Dear Eliza, 42 Months Old

Full transparency: I am no longer writing and publishing these letters on your month-day. Life is getting really busy and it’s hard to be that punctual. I’m trying to write +/- 2 days from the 10th of the month. Close enough, right?

Fridays are becoming my favorite. I get to take you to pre-school and we stop on the way at Pao’s donuts. I always get a maple bar and you get donut holes or a vanilla-sprinkle cake donut.

This morning, your sugar-fueled mind fired off a series of questions: “How do you make donuts?” “How do you ice skate so you don’t fall?” “Will my hair get dark like mommy’s?” “How do bees make honey?”

Speaking of bees, you gave Mom and I a first birds-and-bees question earlier in the week, asking how babies are made. I think we responded with something vague about adults loving each other. We are crushing this parenting thing.

Back to present-time. You asked me how you can make magic like Elsa, a “Frozen” reference. You said you want to be able to shoot ice and snow from your hands. Ski resorts would like that magical power, too. You also asked how you can fly like a bird — you often ask about that.

I can see that you’re starting to make sense of what’s possible between what you see in movies and what you observe in the real world. Of course, everything looks so real in movies, it’s hard to tell what should be possible. When I was a little kid, I also had a small obsession with flying like Peter Pan. I decided that I wasn’t thinking about it hard enough, so I would sit in my room and focus on flying — more levitating — but it never worked out for me.

I’ll tell you here what I told you in the car: Magic is a little different in the real world. It exists, but it’s harder to see. The kind of magic you’re thinking about always works in imagination and pretending. That’s the good news. There’s another kind of magic, too. Your Mom has this special magic. She can magically keep you and your brother happy (and alive) every day. She can find a way to transition you from a moment of frustration to giggling. You can tap into that kind of magic, too.

We call that kind of magic “love.” And just like the movies, it sends emotions every which way and makes stories exciting. It can actually make you feel like you’re flying. Practice love and you’ll be practicing magic.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 21 Months Old

I read an article once about how younger siblings are often quieter, drowned out by older siblings.

Not the case with you, sir. Your sister is a chatterbox and you compete for attention with your own gift of gab and volume. Your “Gigi,” my Grams, told me that Gramps didn’t talk at all until he was 3-years-old and then “wouldn’t shut up.” You never hesitated.

You’re stringing words together by the twos and threes. We think you’re even more articulate than Eliza when she was your age. You can brag about that. In the past day, some highlights have been “Dada watch me” before flipping onto a pile of couch pillows and “ZZ pet Greta” as a command to have your sister help you trap Greta for fur pulls. You can also say “awesome!” which is awesome.

You’re at that temporary stage swinging between baby and toddler behaviors. You still want to be held like a baby and take a bottle near sleep times. You otherwise want to spend time running everywhere possible, especially outside. Walking is for the weak. You run circles around the house, rain or shine, dressed or undressed, and usually barefoot. Out the back door, around the side yard and back up the steps to the front door you go. Over and over. You demand fresh air and the wilderness of the yard. At your size, it must feel like running on an open plain.

With all this action you get banged up throughout the day in your kid-like activities, scraping a knee or bumping your head. In the moments of reaction you revert back to crying for baby-like snuggles until you feel better 3-5 seconds later. Then you shoot out around the corner of the yard again.

I recommend you keep some affinity for cuddling and snuggling as you become a kid and eventually a man. While it’s not associated with the false images of masculinity you’ll see out in the world, it’s a strong point of connection with the people you share those moments with. And right now, your Mom and I like being on the other end of that.

And usually, in those cuddly moments, you’re quiet. Eventually you’ll also learn that quiet times of connection speak louder than words.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 41 Months Old

Dear Eliza,

A couple of weeks ago, you randomly told me that Greta was going to doggy heaven.

I’m not sure where you learned about the inevitability. You told me, so matter-of-fact, that when Greta goes to doggy heaven she’ll be really happy because there will be a lot of frisbees. You told me that I’ll be sad but it’s all OK because when she dies you’ll be older, I’ll be older, and Greta will be really old. This is, of course, all true.

I was taken back by your wisdom and felt flooded with emotion because your Mom and I already had to send a dog to doggy heaven. Gianna was the first “child” your Mom and I had before you came along. We adopted her by chance, walking our bikes across the University of Puget Sound campus — a dog heaven on earth — during an adoption drive. Gianna was a middle-aged dog and took to us very quickly and enjoyed our many pre-children adventures. She had some wild streaks and was terrible on leash. She developed seizures after a couple of years that greatly declined her quality of life, and she couldn’t break out of the final seizure that ended her life.

