Dear Matteo, 109 Months Old

The past month has been filled with activity and making the most of what the PNW has to offer — and that’s a lot. I wouldn’t say we’ve been local tourists, but tourists might be jealous of how much we’ve packed in. A lot of the credit goes to your Mom, who has been leading the charge — and doing a lot of the driving. She tends to take the wheel on our longer trips. It’s the Midwesterner in her.

August in the Northwest means salmon and blackberries to me. They are respectively running and ripe. We spent quite a few days getting our hands purple and avoiding the prickly parts of area blackberry bushes. We’ve also spent a lot of days on the boat, with most of our luck coming just outside of Gig Harbor. I was able to get seven Chinook into the freezer in as many days, but that really only picked up during the first week of August. I was eager this year and fished too many “zeroed-out” days in July. I realized that when you commented, “Wow, we’re getting a lot of fish late in the season,” when the true fishing season was just getting started. I promise we’ll start fishing later next year!

You got even more water time at Lake Chelan with Grandma Vicki, Poppa Steve, Mom and Eliza. I had to sit this one out because of my work and teaching schedule. We were a little concerned about the air quality, which has only gotten worse since you went there because of the wildfires. Chelan and Spokane have had especially bad years. Mom told me that you spent a lot of time in the warm lake, serenading girls you met on the swim docks and paddle boards. Of course, you are famously tan this time of year and completely unphased about talking to new kids, so I’m not surprised that’s translating into some attention. Way to go, buddy! You are about two decades ahead of me when it comes to confidence with the other gender.

Going from the lake to the mountains, we took advantage of a work day I had at Mt. Rainier to spend the night at Scott and Courtney’s Greenwater cabin and head up to Sunrise for some day hiking. I wasn’t with you for the hiking, but Mom took you to Fremont Lookout, and you guys covered a lot of miles at elevation — without much whining. I did my own hiking with the American Forests crew, learning about the whitebark pine recovery work that the organization has helped lead.

Finally, we had a busy Saturday when we drove up to Aunt Rhonda and Uncle Jeff’s in Lake Forest Park for our annual Norton family reunion. My cousin Kevin’s kids, Jude and Tessa, came up from Los Angeles, so you got some great play time with them — and then a couple of days later they came out to visit us at Harstine. Kevin and I were close growing up despite living in different states, and it’s heartwarming to see a similar dynamic developing between you and your second cousins, even though you only get to see each other a couple of times a year.

That same day, we took off early from the family reunion to head to training camp for your Super Bowl champion Seattle Seahawks. We got to see their drills and scrimmages, which was objectively awesome because the fan experience during a game is so far removed from the action. This had the proximity of a high school football game, except with world-class athletes. You were really focused on getting autographs, but unfortunately practice went too long and we had to meet Grandma Vicki and Poppa Steve to catch a ride home before we could see the players. You did score some photos with the cheerleaders, though, so that counts for something!

All of this has happened in the past month, and it adds up to a pretty jam-packed summer, which is sort of the way we roll. There’s always so much to do and seemingly never enough time. But when I look back, it feels like we’ve taken advantage of all the good things we have the privilege of enjoying in this little slice of life.

That’s one of the things I love most about our summers. They are busy, sometimes chaotic, and occasionally involve way too much driving — but they are filled with family, adventure, fresh air, good food, and a ridiculous number of memories packed into a very short amount of time.

Love,
Dad

Dear Eliza, 129 Months Old

Dear Eliza,

We had another incredible Fourth of July on the island. Much of that is thanks to your Mom, who spent weeks planning everything with the "Fun Committee." This year, though, you really leaned into making the celebration special too.

You planned several head-to-toe outfits for the festivities and decorated your bike with streamers and ribbons for the parade. You weren't just attending the celebration—you were helping create it.

I don't know if Mom recruited you or if you volunteered, but you took on one of the biggest jobs of the day: face painting. That's real pressure! It made perfect sense, though, given your growing interest in makeup for everyday fun or preparing for dance recitals.

