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

Dear Eliza, 31 Months Old

Dear Eliza,

Your strong will shows up in seemingly all aspects of life. When you want to listen to music you command it (from Alexa). When you want parmesan cheese on everything on your dinner plate you order it repeatedly. We need to figure out a way to temper down your demand into requests. Earlier this month we strung you and your brother from Stockholm to Ghent to Amsterdam. Aside from the time zone struggles, we were most concerned about... your chocolate milk demands. 

Yes, like the lore of a high-maintenance music star demanding only green M&Ms in the green room, you have a rider enforcing chocolate milk wherever you sleep or wake. You actually slept very little on the airplane -- the hardest place to fetch lukewarm chocolate milk -- as you binged on Pixar and Dreamworks movies. Luckily, our hotel in Stockholm had a coffee bar with a ready milk supply and frother. Our Airbnb in Ghent didn't have the same accommodations, but we were able to find chocolate milk at the grocery, which is not in the chilled section -- concerning us -- and that got you through the rest of the trip.  

We developed a funny little game on that trip where you would say, "Um, I have a question. I'm two." I would reply, "I have a question. I'm 35." And then you would try to remember your Mom's age and Matteo's age in the same pattern. I enjoy these strange little conversations. Other frequent topics are "The baby in my belly," which you name Eliza, and call-and-response etiquette where you get to say, "Ohhh thank you, Daddy," and "You're wellll-come, Daddy." We have these on video because your inflections are adorable. 

Just a couple days after we arrived back home, I was back on a plane for a work trip to New York. Let me tell you, traveling without you kiddos is E-A-S-Y. I love you and all, but you don't travel light. While on the flight I was able to watch a continuous movie without pause or interruption, a drastic contrast, and enjoyed a film called Lady Bird. It’s a classic coming-of-age plot that reminded me of all the tough, exciting parts of being a teenager and becoming a young adult.

That slice of life feels so slow in the moment but so fast looking back.

There’s a classic parent-daughter tension in the movie, and I’m curious if we’ll see some of that. You already have strong opinions about yourself and the decisions we make for you. Hell, you only gave us the first 18 months of our life to pick out what you wear.

Whenever you appreciate it or not, your mother is simply the best resource for how to navigate your own path. She has made so many of the right choices, and that’s admirable because the right choices are the hardest ones to make. Making the right choices consistently is even harder, which is why your Mom is a damn anomaly. Of course, you won’t be her or me or some fractional equation of us. You are your own person that will only have shades of your mother’s looks and tendencies. Not a bad place to start. Of course, you won't realize or appreciate this until you're well into adulthood, because that's how life works. Wisdom is a learned trait like that. It comes with age. 

Speaking of age, I have a question. I'm 35.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 10 Months Old

You got your first passport stamp in Iceland. So cool!

I had a work conference in Stockholm and we made a family trip out of it, also visiting Ghent and Amsterdam over two weeks. Although your Mom and I are adventurous, we were still nervous about the 12 hours of plane time each way with you and Eliza. It’s tough sitting on a plane that long for us big kids, too. Everyone gets a little sweaty and disheveled on international flights and we gave you a few helmet breaks to keep your head cool. You fought sleep a couple times but otherwise did great!  

You had a hard time adjusting to the new time zone -- nine hours ahead -- and liked to wake up in the middle of the night. To attempt to get you back to sleep, your Mom would strap you in a baby carrier and walk all over the hotel, stopping to make friends with the night-shift staff and making her way to the 7-Eleven around the corner to chit-chat with the cashier and buy croissants for the morning. She made these laps for three consecutive nights before you got on schedule.

You’ve developed the strange need to hold onto your Mom’s hair to fall asleep, which makes her presence mandatory. Likewise, your sister has been demanding with back rubs to fall asleep, which can also only be administered by your Mom. She’s in high demand. You've got to let me contribute to the nighttime routine or you'll make me look bad, OK? You have been getting into books quite a bit more, so I’ve been able to help wind you down that way. Your favorite on the trip was “McDuff Comes Home,” a book about a Westie dog running off from home to chase a rabbit. You love giggling at the sight of the little white dog on each page. 

Here's a biggie: You started crawling in Stockholm! You crawled all over our room at Hotel Rival. Your crawl style is a little more like a scoot because you tuck one leg in and use the other to push off like using a skateboard. You army-crawl fine so we know both legs are working, but you choose to do this one-leg crawl/scoot to keep yourself upright. Of course, you improved on this method with each day, and by the time we were in Amsterdam we couldn’t take our eyes off you as you darted toward any dangling cord, plant, or power outlet.

Aside from those daring attempts at hurting yourself, we found the trip was manageable because northern European countries are so family-friendly. That may be why they’re constantly rated as the happiest places to live. I was shocked by how many young families we saw out and about. It wasn’t just the great weather. It’s because these countries, Sweden in particular, have amazing, federally-mandated parental leaves. In Sweden, parents are entitled to about 16 months of leave, which can be split between both parents, and they get paid 80 percent of their income for 13 months. That’d be like me not working for the last 10 months and still having a few to go. Compare that to the two weeks I had off for parental leave. Major difference.  

A highlight of the trip, among many, was how you started to really want to cuddle with me. You like to bury your head (or helmet) in my neck for a few seconds in a loving way. You haven’t been the cuddliest guy, which is OK, but it’s been a nice welcome as there is nothing better than a baby snuggle. I wonder if it’s because I only see you in windows of time during the normal weekdays. Alternatively, we had so much continuous time on the trip perhaps you became more comfortable. Maybe if we were living in Sweden that would have happened a lot earlier.

I am sorry we didn’t get to spend all the early time of your life together like those Northern European families, but we don’t have it half-bad either. We have better Asian food in Tacoma.

Wait, no, we ate great Thai foot at one restaurant. Well, shit.

Here’s to more passport stamps.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 30 Months Old

Our home is a little more chaotic than usual. There's a partially-finished new bathroom upstairs with plywood and tarp keeping the April showers from seeping in. Boxes of alleged child and dog-proof Pergo flooring are stacked up in the kitchen. We're a little squeezed in a mad dash of home improvements. At least the Ikea cordless blinds look nice in the windows. 

You somehow benefit from the mess like an arms dealer during war. The idea that you and Matteo could share a room was short-lived. Now you get to share our bedroom so Matteo can have his own to fuss and teeth in. We tried Matteo in our bedroom first, but if he knows your Mom is in the room he needs to be within reach of the milk supply. You won the sibling battle for parent proximity. 

But I tell you: Once the construction is done upstairs, your butt is moving upstairs. 

Since this move into our bedroom, you've gotten on our sleep schedule. That is to say, you don't want to fall asleep until 9 or 10 p.m. That ain't working, sister. Add that to the fact that you suddenly deny midday naps. Who does that? You should be taking midday naps from now through college. On that note, you are acting a lot like a college student these days. You are a night owl and occassionally pee your pants. 

We try to put you down for bed -- like responsible, desperate parents do -- around 7:30, but unconfined by the prison bars of a crib you jump out and jump all over our bedroom while we are trying to Netflix-binge the day away in the living room. Occasionally you jump out of the bedroom and proclaim "I'm awake!" Thanks, Captain Obvious.  

Pause Netflix. Spend 15 minutes getting you to settle down again. Bribe. Walk back into living room. Fill up wine glass. Unpause Netflix. Let 20 minutes pass. Repeat. 

On the flip side, in the morning I get to see your messy bedhead and mumbled request for chocolate milk. It almost makes it worth it. Not quite, but close.

Love always, Dad.