Dear Matteo, 51 Months Old

A few weeks ago you debuted in your first soccer game with the Sharks, a six-man squad in a 4v4 micro soccer league. You proudly wear #3, a number I also wore, though you’re more excited to have the same number as Russell Wilson.

After totally ignoring the game for several minutes, distracted by mud, you netted your first goal, an own goal, but celebrated all the same. The coaching staff has some work to do keep you headed the right direction.

Of course, your Mom and I are your coaching staff along with Coach Christy, our communicative team manager. Coaching your own kid is a tough job. Your Nonno coached me for a good chunk of my youth career, but I was always an astute listener and applied everything I was told. You, on the other hand, are a free spirit on the field and like to play by your own rules. You’re hungry all the time, demanding fruit snacks from us to stay on the pitch. When you don’t like a drill, you lie down in the middle of the field like you’re tanning on a Hawaiian beach, hands behind your head and heels crossed, soaking in the Pacific Northwest clouds.

I’ve been digging deep (on the Internet), trying to find drills to keep you and the team engaged and progressing. In addition to our Sunday afternoon games, we’ve got practices on Tuesday night. You’re still in the “bunch ball” phase of learning the game, but we’re learning how to spread the field and pass to each other. Our usual drills include Duck-Duck-Goose, Red Light Green Light and scrimmaging at practice. The mix has paid off as you’ve been scoring more goals going the right direction.

To round out our soccer intake, your Mom and I have also been binging Ted Lasso, but that admittedly has more to do with enjoying good quality TV writing.

Your soccer games and practice schedule along with Eliza’s dance schedule and school for both of you has lunged your Mom and I into a suddenly rigid family calendar, to the hour. We didn’t realize how much we liked our free-range schedule up to this point. But we don’t mind the new wave of structure either. It drives the week forward. It surrounds us with new kids and parents and community. It feels like a new stage of parenting — and coaching.

Up until this month, you’d find me on most Sundays lounging around the house in a t-shirt and joggers looking for something to fix around the house or organize. These Sundays, I’m suited up in my Gig Harbor soccer quarter zip with training pants and cleats on and a whistle dangling from my neck, yelling, “That’s your ball, #3. Go get it! All the way to the goal!”

Love,
Dad

Dear Eliza, 71 Months Old

The first day of “real” school can make any kid feel intimidated, anxious, nervous or even scared. You felt nothing but excitement and eagerness to get in the classroom for kindergarten at Artondale Elementary.

You acted like the night before school was Christmas Eve. You stayed up late with bottled-up energy that leaked out through your markers as you drew your school with a road back to our house and a series of outfits that you’d wear to school, like a fashion designer’s sketchbook.

Most mornings you drag out of bed in your nightgown, hair half glued to your face and moping toward the kitchen or couch to plop your head down again and wait for Cheerios or pancakes with Nutella (a new favorite) to appear in front of you. On that first morning of school, you came downstairs fully dressed with shoes on. You were giddy and giggly and couldn’t seem to wait to run out the door. But not before plenty of pictures to celebrate your first day of school.

Your Mom thought we’d drive you to school the first day to keep it simple for you, but you were interested in the full experience, so we went for the bus. We all walked you to the bus stop, joining the stampede of families funneling toward the front of the neighborhood. You and Matteo scootered most of the way. I thought I’d be an emotional wreck, only appropriate for a funeral, sending you off on the bus but the speed of it all happening beat my ability to process and emote. Just as soon as we got to the stop and met some neighbors, you were walking up the bus steps, out of sights, and into the rows of students. Into the big world of an elementary school.

We didn’t entirely nail the bus logistics that first day. In the afternoon we returned to the bus stop to pick you up. While hanging around with other impatient parents, your Mom got a phone call from your teacher, Mrs. Brandt, to let us know that you didn’t make the bus home. That was our fault. We didn’t successfully get through the school administration grapevine that you were taking the bus home because, as mentioned, we didn’t think you were taking the bus that first day at all, so someone held you back for pick-up. I jogged home, got the car, picked up your Mom and Matteo and we drove to get you, hoping the error in logistics didn’t add stress to your big first day.

It didn’t. We saw you standing with Mrs. Brandt, somewhat careless about the bus mishap and instead glad to spend a little more time with teacher. Did I ever tell you about that time when I was at Disneyland and failed to get off the ride with everyone else, causing me to take the ride again solo? I’m sure my parents were freaking out, concerned that I felt, scared, alone and unsure what to do next. I actually felt happy to take the ride again with a taste of independence. That might be similar to your feelings on that first day.

I am so proud of how you appraochaed and handled yourself. Good job, kiddo. You are definitely ready for all of this.

Elementary school is no Disneyland, but with constant directions to stand in line, acceptably prepared food, adults sheparding you to the next thing, and Uncle Scott dressed as the otter mascot for big events, it’s pretty darn close.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 50 Months Old

You’re finding your voice and style of command and recently testing a lot of multisyllabic words. You like to lead your conversations with “remember” and “actually.”

