Dear Matteo, 105 Months Old

We got snowed in.

The ski season had been admittedly dismal, so when a big storm was finally in the forecast—over two feet—we were excited.

I came up on Wednesday night, a day ahead of the rest of you, planning to ski the start of the storm on Thursday with Uncle Scott. I was so excited I arrived a couple of hours before the lifts opened and was one of the first cars in the lot. Unfortunately, the freezing level was too high, and Thursday morning turned into a short session on what felt like an ice rink. Still, more snow was coming.

You, Mom, and Eliza arrived Thursday night, and we held out hope for colder temperatures and better conditions. The plan was to spend the weekend at Uncle Scott’s new cabin while they headed out to Mission Ridge for a ski race later on.

That night, the snow started falling hard. By morning, we woke up to well over a foot of fresh snow—and no power. No problem.

We had a wood-burning fireplace for heat and a generator system Uncle Scott had set up for exactly this kind of situation. With trees down at the resort, we decided to stay in that morning and wait for updates on roads and lifts.

Then we lost internet and cell service.

No power. No communication. Still… mostly no problem. Except I had work to do, and that clearly wasn’t happening. Meanwhile, the snow kept coming. By midday Friday, we had more than two feet at the cabin, with no sign of it stopping.

I started digging out the driveway to give us a chance of getting the truck out. Your Mom’s SUV wasn’t going anywhere. Even if we made it to the end of the driveway, the road hadn’t been plowed—we were officially stuck. Thankfully, we had plenty of food and running water. You and Eliza made the most of it, playing outside and building sledding runs on the hill nearby.

By Friday night, your Mom and I decided to start rationing propane for the generator. We had already gone through a couple of tanks and weren’t sure how long we’d be there without any updates on road conditions. We were roughing it—but also having a blast. You and Eliza read your bedtime books by the fire, using our phones as flashlights to stay warm.

By Saturday morning, even more snow had fallen. We were just shy of three feet in three days.

I walked to the community center and managed to get a connection on Starlink. I was able to let everyone know we were okay. I also learned that the highway and the ski resort were still closed—though by then, skiing was the last thing on our minds.

Your Mom and I decided to keep digging the driveway and give ourselves a shot at getting home that weekend. I shoveled another stretch out to the street, and soon some neighbors joined in. A group of us cleared the rest of the block together, not knowing when a plow would arrive. Meanwhile, you and Eliza were busy building snow caves, completely carefree.

After hours of digging, we felt ready to try.

We packed up the cabin and loaded the truck. Ours was the first vehicle to attempt the uphill out of the street. The F-150 Lightning proved itself. We pushed through deep snow, backing up, charging forward, and carving a path as best we could. I’ll admit—I was a little worried about pushing the truck so hard—but after a few long minutes, we made it to the top and onto the main road.

What a rush.

Driving down Highway 410 felt surreal. Familiar roads looked completely different, lined with towering snowbanks and scattered tree debris. We passed crews clearing fallen trees and carefully made our way through a single open lane back toward civilization.

In the end, we didn’t ski at all—but it turned into one of the best winter weekends I can remember.

The four of us made a great team. We adapted, worked together, and found a lot of fun in an unexpected adventure. Honestly, we may have enjoyed it more than a typical weekend at the resort.

That’s one for the family history books.

Love,
Dad

Dear Eliza, 125 Months Old

Welcome to your Tin Can era.

Over the past few months, you’ve cautiously started asking when you can get your own phone. That makes sense—some of your friends already have them for a variety of reasons. In some cases, like Bennett needing one to help manage his Type 1 Diabetes, it’s clearly necessary.

For parents in my generation, the age when kids get phones—and access to social media—is one of the most debated topics. That’s because there are real risks and behaviors that come with it. Your Mom and I have decided to wait until high school before getting you a smartphone. I expect that decision will lead to some disagreements over the next few years, and that’s okay.

At the same time, I know that tweens (that’s you) want more independence and more ways to connect with friends. I’ve been there. Your Mom can tell you about the hours-long phone calls she had with her friends growing up. And honestly, it helps us as parents too—not having to coordinate every social interaction.