I have never cried so hard as I did the day that she died. Those final months were difficult with her. I felt remorseful that we couldn’t do anything else to save her. I felt overwhelmed because we were unsure at the time that you would ever come along. I felt sad that she wouldn’t be in the picture if you did.

We’ve got a painting on the wall in the dining room. It’s a picture a border collie looking off into the sunset with a tennis ball nearby. Doggy heaven is filled with tennis balls, too.

Speaking of painting, you’ve been a working artist lately. You produced your first canvas the other day, graduating up from construction paper. Your technique and details are fast improving. Last month, you were in “stick figure mode” when painting people and princesses. Now you’re adding face features like eyes, eyelashes, angled noses, hair, eyebrows and, of course, crowns. On a nice day two weeks ago I yanked you off the dining table to go outside. You refused. I offered the compromise that you could paint outside. You were so content sitting in the middle of our walkway, painting the leaves that you saw on the ground. I could picture you being a young lady under a tree at a park with watercolors interpreting your observations. It’s all very romantic.

The world needs artists. It’s a bland world without them. Maybe it’s a phase or maybe it’s a calling, but something tells me you’re going to be an artsy kind of person. Maybe painting will be your medium, or music, or something else. The world needs artists like you to inspire and touch people. Even the bittersweet parts of life, like doggy heaven, have a place on the wall.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 20 Months Old

Your personality is exploding with energy and excitement. Your vocabulary is almost keeping pace, and you’re starting to string words together to express all of the thoughts running through your head.

The following is what occurs in a given hour of your busy life.

• Play soccer, left foot only

• Eat 1-2 cups of yogurt

• Squeal at Greta to get her riled up and running circles

• Ask to play upstairs, pout when denied

• Point to top of fridge and ask to eat vitamins

• Escape outside barefoot and run a lap around to the back door

• Grab the face of a parent to get them to pay attention to your words

• Open the fridge to find more yogurt or grapes

• Take off all of your clothes and diaper to talk about your “peepee”

• Read the same picture book a few times

• Complain when Eliza took a toy out of your hands

• Grab a parent by the hand to guide them to whatever you think is interesting

• Climb on the toilet to play in our bathroom sink; eat 1-2 tablespoons of toothpaste

• Snuggle your Mom or Eliza on the couch or our bed

• Climb up a parent to hang upside-down

• Ask Echo to play the Frozen soundtrack or “Elmo Slide” to dance some sequenced moves

• Pretend to be a frog and hop around saying “wigget”

• Scream “bird!” upon seeing a bird out the window

• Ask where Froggy (your pacifier) and Rocky (your stuffed raccoon) are as a signal you’re ready to nap

I often stop to reflect on just how fun and interesting you are. You have so much ambition and confidence. You also got your first haircut this past month and I’m not the only one to stop and say how handsome you are. You, like me, noticeably improve with a good haircut.

Swagger, smarts, charm and looks are a good combination to get more ladies than your Mom to pay attention to you. Keep it up.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 40 Months Old

I’ll start this letter with an anecdote: A couple weeks ago, I watched you walk up to your brother and kick him squarely in the groin.

He didn’t solicit the violence by any of his usual annoyances. You simply felt obliged to put him down on his knees. Fortunately, Matteo is still in a thick-diaper stage and probably had a little liquid padding so he seemed unfazed by the kick. I felt a split-decision in the moment to scold you or encourage you. Obviously it’s unkind to attack your brother and without apparent cause, but I am also thrilled how you’ve learned an important tactic in self-defense.

So I chose not to react at all.

The anecdote is also representative of some of your recent behaviors. You’ve been quick to yell, kick and scream in otherwise calm situations. Especially in cases you don’t like something, you let us know firmly. A simple question at the dinner table like, “Would you like some rice?” results in a high pitched, high volume “No!” or even an immediate tantrum.

Before any backcountry skiing tours I check an avalanche report to check the stability of the snow pack. I wish there was the same service for toddler stability. On a related note, we are coming off of an ALL-TIME snowstorm and have been sledding and playing in the snow non-stop. These are some of the best days to be a child, or adult with childlike wonder.

I attribute the emotional flares to growing up fast. You’re not a tall kid, but I see the height spurts and waves of intellectual growth. You are achieving a lot of simple math and focus on memorizing how to spell and write family names. You channel most of your energy positively creatively, which is fantastic. You are a prolific artist, creating several pages per hour of drawings, sticker art, and treasure map production.

I keep waiting for the art that expresses the origin of why you kicked Matteo in the balls that day, but some parts of life are probably best left unexplained.

Love, Dad