Dear Matteo, 26 Months Old

We just came off our one and only camping trip of the season.

Your Mom and I have been intimidated by the idea of camping with you and Eliza most of the summer and cancelled a trip to the San Juans, planned in the naivete of last winter. Because sleeping in our home has been so inconsistent, we’ve felt assured that sleep would be non-existent in the confines and excitement of a tent.

The camping wasn’t glamorous but wasn’t bad either, simply functional. We stayed at a property outside of Arlington to crash before your cousin Winnie’s first birthday party the next day in La Conner. You and Eliza actually slept OK. We were disarmed, however, by fireworks after dark that threw Greta into a shaky mess. We gave her some now-legal animal CBD to help calm her down but lost an hour of sleep between events.

We dodged most potential camp site dangers — poison oak, s’more stick pokes, campfire burns — but couldn’t escape a freak camp chair accident that almost took out your right eye. While I was getting the camp stove going I heard a bloody scream from directly behind me. When I turned, I saw you holding your eye and saw the frame of the camp chair and s’more sticks. I immediately assumed you poked your eye with stick. Not good. After you calmed down I took a closer look at your eye and was relieved to see it was fine. But your eyelid… It had two sharp cuts. I couldn’t figure it out. Your Mom took a look, checked back at the evidence and resolved that you somehow pinched your eyelid between the camp chair frame pieces, held together by elastic bungee cord. I still can’t figure out how you accomplished that. The physics don’t work out.

This is par for course though. We’ve sent Eliza and then you to the emergency room the previous two successive weeks. Eliza earned the trip from pulling a large shoe rack down on her ankle. It looked obliterated by the color and swelling but fortunately nothing was broken and she came back from the hospital with a stuffed cat. That was one expensive stuffed cat.

You earned the trip after falling on your face out on the back patio and putting a nail-head-size hole in your forehead. The doctor didn’t need to put a suture in but used a steri-strip to do the job. You also took a good shot to the nose but didn’t break it. The scab looked like you had a constant bloody nose, which would have worked out great if it happened closer to Halloween to pull off an authentic version of Eleven from Stranger Things.

So now you’ve got a purple eye and fast-healing scabs on your forehead and nose. You’re the definition of an accident-prone, two-year-old boy. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 46 Months Old

We are hanging out at Lake Chelan for a week of vacation! This will become a familiar place as you grow up because your Grandma Vicki and Poppa Steve bought land to build a house here. Until the house is built, we stay at their time share condo at Lake Chelan Shores overlooking a pool and the lake. You are very lucky!

All of your spring and summer swim lessons have paid off as you can swim confidently in the pool and lake. You practice swimming in the pool without a life jacket and spend a lot more time underwater, enticed by what you can see with goggles on. Yesterday we were out on Poppa Steve’s boat on the lake and you didn’t hesitate to jump into to the not-too-cold water with us. As you swam with goggles, you popped up to tell us what you could see in the clear water: the occasional passing fish.

Lake Chelan is truly a world-class lake. I’ve seen a lot of them and Lake Como in Italy only has the upper hand on food. Like in Italy, the local wine here is truly good and you’ll come to appreciate that in 14 years.

In between the pool, lake and wineries, you and Matteo keep us busy and entertained. In the condo you like to build structures out of Magna-Tiles that Matteo eventually knocks over. You made up a new game called “Magic.” You move your hands in a circular motion like Elsa from “Frozen” and make imaginary objects. When you’re out of magic, you sometimes complain that your stomach hurts because your “baby is kicking.” You ask us to hold your stomach while you move it in and out quickly, trying to simulate baby kicks but looking a lot more like a belly dancer.

With all of the excitement and swimming in the day, you and Matteo have been napping and therefore making for late nights. If we see no sign of sleep by 9 p.m., your Mom and I throw you two in the car and start driving a direction until one of you falls asleep — usually Matteo. As we climb the hills, we listen to the classic hits radio station quietly. The lake is lit by the moon like a flashlight and the calm sets in. We’ll do it all again tomorrow.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 25 Months Old

Another month, another comment about your night-owl behavior.

At this point, I don’t think your Mom and I can “parent” you any better into getting to sleep before 9:30 p.m. You just like to stay up late and seem to get a second wind after Eliza crashes, as if you want to live an alternate only-child life. Your Mom and I conceded defeat and started watching the new season of Queer Eye with you last week, which we normally would do after you go to bed. Handmaid’s Tale is a little too intense for your age, but we can compromise on some shows if you’re really going to be this kind of late-night kid.

During the day time you’re generally running around the house in a pull-up or naked trying to find a ball to play with or asking us to make you water balloons. You treat the water balloons like eggs instead of throw them and that helps them last longer. Your potty training is going as well as it could. You’re more interested in peeing on bushes than in toilets. It’s just more exciting urinating outside, I get it. You get a sucker every time you try to use the potty. I’m pretty sure you associate the potty with suckers more than peeing, which is why you’re willing to sit down often.