”Dad, remember, you have to read me a Star Wars book so I can sleep.”

“Remember Dad, you have to get me some water to drink now.”

“Actually I was thinking we should play monster tag.”

“Actually I’m feeling sort of tired.”

Upon seeing anything impressive you comment, “That’s incredible!”

I’m having fun listening to your language development and witnessing your fearlessness to blurt out new big word combinations. I occasionally try to insert some novice Italian when we talk, and you’ll give me a “si” or “grazie.” I’ll call that a win.

I have my fingers crossed one of my children has a grasp for a second language and can break my inability to speak close to intermediate Italian after so many starts and stops. To that point, I just searched online to learn that the Italian verb “to remember” is ricordare. Of course, you have to conjugate that. “Actually” in Italian is veramente. Let’s try using those too.

You’ll learn more than just language this year as you start pre-kindergaren next week at Curious by Nature, where Eliza attended. You get to enjoy all the fun and mud of a year-round outdoor school. You can always use fresh air and plenty of space to run, so you’ll get that three days a week at this new school. I can tell you’re ready to make new friends and push a little more into writing, counting and other developmental activities that you’re willing to try as often as you see Eliza do them. That’s the joy of being the younger sibling: always someone to look up to and chase.

Actually, we’re the ones chasing you most of the time. Remember?

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 70 Months Old

Dim sunlight through construction paper shades. Scarred gym hardwood floors. Generic stiff folding chairs. Yellow frosted cupcakes and sugar cookies on the fold out table. The general sensiblities of a church auditorium at secular Rosedale Hall.

This was the scene for your first dance recital. The first of many to come, I’m sure.

On a warm August morning, your Mom, Matteo and I attended the capstone event for your Disney ballet camp. Your class walked out behind teachers, found your painter’s tape spots on the floor and awaited the track from “Tangled.” The teachers flanked the room, only slightly out of sight from the parent audience.

Once the music started, the class moved in a slightly coordinated wave mimicking the choreography of the dancing teachers.

You were in the corner of the room opposite us (bad seat selection on our part), but found us with your gaze. You appeared small but also well prepared with your hair pulled back in two buns and pink leotard and skirt matching pink ballet shoes. You danced our direction with poise and confidence and aware of each movement you were making next. It was 90 seconds of sheer delight for artist and audience.

I am biased but have to say that you crushed that routine and the teachers said as much after the show. They gave you a congratulatory rose and encouraged us to sign you up for a next session with an older age group. You wore a deserved halo of pride the following hour while scarfing down a cupcake and leaving yellow frosting where you earlier wore kid lipstick.

You are often happeist and always calmest, zen-like, when you are creating some kind of art be it music, dance and certainly drawing. Keep that in mind when you’re feeling stuck or challenged: go back to art.

Selfishly, I hope you stick to a little more dance. The events are fun. I absolutely despised them as a kid, attending your Aunt Nina’s hours-long dance recitals. Maybe Matteo will feel the same eventually (he liked this event) but that’s the difference between being a young brother and a dad: tolerance versus support.

I’m always here to support your art!

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 49 Months Old

My name is Dad.

That’s the refrain I’ve had to use relentlessly these past weeks. Since visiting Aunt Nina’s house and hearing her call me “Pal,” you’ve repeated it over and over in every address.

“Hey Pal, can you play with me?”

“Hey Pal. Pal. I want to watch a show.”

“I want a popsicle, Pal.”

I correct you with “My name is Dad” and at least you’re willing to insert the synonym so we can get on with our activity. Or a popsicle.

As mentioned, we went to Aunt Nina’s house in Bellingham to meet your new cousin Lennon and getting all of the baby cuddles and coos. You were good with the obligatory time holding Lennon and taking a photo and were otherwise running around with Harry in your underwear and fists full of action figures.

You’re not the only one running around. Your old man has gotten after it these past weeks, with underwear and many more coverage layers. The day after our trip to Bellingham I jumped in the car with Uncle Scott and drove down to climb Mt. Adams. We didn’t sleep and hiked and climbed 13,000 feet of elevation change over 16.5 miles. We made the roundtrip in 22 hours. You may or may not decide to climb Adams in a day based upon this report, but you can at least look back and see that I was still going big in in my late 30s!

I have one more objective ahead later this week. I’ll circumnavigate Fox Island by kayak, about 12 nautical miles. We’ve had a great time getting on all four of our boats this summer, and I opted for this challenge to help support fundraising for Obliteride and Fred Hutch. As you know, you’re Grammie has had a couple bouts with lung cancer, so the least I can do is help fight cancer and have a little fun doing it.

I’m flirting with how much more I can push my body, clearly. Pal still has something to prove.

Love, Dad