That’s where the Tin Can comes in. It’s a great in-between step toward more independence and responsibility.

We ordered one for you and Matteo for Christmas, and after a long wait due to high demand, it finally arrived!

The Tin Can is intentionally simple. It’s a screenless, internet-free phone that looks and feels like an old-school landline, with a corded handset and physical buttons. It even has a dial tone and those familiar sounds when you press a number. At the same time, it’s designed for kids. You can only call and receive calls from numbers your parents approve through an app.

I’ll never forget the first time you made a call. You had to dial Grandma’s number yourself, quickly and carefully finding each number. Once it started ringing, you instinctively held the phone to your ear instead of looking at it like a video call. You introduced yourself, carried on a conversation based on what you heard—not what you could see—and without filters or emojis. Your Mom and I helped with a few prompts along the way.

After that, you called a friend with a Tin Can on a couple of consecutive nights, and you’ve received a few calls too. I have to admit, it’s a little strange not knowing who’s calling, but I also forgot how fun that surprise can be.

What I love most is that you haven’t become glued to it, and that’s exactly the point. Unlike smartphones or even iPads (which you now have), the Tin Can isn’t designed to keep you hooked. You use it when you actually want to connect, not just because it’s there.

I hope you lean into that. Spend time in real conversations. Build friendships through talking and listening. That’s something I really loved at your age—and for now, it’s your only option!

Dear Matteo, 104 Months Old

We are coming off a fantastic ski trip to Whistler.

We started the weekend at the Ballews’ for some cousin time, also conveniently cutting the drive with an overnight stay in Bellingham. I’m glad you and Eliza get along so well with your cousins. You made home movies on the iPad and spent a lot of time on the punching bag.

We hit the road from Bellingham the next morning, right in time for a snowstorm that blanketed the mountains with a fresh layer of snow. We got after it upon arrival and had so much fun that first day, skiing mostly on the Whistler side. We went to Samurai Bowl, our favorite restaurant in the village, and slammed Korean fried chicken, rice, and soup to end a great first day.

Because of the storm during this otherwise low-snowpack winter, the lines the next morning to get on the gondola at the base were long—and I mean blocks long. A staffer told me he hadn’t seen morning lines that long in the 13 years he’d worked there! Thankfully, those Canadians know how to move crowds, and we got on the Blackcomb gondola in just 45 minutes. That’s like a fast Disneyland line.

We stayed on the Blackcomb side that day and dealt with the longer lines. We also took our time and ate waffles at the famous Crystal Hut. It’s hard to beat loaded waffles on the mountain. What a treat. You and Eliza kept great attitudes as we skied a long day before heading back to the hotel, packing up, and meeting Mike and Jen at their swanky Four Seasons condo, where we stayed the rest of the trip. We took advantage of the awesome pool, hot tubs, and free treats throughout the day.

That high-end Four Seasons service is something else—especially the ski valet. Because the Four Seasons is a decent walk from the Blackcomb base, they actually keep your skis, boots, and poles at a facility right at the base. You just walk over, give your name, grab hot chocolate and baked goods while they put your warm gear out. The staff even offered to put on ski boots for you, which we declined. That’s just too much help. At the end of the day, you drop your gear off again, put on your walking boots, grab more drinks and treats, and head back to the hotel. I’m telling you, it doesn’t get much better.

I know you had a blast at Whistler because of your great attitude—especially skiing an afternoon with Mike and me when we went up the Glacier chair and skied a lot of black-diamond moguls. Although our legs were cooked by the end, you said multiple times you weren’t sure if those runs should be blacks or blues because you had such an easy time with them. Don’t get too overconfident on those runs. We can always improve our skills getting down.

You also got a little confidence check when you fell on an icy flat spot and hurt yourself enough to slow down for the rest of the afternoon. You never know when you’ll take a hit on hard runs or easy ones, so stay alert.