I’ve commented in these letters before that “ball is life” for you, and that hasn’t slowed. We’ve established that you kick with your left foot and throw right. You also seem more comfortable batting left and can throw decently with your left hand. You’ll be a threat in whatever sports you choose. Basketball has been your favorite lately. You are kind to ask me to play and find a larger ball for me to shoot with on your 3-foot hoop in the front yard. We take turns shooting for sometimes up to 30-minutes, which I perceive to be a lot of focus for a 2-year-old boy. Your accuracy is solid within 5 feet of the rim. I shoot from more outside the 3-point line to stay out of your way. Sometimes we talk when we take turns shooting, sometimes we’re quiet for a few minutes at a time; the only sound being the thud of the rubber ball hitting the plastic rim and Greta occasionally barking at a passersby. It’s the best.

Between the late nights and sport-filled days, we both crash hard when you’re finally done fighting the sleep I’ve been waiting for. But I still try to stay up a bit just to watch you sleep and reflect on how much fun we’re having.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 45 Months Old

We had some one-on-one time together yesterday at Fircrest Park while your Mom took Matteo to his two-year doctor check-up. We played house and treasure hunt. You showed me how to use the climbing wall. The weather was hot, so we took a break in the shade with Greta. I used the time to ask about why you refused to participate in your last swim lesson. Your Mom told me you had concerns about a new teacher.

“How did you feel about having a boy swim teacher the other day?” I asked.

“I felt disappointed,” you replied.

The answer surprised me. Disappointment is a word with some real depth for a not-quite-four-year-old. But I get it. You were expecting the same teacher, who happens to be a young woman you’ve come to trust. I let you know that it’s OK to be uneasy about a new boy teacher or any new teacher for that matter. Your Mom and I can let you know when older boy teachers are good guys. I asked if you’d be OK if you had a boy teacher in the future to teach you soccer or dance, and you said that’d be fine. I let you know I coached soccer for kids your age when I was a younger man. You were still concerned with having a boy teacher for swim though. We left it at that. There’s something a little different about swimming at your age — going underwater, being held while you’re trying to stay above water — that I hadn’t entirely thought through.

I will never fully understand how you’ll perceive boys in this world. Your opinion will change with age and experience, and the median point of masculinity is a moving target. You should be apprehensive about boys you don’t know and even some you do. Unfortunately that concern will need to be greater with age. Your Mom still gets concerned occasionally by men she sees around town. That doesn’t really go away.

All I can say is, thanks for letting me know how you’re feeling. You’ll have two boys in your life you can always trust for the long run: me and Matteo. We have a job modeling good behavior for other boys to help make the world a little less disappointing for girls.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 24 Months Old

Happy birthday my two-year-old!!!

You bring me so much joy every day. You are a wild, rambunctious little man. Or should I say, dinosaur? You are obsessed with dinosaurs right now, and it’s taken over most of your imagination and play time. Eliza has adopted the trend and plays along. Your favorite game right now is “baby dinosaur” where you and Eliza both pretend to be baby t-rexes and I’m a dad t-rex that marches around trying to find you while you hide in obvious places. We play this for up to an hour at a time, which is a long time for me to march around and roar, but I can hang.

Your dinosaur obsession translated into a dinosaur-themed birthday party today. Your Mom will forever remember the day as one of bad traffic for our guests. Uncle Scott graciously picked up Grammie and Popa at the airport and they took two hours to get to our house after an already delayed travel schedule. A couple friends couldn’t come to the party due to traffic. We’ll also remember this as the night when Greta got really sick from some combination of sneaking party food and fireworks anxiety. And now we have a spot cleaner.

You took forever to go to sleep tonight, likely from so much excitement in the day. We can no longer predict when you want to nap or call it a night. We only know that your little motor runs at full speed and you sprint, imagine and explore until a great crash into sleep. You still cuddle your way into sleep every once in a while, and your Mom and I enjoy the expiring moments of a baby in our parenting careers.

I don’t know how you can hang so late in the day. You’re developing in so many ways, and that requires a lot of energy. You’re constantly playing ball sports. You’re learning how to use the potty and a stand-up urinal that Uncle Ty and Aunt Amber wisely bought you. We keep it in the shower until you improve your aim. You can count to 13. You love to play “sneak” and get scared when your Mom jumps out behind a corner or closet. I personally don’t love when she does that to me, so I’m glad you’re a willing target. You can ride a scooter on our family walks. You’re not as fast as Eliza and say “Wait for me!” when you get too far behind. When you are frustrated about anything, but especially being denied the TV or a bottle, you yell “yes and no,” and we try not to laugh because you’re so serious and the phrase is so nonsensical.

At night we’ve gotten into a good habit of reading books and you can hang with the more advanced books that Eliza prefers. I sit between you and manage the stereo effect of both of you asking “Who’s that? What do they say?” about every illustrated character on a page. I burst into laughter the other night because I couldn’t keep up with answering both of you at your rate of questions. It was one of those moments where I was truly overwhelmed and happy to be in that position at the same time.

You may one day find yourself as a young parent dealing with a hyper-active, highly intelligent two-year-old who is always a step ahead of you and surprising you with language, actions and disappearances that trigger major anxiety. I hope you do. It’s a blast.

Love always,

Dad