Dear Matteo, 13 Months Old

Hooray! You finally got your helmet off!

It's been a trial the last couple months with how hot the summer has been and how little the helmet breathes being made of foam and hard plastic. The "vent" at the top wasn't doing much. As a result, your Mom and I were getting lax with keeping the helmet on. When you're going in and out of our kiddie pool and sweating otherwise, the helmet was sometimes wet and always stinky. So was your head. Eww.

The people at the helmet doctor (I forgot what their titles are) said the helmet improved your head shape well enough. You can have your future barber thank Mom and me when he's working on your fade. 

As I've mentioned before, it's a huge difference to see you with the helmet off. We can see your entire face and expressions. We also get to see your super blonde, thick hair. You are such a handsome little guy. 

In addition to seeing more of you, we're hearing more of you. You are chip off the old block and therefore a total motormouth. You constantly point at the world around you and baby talk. You're in constant conversation with yourself. You've also started to try and play with Eliza. You crawl after her while she shrieks to entice, and you two roughhouse on the "mountains" (stacks of couch pillows) she builds. Occasionally I have to save one of you from a twisted knee under a body or lack of oxygen under a pillow, but it's all in good fun. 

What was not fun was having to perform a Heimlich maneuver on you the other day when you choked on a cucumber. Your Mom has been a fan of "baby-led weaning," but you sure do like to play chubby bunny with food and cram as much in your mouth as you can and swallow without chewing much. Fortunately I was right there, recognized your surprise and struggle, yanked you out of the high chair, turned you around and popped you hard (sorry) in the back to shoot that cucumber son-of-a-bitch out of your airway.

Let's not do that again. Life is fragile. So are cucumbers. Chew them more. 

Love always, Dad

Dear Eliza, 33 Months Old

People say you only have 18 summers with your kids. Well, summer #2 with you is off to a great start, and I have no regrets. Take that, phrases meant to make you question how you parent!

You've spent a good number of days with your toes in the sand. Not because there is a beach anywhere near us but because your Mom built a sandbox using some extra lumber. Very Indiana of her to do. Of course, the sand is now all over our patio, and I just gave Matteo a bath to wash the sand off his body and out of his mouth.

We've gone to a couple Rainiers baseball games this summer, which have been a real treat for all of us. The ballpark is fairly relaxed, and there's room for you to run around the seat sections and common areas. We're often on the hunt for the team mascot, a moose named Rhubarb. You want to track him all night like a hunter but won't let me pull the trigger to shoot a photo of you with him. Too risky. You like to ask for a Popsicle treat, which I am inclined to buy because the beer isn't cheaper for me. 

We went to the first game with the Chaffees. You were so excited to see the twins. You cornered Bridger at that ballgame and made him hold your hand. You've recently decided that you're married to both Bridger and Bennett. That's illegal here, but if that's the life you choose then pack your bags for Utah. The reverse gender ratio would be quite progressive there.

Your Grammie and Popa are in town for Matteo's first birthday, so we've moved you upstairs with us to sleep in what will be your new room after the bathroom addition is complete. It's been a good transition to get you comfortable up there. You only had one complaint that you were scared about a shark in the room. I can assure you sharks cannot make it to the second floor of a home on dry land, or your money back. You're sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to the queen bed your Mom and I occupy, which will be your big-kid bed. Queen bed, not a bad start! You do a fine job going to sleep before we do, but your Mom and I often wake up with you smashed in between us.

This is a big deal to have your own room again! I know it's been a little tough for all of us playing musical rooms around Matteo's sleep schedule. You'll have fun having your own space and we'll make it a special place for you to call your own. I can remember my childhood room at our family home in Renton with a bed that my Gramps made in the shape of a Ferrari. It's a first slice of independent living... until you make that move to Utah. 

I am looking forward to moving back downstairs here soon, and leaving you to your own room. One night you scared the piss out of me. I woke up to you standing in front of the bed, staring at me and  looking like that girl from The Ring with your hair in front of your face. You demand in a deep, red-rum, groggy voice, "Up in bed, up in bed."

I obliged to your possessed request. I'd like to make it to see summer #3.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 12 Months Old

You are one year old already! I can't believe it.

We will celebrate you this Saturday with an American-themed birthday party, taking advantage of all the Fourth of July decor and fanfare. We're going to Make First Birthdays Great Again. The whole family has patriotic outfits to wear. You have a classic Obama "Hope" t-shirt that says "Miss you" (because we do miss Obama). Uncle Scott is bringing a bouncy house for the toddlers -- nothing more American than that. You're getting a smash cake from Corina Bakery. Have at it, kid.

Grammie and Popa are in town for a couple weeks to party with us and enjoy the cool Northwest summer. You are getting a lot of love from the grandparents. 

You've answered the call of this milestone birthday by accelerating your development. We've encouraged you to hold up a pointer finger to tell us how old you are and now you point at everything with excited, wheezing-like breaths. Your Mom taught you to "blow out your candle" so now you can blow whistles and bubbles. When Eliza blows bubbles in her water cup with a straw, you cackle with excitement and belly laugh. You haven't nailed words or sign language yet but have your own set of sounds like "Grrr" for Greta and use various baby talk to have conversations with us. You like to throw balls and chase after them around the house. You started cruising along the couch and constantly stand wherever you can. When you crawl, it's fast like a spider and we have to jog to keep up with you. You love water whether it's in a pool or dog bowl (gross). Just yesterday you showed us how you can "cheers" and clink your sippy cup to our wine glasses. Salute.

