Dear Eliza, 78 Months Old

As masks have come off, “normal” sickness has picked up. Sure enough, we got the brunt of it on vacation in Palm Desert last week.

Somewhere between our house and Gigi’s condo in Palm Springs, likely at the airport, we picked up a stomach bug. You gave us the warning signs and complained about being really tired that first day of vacation. Then the stomach symptoms started and lasted about three days for you. Matteo got the worst of it. He was sick for about 12 hours and threw up a record-setting eight times. That’s what I call “puke and rally.” He hadn’t really thrown up since being a baby and he was a champ making it to the garbage bin every time.

Eventually the bug got to me but only really caused heavy fatigue. Being that we were on vacation, it’s hard to tell how sick I was or if I just really needed to sleep for a day. Through it all, your Mom evoked her super power of taking care of all of us while only getting a little sick for a day.

Our real vacation started day five of nine. We made it to the zoo a few times and of course spent days by the pool. We finally visited Palm Springs together, and your Mom and I snuck in one date night.

You made friends with two sisters visiting from British Columbia who were staying next door. The friend time really brought you back to life, and that was a good reminder that despite all the entertaining we try to do, kids need to hang around with kids to have the most fun. I played my “Dad card” and drew some attention back by offering to throw you and Matteo around the pool. Of course, my shoulders can only take about 10 reps for each of you, so I got back to parenting from the pool chair in little time.

We came back home healthy but tired. Every family seems to have a story about a sick vacation. I’m glad we got through ours and hope it doesn’t happen again anytime soon.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 57 Months Old

I remember being addicted to video games as a kid, like so many of my friends coming up in the 80s and 90s. I grew blisters on my thumbs from hours-long sessions of Double Dragon, Super Mario Brothers 2 & 3, Golden Eye and Star Fox on my Nintendo 64. That mostly fell off as I got more serious with sports, but I enjoyed a revival in college playing a lot of Mario Kart with roommates and destroying Uncle Scott in Halo duels on Xbox.

I see hints of your gaming potential, and it’s hard to avoid. You get quite a bit of screen time on long drives to the cabin and on the occassional plane ride. I have to admit, I like to look in the rearview of the car, see headphones on your and Eliza’s ears and enjoy the quiet or conversation with your Mom without interruption.

Your Kindle Fire has had a good run so far, but the “little kid” games are starting to bore you. I’m thinking abotu upgrading soon. To its credit, the device survived your abuse — spilling drinks, tossing it to the side and actually stepping on it, frequently.

While we hold out as long as possible for the next device with bigger games, you’ve taken to our phones playing a lot of Wordscape and some Tetris variants. I tell myself that spelling is at least educational to justify our parenting leniency. You also like to contribute to Wordle, the trendiest of all adult word games at the moment and spew at us of plenty of 3 and 6-letter guesses for the 5-letter word requirement. To feed your new obsession, you’ve learned Mom’s phone code and have stolen her phone several times to hide under a bed to try and complete a Wordscape puzzle without asking.

As these things go, we’ve leaned into your gaming interest as a punishment option, like “If you hit your sister, no games tomorrow.” Sometimes that really works. Sometimes we all forget what happened yesterday and you get to play your games anyway. Parenting is an imperfect science.

On a recent drive back from the cabin, both you and Eliza were restricted from games on the car ride because of bad behavior. You both whined dramatically about the punishment for the first 10 minutes of the car ride, and I thought I was going to break. But after those early minutes, you got distracted by each other and the views outside. We made it the rest of the way back home in a far-from-silent but enjoyable ride home without games or headphones.

We can survive without the games and devices, but they have their place. A lot of the smartest people I know play a lot of games — and read a lot of books. I am personally excited for you to get into some more mature games and eventually kicking your butt at Halo.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 77 Months Old

Your second loose tooth is hanging on by a thread, but you won’t let us get a thread in there to yank it out.

I thought after you got over the anxiety of losing your first tooth you’d be a champ for a next one, but apprently you know too much now and aren’t eager to get a visit from the Tooth Fairy soon.

This baby-bottom-front-tooth has been loose for weeks, super wiggly for days and is now just plain disgusting to look at. We’ve been disinfecting because the gums around it are eroding. Gag. Your Mom got in there with toilet paper for a pull attempt yesterday and we were suprised it didn’t pop out.

In other news, your tone has been popping off a bit. You’ve regressed to some baby-like noises to express whiny discontent when you’re displeased with a dinner choice or a lack of TV show on the evening agenda. God created kids with a screechy pitch that uniquely drives their parents crazy and yours is optimally calibrated to make us rise into an instant fury.