This was also the last ski day on your shorter skis. You’re growing in height and ability quickly, so it’s time to move you onto some new-to-you Atomic Bent Chetlers that should help you ski even better and with more stability at speed.

Fresh powder, good food. What a great family weekend.

Love,
Dad

Dear Eliza, 124 Months Old

You’ve always been a voracious reader, and keeping enough books around for you has become a challenge. Mom has started buying entire series at a time just to stay ahead. You’re now on your third Warriors arc — book three — and recently another book joined the shelf: The Amazing Generation: Your Guide to Fun and Freedom in a Screen-Filled World.

Aunt Courtney recommended it to us a couple of weeks ago. She bought it for the twins, who had early exposure to smartphones while managing Bennett’s Type 1 diabetes. She said the book helped them understand why apps and games are built to be so compelling — and sometimes harmful. We picked up copies for you and Matteo right away.

It’s a companion to The Anxious Generation, which, in simple terms, argues that phones and social media can quietly pull people away from each other — and that adults often protect kids from real-world risks while underestimating digital ones. I read it late last year and it resonated with me immediately. Mom and I have decided to keep you phone-free until at least high school and off social media well beyond that. You do have some internet access on your iPad, though mostly for games and the home movies you like to make.

You read the book quickly and seemed to understand the important part — that many apps are intentionally designed to keep you coming back. It also made me reflect on how often you and Matteo try to get our attention while one of us is looking at a screen, and how easily a phone can become a barrier between people in the same room. I try to put mine away the moment you start talking to me. Even when I have a reason for checking it, I know that reason rarely matters as much as the person in front of me.

Because the online world is coming toward you quickly — and because your friends are growing up with their own devices or older siblings — we also decided it was time to talk honestly about where babies come from. We wanted you to hear it clearly from us rather than piecing it together elsewhere. I won’t repeat the details here, but I’ll never forget your reaction a few minutes in: “Do we have to keep talking about this?” Completely fair — and very funny.

Some parts of growing up feel awkward to talk about with your parents, but they matter. Eventually you’ll compare notes with friends who are wondering the same things. We just want you to have better sources than guesses, the internet, AI, or whatever an algorithm decides to show you. When you’re unsure what’s real or what to believe, you can always come to Mom and me. We’ll listen, answer honestly, and figure it out with you.

Love,
Dad

Dear Matteo, 103 Months Old

The mullet is gone. Mom finally convinced you it was time to go shorter in the back for a new look, and you went along with it. Maybe that’s because you’re moving out of the baseball phase? I took you to the barber, and your mom couldn’t wait to see you, so she showed up with donuts — as an excuse. She was so excited she actually shrieked when she saw you. There’s nothing quite like a mother’s affection for her boy.

Looks aside, the real change this month has been the arrival of yet another pet: Mango. The marbled black-and-orange cat began showing up around the house a few weeks ago. She (?) may be the most vocal cat in existence — low-pitched, rapid-fire meows. She also doesn’t really want to be petted or held, just heard. Mango looked healthy, so we assumed she’d escaped from a nearby house or was a new outdoor cat. After asking around the neighborhood, we learned she does have a home, but apparently not one she likes to frequent because of an aggressive dog.

You and Eliza started feeding the cat (against my counsel), so now Mango is a permanent fixture on our front porch. We’ve seen her there at all hours of the day and night. Greta once barked at midnight because she heard Mango outside. Our other two cats, Luna and Mona, know she’s on the other side of the front door and stare curiously whenever she meows. Fortunately, none of our actual cats have escaped to try to meet her. I suspect they’d probably get along, but I don’t want to learn that the hard way.

I don’t expect Mango to fully integrate into the family. She’s a perfectly good outdoor cat, and honestly so obnoxiously loud I don’t think we could live with her. Maybe that’s why the neighborhood family keeps her out? We also cannot take on another cat. At this rate we’ll have a dozen by the time you move out — and guess who will still be living with them afterward.

I can’t deny your tremendous love for animals, but I can deny how many we house at once.

Love,
Dad