Last week we visited with our friends Jama'l and Lindsey, who are expecting a baby boy in the fall. Jama'l talked to me about the "head trip" of raising a son -- the idea of guiding a young man who may have a similar life experience, or not. You and I are are going to need to make a pact: I'll show you how to navigate the path ahead as I know it; you decide how much of that path is right for you. I'll be tempted to keep you on course, and you'll be tempted to stray from it. That's the natural parent-child dynamic of me wanting to nurture your success and you wanting to find success your own way. We can't avoid that dynamic, but we can recognize it and respect each other trying to get to the same outcome -- the same your Mom and I pray for -- that you'll be happy, smart and healthy. Everything after that is frosting on the smash cake. 

I love you so much, son. 

Love always, Dad

Dear Eliza, 32 Months Old

You gave me a scare. 

About two weeks ago on a Saturday morning, we were all trying to get out the door to the farmer's market. You were pestering your brother and taking away any toy he tried to play with. Not very nice. I asked you to stop and find another activity while your Mom and I finished getting ready. A minute later, I heard yet another cry from Matteo and found you trying to pull a toy mop out of his hands. I picked you up and carried you to your bedroom to take a break. 

You cried. I shut the door. You cried louder to surpass the volume of whatever the door muffled. 

Your Mom and I noticed you continued to cry really loud. I walked in your room to check on you, and you cradled your arm like a broken little wing. You said it hurt between sobs. I replayed in my mind how I picked you up. I definitely grabbed your forearms to pull you away from the mop. Was I too strong? Why would you be holding your wrist? Your insistence and hysterics convinced me you were hurt despite my logic to explain how it happened. 

I picked you up and hushed you for a few minutes. You calmed down only slightly. You still insisted your arm hurt and reacted strongly to the touch. Your Mom and I discussed if we should go to the doctor. I was getting upset myself to think that I could have accidentally hurt your arm. We finally managed to get you in the car -- unsure if we were going to the doctor or farmer's market -- when your Mom had a brilliant idea: Let's get a balloon. 

The art of early parenting is distraction.

You can read books on books about how to deal with toddlers and the Terrible Twos, but it all comes down to constant entertainment and distractions when behavior goes sideways. You fancy balloons the way older women fancy fine wine, so getting a balloon is a real treat and ideally paid for by someone else.

We drove to Safeway. You went with your Mom into the store while Matteo and I waited in the car. The event was like an extreme makeover. You went into the store looking like the after effects of a tantrum. You came out with the look of a champion. Because you had won.

I gently lifted you into your car seat. You said your arm was feeling a lot better and even flexed it and swung it around to prove it had miraculously, instantly healed. Immaculate restoration! We went on to the farmer's market where you proudly walked your balloon down the row of vendors.

Now only one of us was hurt. I felt sore in my chest from the anxiety and the thought of hurting you physically. I stayed in the car while you were in the store to let those emotions run out of my eyeballs for a minute. I also laughed. This has happened before when your Mom leaves us all at home to run an errand. You will stand and cry for an hour (because I fail to distract you). In this case, I pissed you off when I punished you for taking toys from your brother. In return, you somewhat diabolically chose to carpe diem.

The whole event was a good lesson for me. I was reminded to be careful and gentle with you kids to avoid a real accident. But also that you've got these complex emotions like jealousy and anger that you can play out to cause strong reactions.

When you're old enough, we're sending you to theater camp to set ourselves up to cash out. You also have the inherit talent to win Best Actress in a Drama. Promise to reference this episode in your acceptance speech. 

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 11 Months Old

We just came home from your first camping trip ever! We were out at Penrose Point State Park, a safe distance from our house in case we had to bail. Fortunately you and Eliza slept well-enough at night and napped during the day. I never expect to sleep great on any kind of backpacking or camping trip, so to get decent sleep with both of you was a major win. 

Summer is off to a great start. We also got a double kayak for the family and fit all of us (minus Greta) on a first outing at the Chaffee beach house. You went a strong 20 minutes before demanding to nurse. Your Mom figured out the logistics with both of you wearing life jackets and got you to latch on the open water. I was the only paddler on the boat. We weren't moving fast but I paddled straight to shore before you reached total meltdown. Next time we need to add your Froggy WubbaNub to our paddling checklist. 

You've had a lot of helmet breaks as the weather has warmed up. We see you get overheated underneath all that plastic and foam. Not exactly breathable. You sweat like I do, and your helmet gets a little stinky. The breaks are good for hygiene.

I like to take the helmet off to actually SEE you. The helmet almost has a brim and shades your eyes. When I can see the entire frame of your face and hair I get to see all of your expression. You're such a cute little guy. Everyone comments on how smiley you are, and the smile is at maximum effectiveness when the helmet is off. Your head shape is getting better, so the helmet is working. Hopefully you'll only have another month or so before another growth spurt to close the gap and we can get rid of the helmet for good. 

You're a strong guy. You started pulling yourself up to stand just a couple days ago. I think you were motivated to reach Greta's food and water dishes. Missioned accomplished. You'll find the world has way better snacks than dog kibble, by the way. To prove your improving strength you like to wrestle with Eliza on the couch and beds. Although she has height and reach advantages, you hold your own and bury your helmet head in her stomach to toss her back. You're the pound-for-pound featherweight champ in this house. 

I can't believe you're turning one next month. This has been so much fun. 

Love, Dad