I was reminded at your elementary school open house today that this is all for show and an audience of two parents. You were wholly extroverted, articulate and excited with your classmates and teachers. There was no ounce of the girl who kicked around the car, not wanting to pick up Matteo from his school an hour earlier. Was I supposed to leave him there?

Let’s pop a tooth out in the next day and alm the disagreement tactics. That might get the Tooth Fairy to sweeten the deal.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 56 Months Old

I bought something big for the family that you’re quite excited about.

This is unlike the real estate moves of the past year that were big but responsible. This purchase is definitionally a “pandemic purchase:” random, luxorious, close-to-home.

Yes, I purchased a barrel sauna.

Hear me out. We’ve been talking seriously about getting a hot tub for months. Those are popular, expected and appealing. They even contribute home resale value. However, they’re totally energy inefficient and your Mom sometimes has a reaction to the chemicals. I did a little research (mere hours over mere days) and found barrel saunas are less expensive and far more energy efficient. They have well known health benefits. Saunas are as common as cars in Finland, and the life expectancy there is three years more than in the U.S. It all makes so much sense, right?

The above paragraph again points to overly enthusiastic, slightly irrational pandemic purchase behavior.

Well, I made the purchase and built the thing, so there’s no going back now.

The “Almost Heaven Huntington Sauna” arrived on a flat bed from West Virginia a couple weeks ago. I was shocked and impressed to see a dualie Dodge Ram truck arrive in front ofthe house well ahead of schedule having crossed over every mountain pass in America in the dead of winter. I helped unload the pre-fab materials and took the next sunny weekend to construct the sauna. It came together like a large Lego project, which is to say it took me two hours longer than expected, and the right side of the barrel came apart on me three times as I neared completion.

The sauna seats six (I’d say four adults with room for the Holy Spirit) and aesthetically looks awesome. Your Mom and I added a green metal roof for weather and flair. The electrician comes over tomorrow and then we should be able to fire it up!

You’ve been a big help putting the sauna together, offering to hammer anything in sight. The concept of the sauna has been a little confusing to you along the way though.

“It warms you up like a hot tub,” I explain.

“But can I swim in it?” you reply.

“No, there’s no water,” I say.

“Then why do I have to wear a bathing suit?”

Good question.

Once you get into the functioning sauna, it will all click and I trust we’ll get daily use out of it. You’re a cold-blooded animal and love to warm up by any blanket, heater or sun source available to you.

We’re almost nearing the end of the pandemic. What a perfect time to take off the mask, put on your bathing suit and warm up. Let’s get started before life returns back to normal and I have to reconcile why I have a big, immovable barrel in the backyard.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 76 Months Old

If I had any concern about your embrace of Italian-American culture, I have to look no further than Nutella.

You are on your way to becoming a spokesperson for the beloved hazelnut cocoa spread. You demand Nutella pancakes most mornings and some evenings. You prefer to spread Nutella yourself to ensure you have a heavy, frosting-like layer and don’t get stiffed on the thickness, which you examine at eye-level for approval.

Before Nutella, we were concerned that you ate enough most days. At infant and toddler stages you had a limitless palate. We bragged to other parents about the curries and exotic foods we could feed you. That has since diminished in these preschool and kinder years as you’ve become the pickiest of eaters. You’ll not only demand a pesto sauce over a marinara sauce on a pizza, but you’ll side-eye us if the pesto is of a certain green hue that doesn’t look like the usual brand. On the increasingly rare occasion you like the food put in front of you, you’ll take an extensive amount of time finishing a meal. You’re not a slow eater, just distracted and almost forgetful that you have food to eat.

Nutella is the antidote for the mealtime pains. You’ll eat buckets of the stuff if we gave you the chance. You’re willing to help cook the pancakes, knowing it inches you closer to Nutella. You eat quick and messy, not like the bird we dine with in the evenings. After a Nutella pancake meal we have to send you straight to the sink because your face and hands are covered. You look almost crazed, likely a side effect of the sugar.

I wrote in Matteo’s letter about how we got a new kitten, Luna. There’s a good chance that if she were brown, instead of grey, we’d name her Nutella. But then we’d just hear you ask for Nutella that much more.

We have no worries about your caloric intake now that Nutella is in the cupboad. I was silly to have bought a normal size container the first time. Now it’s on the Costco shopping list to buy by the mega pair, along with the right pesto.

Love,
Dad