another house work, we've decided to make this old house work. We've got contractors coming in to bid us on adding a bathroom upstairs so we can put you and eventually Matteo up there. We're also going to raise the drop ceilings downstairs, which has been your Mom's #1 aesthetic request. Happy wife, happy life. 

So, you'll continue to be a Tacoma resident. Looking back at summer, that's totally awesome. 

Considering that we're spending a bunch of money to add a bathroom, could please embrace potty training? The photo in this letter is evidence that we're trying. We'd love to get down to one kid in diapers, which means you need to get on the program, sister. Fewer diapers, happy life.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, Two Month Old

We are having so much fun with you these warm summer months. We're spending a ton of time outside and often hang out in the back patio where there's good shade for you. We've gone for a couple long walks to the Proctor Market and on Point Defiance trails now that you're gaining some strength and less of a bobblehead. 

I'm not sure if it's the weather, your age, or just your character, but you are a happy little guy. There are a couple sounds your Mom and I pair along with our own smiles that make you mirror back a big, genuine smile. You wind up for it by hunching your shoulders and circling your head around to release a big, all-gums smile. You look like a cute little turtle. We egg you on as long as we can, but you get a little bored of the reciprocal smile game after about a minute. They're the best minutes of the day. 

You are eating and sleeping really well. The combination of them put you at being a heavyweight baby. I've seen twice this month other babies that are at least double your age and the same size. You don't have rolls of skin like other big babies (and as I was), you're just well rounded. 

Your primary activity is tracking your Mom. You are like her secret service, always watching where she is and what she's doing. I'm sure you'd take a bullet for her. It's especially entertaining when you're being held by someone else, because you tend to give zero shits about that person if you can hear Mom's voice. You get all of your neck strength from turning about trying to see where she is. The reason you're looking at the camera in this month's letter photo is because she's behind it. When you're in her arms, as you often are, you gaze lovingly like nothing else is happening in the world. In that moment, nothing is. 

In a bigger picture, there's a lot happening out there. North Korea and the U.S. are playing war games, with North Korea testing nuclear bombs and flying a missile over Japan. Houston flooded this month from Hurricane Harvey, displacing tens of thousands in America's fourth largest city. The news is always bad, but that doesn't make it anymore comforting.

We've been in a bubble of safety here in the Pacific Northwest during my lifetime, and I hope that continues for us. Despite globalization and a new generation that sees citizenship as global, governments continue to act as if country borders are (and should have) walls. Where climate change has thrown havoc at other parts of the country and world, we've been spared. All we can really complain about (and enjoy) is a warmer, drier summer. Knock on a standing tree. 

Like most parents, we sometimes contemplate the kind of world we brought you into. How dangerous is it? How much can we control to keep you safe? Are we doing our part to help make it better? These questions are overwhelming and prevent some people from having children at all.

That last question is where we have our best answer: you. 

With one more outstanding person put into this world, we've got a reason to be optimistic. Maybe you'll be a community leader. Maybe you'll help in a major relief effort. Maybe you'll discover an entirely different way of sustainable living. Or maybe you'll simply do your part as a global citizen to make smart, ethical decisions that add to a big change in our politics and climate. That'd be no small impact. I bet you'll be up for the challenge. 

Love always, Dad

Dear Eliza, 22 Months Old

The story of the past month was both of us contracting hand, foot and mouth disease, or HDFM. 

In our first couple weeks with your new baby brother, we kept our activities low key but still made it to the zoo and a few parks. At one of those venues, you picked up the highly contagious disease. You first signaled something wasn't right with your mouth because you started complaining when eating. I'll never forget the look and scream you made when you tried eating grapes. It was painful to watch.

You also suddenly ran a high fever, so we put you on medicine overnight to keep the fever down. 

We did what every concerned parent does: We searched on Google. 

The results of our intensive online research in parent forums were inconclusive. We took you to the doctor. The spots inside your throat were the easy giveaway for the diagnosis of HFMD. Like the doctor said, we started seeing other spots on your hands and mostly feet. 

The disease made us a divided house to try and prevent it from passing to Matteo. I took care of you, and your Mom took care of him. After a day you started eating easier, but your feet looked worse. You had a great spirit and still wanted to play and mostly have a normal day. You slept a little more and still had a fever bouncing around. After a few days you were really back to your normal self. 

And that's about the time I started showing HFMD symptoms.

The adult version was way, way worse. First, I picked up a sore throat for a couple days, which felt like strep throat. Then the fever came. Then my hands started to burn and itch and eventually showed a lot of spots. I was very tempted to cut my hands off at certain hours of the night. My feet never had spots, thankfully, but swelled so I couldn't put on shoes. I still needed to continue to take care of you and stay away from Mom and Matteo, but I was helpless. I couldn't sleep and couldn't comfortably eat or drink. It was a long week, and I'm very thankful that your Mom and Matteo never got sick and that your Mom put up with both of us.  

We're now a couple weeks on the other side of HFMD. Your feet are still peeling from the blisters and so are my hands. Gross factor: high.

Now that things are somewhat back to normal, your Mom and I are able to see how some crankiness, or what we call "being a crank pot," wasn't HFMD. It's an early symptom of the Terrible Twos. 

You have a strong opinion about everything. You want to decide what you wear, what you do, when your diaper should be changed, what you eat, etc. You're so keen to give an opinion, when I ask if you want something like a drink you say, "Yes, no, yes, no, yes." I only know what you mean by the very last word you say. 

When you reject direction, Mom is quick to barter. "If you want to watch Elmo, eat five more bites of pasta," she'll say. Sometimes you'll take the bait. Sometimes you fight it but eventually give in. You still rely on Mom or I to manage the TV remote, so the house always wins. 

Your ability to form an opinion combined with picking up on your Mom's bartering skills may serve you well later in life. You sound like a lawyer in training, which was always a profession that intrigued me.

But right now it's a little exhausting. The defense needs to rest. The prosecution needs to learn how to go to sleep on time and without demanding to watch Elmo. Deal?

Love, Dad