We ordered patriotic face paints, stencils, and brushes, and you spent weeks practicing on the family. I walked around for several days with red, white, and blue designs painted across the backs of my hands. The night before the holiday—also your brother's birthday—you were practicing with your friend Zoe when you accidentally broke the hand mirror you needed. The tears flowed immediately. We made an emergency call to a friend heading into town, who rescued us with a replacement mirror. Crisis averted.

That wasn't your only project. You also wanted to enter the apple pie contest, so you and Mom spent the morning making a pie with a sweet bun crust. Since Mom was busy managing what felt like half the island's festivities, I was left in charge of the oven. Between prepping the truck for the parade and running around with last-minute preparations, the pie got a little crispier than planned. Thankfully, we caught it in time, and it still tasted delicious.

The day itself was a whirlwind. We bounced from the parade to sandcastle building, rope swinging (where Matteo earned third place), water balloon tosses, and everything in between. While the rest of us wandered from event to event, you were stationed at your face-painting table for the first couple of hours after the parade, serving a long line of excited kids.

Watching you work was one of my favorite parts of the day and gave me a huge smile.

You were, dare I say, professional. You greeted each child, introduced yourself, explained their options, and gently turned their heads to help them stay still. You carefully dabbed on each color, paid attention to the little details, and never seemed rushed, even with a line stretching out in front of you. Then, with a friendly smile, you'd let them know they were finished and invite the next customer to take a seat. Mom and I made sure you took a break, but you were happy to keep going as long as kids kept lining up.

By the end of the afternoon, you'd painted a few dozen faces and even earned a couple of dollars in tips. All those weeks of preparation had literally paid off.

Sometimes big events can make you feel anxious or overwhelmed. But when you have a chance to contribute—especially by using your creativity—you become a completely different person. Instead of worrying about the crowd, you focused on the work. Instead of feeling unsure, you became confident. Parents spend a lot of time trying to help their kids find their place in the world. This time, you found yours all by yourself.

And now we have a makeup artist in the family.

I'm not going to give you much of a canvas to work with as long as I keep my beard, but my forehead and hands are always fair game whenever you want to practice.

Love,
Dad

Dear Matteo, 108 Months Old

Dear Matteo,

Happy 9th birthday! Somehow, you're already halfway to adulthood.

Instead of a Happy Birthday sing-along, let's put on a Michael Jackson track.

"Ah-hee-hee!" has been jumping out of you throughout these first days of being nine. It's like you caught a Michael Jackson cold, but instead of a surprise sneeze, you belt out a vintage MJ vocal flourish. I get it. I was raised on the Off the Wall album, which Grandma Vicki claims put me to sleep many nights with headphones on. Now that I think about it, maybe that was the beginning of my hearing loss?

Speaking of things that haven't aged well, Michael Jackson's legacy has gotten... complicated. But if you separate the art from the artist, it's hard to deny the music. The songs have once again proven timeless now that they're appealing to you.

Some of your favorites are "Human Nature," "Man in the Mirror," and, of course, "Billie Jean." I can still manage a passable moonwalk, and I've taught you and Eliza the mechanics. You two now practice regularly on the hardwood floors with your socks on.

In addition to catching that Michael Jackson cold, you also came down with a bad attitude cold (not to be confused with the song Bad). The pre-adolescent eye rolls and backtalk seemed to appear out of nowhere. You've been talking back a little more and not listening to Mom and me the first time.

We eventually decided that your new summertime habit of waking up and heading straight to the TV probably wasn't helping. So we introduced a new morning routine. Before any screens or playing, you and Eliza need to get yourselves ready, make breakfast, and write a short paragraph of reflection to start the day.

On the very first day, you dug in your heels. You absolutely refused to do the writing exercise, which meant no fun activities. I was gone for most of the day at work, so Mom had to carry the burden of this standoff herself, which wasn't fair to her.

You called me on my drive home to air your grievances, including your complaint that "Mom won't let me touch the Earth." I reminded you that you'd spent hours avoiding a writing exercise that should only take a few minutes. You may not love writing, but you're pretty good at math, so run the numbers. A few minutes of writing would exercise your brain, improve your penmanship (which definitely needs the practice), and, most importantly, show respect to Mom and me while giving you a better start to your day.

I felt pretty good when we hung up. I had even suggested that if you were frustrated, you could simply write about how you felt about the assignment itself.

When I walked through the front door, Mom gave me a look that said, "Do you realize what you've done?"

"I think I really got through to Matteo," I replied confidently.

She silently handed me the paper you had written.

You had completed the assignment... but with a shocking number of A-word and F-word references sprinkled throughout. I laughed so hard I felt like I was watching my own family sitcom.

I walked upstairs holding the paper and asked what had happened.

"You said I could use cuss words, Dad," you answered.

Now, while my hearing isn't what it used to be, I'm fairly certain I never said anything of the sort. You had taken some significant artistic liberties.

To your credit, you did revise the paper. You crossed out every cuss word with the thinnest possible line—leaving each one perfectly legible—and replaced them with the word "stupid."

That revised masterpiece is now worthy of our refrigerator and has officially earned its place in the family history books.

So naughty. So funny.

Thankfully, Mom and I were right about the new morning routine. Since we started it, your attitude has been much better. You now write thoughtful responses to prompts like, "What's your favorite place to visit?" You finish them quickly, head outside to finally touch the Earth, and spend the rest of the day playing, occasionally belting out an enthusiastic "Ah-hee-hee!" that we can hear from inside our calm-once-again house.

It's good to have your singing self back.

This is nine.

Love,
Dad

Dear Eliza, 128 Months Old

It’s the last day of 4th grade! (As always, I’m writing this letter a little later than the 10th of the month.)

Next year, you’ll be at the top of the elementary school food chain. I can tell you’re excited, and you’re ready in so many ways. You’ve come into your own style with how you wear your hair, your choice of clothes, manicured nails, occasional makeup, and even freckle stickers. You continue to grow in confidence through your art, both dance and drawing.

You wrapped up your spring dance session with a recital, performing in four numbers. You had some anxiety going into the first night’s performance, but you shook it off and nailed the choreography despite having to catch up after our European vacation. Afterward, you told us you wanted to add another class so you could perform in five dances at the next recital.

In your visual art, you started using an app that teaches more advanced techniques like realistic drawing and shading. You’ve flown through the curriculum, and as I write this, I’m looking at a detailed turtle you drew a few weeks ago that now hangs next to my desk.

Since we’re talking about progress at the end of a school year, I took a look at your most recent test scores. You’re flying high in both reading and writing—typically your strongest subjects—as well as math. Those scores aren’t everything, but it’s reassuring to know you’re right where you need to be heading into the long summer break.

Before school ended, you got a visit from your cousin Abby and her friends Lia and Ella, who recently graduated from Ball State. Schools in Indiana start and finish earlier than they do here. Your mom was thrilled to host them. We travel to Indiana regularly, but we don’t get many visitors from there, so it was a treat. It’s fun to imagine a wave of high school and college graduates from our family and friend group making their way west for graduation trips. Hopefully, this is just the beginning.

You remind us of Abby in many ways. You’re both a little quiet, highly creative, and you share similar expressions and laughs. All good things. Interestingly, Abby turned out to be the loudest of her friend group, which surprised me. The girls spent some time with us, but they also explored Seattle for a day and spent a couple of nights at the Harstine Island cabin. They were especially interested in thrift shopping and returned home with an extra suitcase full of finds.

I think Abby mostly wanted to spend time with your mom, and I’m glad you got the chance to hang out with the older girls, too. They thought you were incredibly cool—which, of course, you are.

Now that our Indiana visitors have come and gone, we’re looking ahead to a fun summer with lots of time at Harstine. You’ve built a wonderful and growing group of friends out there, and my guess is that you’ll spend much of the summer off on adventures with them, checking in mainly at mealtimes. That’s exactly the way your mom and I hoped it would be. We’re here for the encouragement, the occasional ride somewhere, and the free meals.

Love,

Dad

Dear Matteo, 107 Months Old

I left off your last letter with our trip to Italy, and I finished documenting that adventure through Greece in Eliza’s letter.

What I forgot to commend you on was your fast and enthusiastic attempt at learning the Italian language. As the saying goes, you speak your mother’s tongue, so realistically you face big odds in learning Italian with a Midwestern Mom unless you get some real immersion. Despite that, you took on Duolingo and quickly picked up a surprising number of words. Of course, Duolingo was really just more iPad time that you wanted, but I was willing to accept that compromise. I was impressed by how quickly you and Eliza learned the basics, and it reinforced a common parenting mistake your Mom and I made—not getting you into a second language earlier. At your age, you are true sponges for knowledge.

There are two language moments from the trip that I’ll never forget and need to memorialize here. First, Duolingo uses character names for practice, and one of them is Laura, which you accurately and emphatically pronounced as “Laou-ura,” complete with a slight tongue roll. It was endlessly entertaining to hear out loud leading up to and during the trip as you practiced. Second, while we were in Italy, you discovered that you really liked gnocchi but, for some reason, could never remember the name of that potato-based pasta. At the same time, you constantly saw and heard the name Peroni because, well, beer. At one restaurant along the way, it was your turn to order, and you confidently told the waiter that you wanted a Peroni. You should have seen the look on his face. We quickly realized that you meant gnocchi, but the reaction from both our table and the waiter was already in motion. I know you felt a little embarrassed—and even refused to order food for the rest of the trip—but it was simply too funny.

A couple of other memories from that trip stand out to me now that some time has passed. Looking back at your last letter, I covered what we did but not as much of the moments in between.

You have a knack for “living like a local” wherever we travel, and one example was fetching water in Rome. Although I’m sure the tap water from our apartment sink was perfectly safe to drink, we took advantage of the public fountains near our apartment to refill our bottles. You casually volunteered to head down the four flights of stairs, through two locked doors, and out onto a busy street where tiny cars and Vespas zipped by just feet away. I accompanied you each time for safety and to make sure you could manage the keys and doors, but after the first day you probably could have done it yourself. You seemed just as comfortable in that exotic urban environment as you are in our quiet suburban cul-de-sac. It was fun to watch.

Another memory from that trip was how much time you spent in the water. I worried that, in May, both the sea and the unheated pool at our villa in Crete would be too cold. You were completely unbothered. At our first apartment in Agia Pelagia, you practically sprinted into the Mediterranean. Eliza wasn’t far behind. You ran up and down the beach in ankle-deep water, moving effortlessly between the sand and the rocky sea shelves. Your Mom and I enjoyed the rare luxury of parenting from a distance, sipping Greek wine and raki while you played for hours. We occasionally had to break up a disagreement between you and Eliza over something trivial, but that was the extent of it. Later, at our villa in Maza, the pool was still too cold to stay in for very long, but that didn’t stop you from repeatedly jumping in and out. You warmed up in the second-floor hot tub, sunbathed with our adopted vacation cat, Lila, and spent a little time gaming on the PS5—a true vacation treat.

Speaking of Lila, whom you famously announced at a group dinner was pregnant, cats were another major theme of this vacation. You visited the cat sanctuary in Rome, met some of the world’s tiniest kittens at a cat adoption center in downtown Heraklion, and encountered feral cats at seemingly every restaurant in Greece. You certainly got your fill of cat time. More than once, we had to remind you that we needed to return home, where your two official pet cats were patiently waiting for you. Sure enough, as soon as we got home, you resumed your favorite hobby of tracking them down for mandatory snuggles.

As I think back on this trip, what stands out most is not the places we visited but the person you are becoming. Whether you are learning a new language, navigating a city street, diving into cold water without hesitation, or making friends with every cat you encounter, you approach the world with curiosity and confidence. You are becoming more independent every year, but what I love most is that you still bring the same joy, humor, and enthusiasm(!) wherever you go. Keep that sense of adventure for me and for the “Laou-uras” in your life ahead.

Love,
Dad