Dear Matteo, 110 Months Old

Dear Matteo,

A transition is happening where you are starting to see me and your Mom as people, not just parents who take care of you and design your day. This isn’t a fast revelation and will take more years, if not decades, as your world opens up and you start to judge how we’ve navigated it to inform your own direction and decisions.

The hints are subtle but becoming more frequent. They sound like:

“Mom said that if I mowed the lawn, I’d get a pack of baseball cards, but she hasn’t paid me yet, and that’s unfair.”

“Are you working on school again or grading? What did you teach your students about?”

“You’re stressing me out about [topic], and I told you I don’t want to talk about it, so why won’t you just listen to me?”

“What are your favorite things to do when you’re bored?”

This isn’t just you being more independent, but assessments of how we act and behave. I don’t remember looking at my parents as people until I was well into my teenage years, and especially my 20s, but I’m sure I noticed earlier, which is why I’m tuning into the dynamic now.

Eliza is ahead of you on this growing perception, but she isn’t as vocal about her observations and is sly about using them to her advantage. An example of this is realizing when I’m not paying enough attention, and so she whispers to provoke you and get you in trouble. She gets caught for that sometimes, too. I don’t have to hear things to know they happen.

Not all of your signals are externalized. You can tell when I’m getting tired of throwing a ball or totally tired and need a midday nap. You can tell when I am anxious or upset and quickly stop nagging your sister to act right to see if that helps me feel better. You can tell when I’m overexcited or overjoyed. You ask if you can tickle me to force out the rare cackle.

I also think about how I can make an impression on your growing awareness, taking you fishing one-on-one, looking ahead to getting you to a Husky football game, and of course, making more plans for international travel that I am also motivated by. Sometimes I feel like we have all the time in the world, and other times I feel like I’m missing opportunities to make the most out of this life stage. Your Mom does a good job encouraging me to relax and just enjoy the time, which is the best advice.

As you get to know us better as people, you’ll probably realize that your Mom is that important unlock for our family. I bring ideas and enthusiasm. She brings poise and perspective. Maybe that’s the best lesson you can take from the people we are: we don’t do it all on our own. We lean on each other and find the balance.

Love,

Dad

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, 130 Months Old

We just returned from another “Buoy 10” trip to Fort Stevens outside Astoria, Oregon. We joined this annual tradition that our friends John and Lindsey invited us into a few years ago. The trip is part “grocery shopping,” where the Dads fish for Chinook salmon, and part “family camping,” where we hang out with a few other Gig Harbor families. Our “camp” is a cul-de-sac called K Loop, with one-bedroom, one-bathroom cabins for each family. In the grand scheme of camping, this is definitely on the fancy side.

Whenever we mix with other families, you tend to adopt a little one to take care of and be a big sister to. This time, you spent the most time with Olivia, who is probably 4 years old and loved following you around. You hung back with her on bike rides and made sure she stayed entertained. When you weren't together, Olivia would look for you and walk unannounced into our cabin asking, “Where's Wiza?”

This desire to care for someone smaller than you tracks with your interest in getting a babysitting license. I'm not sure if that's a real license because I'm not sure what civic authority would offer it, but you told me you're eligible starting at age 12. I'll have to look into that. I know you're also inspired by reading The Babysitters Club, so maybe that's where you got the idea. I told you the going rate for babysitting is $20 per hour, so when you start that first job, you can make some real money. I think I also convinced you that the math homework you dislike may be worth the effort when you get to multiply hours by a dollar rate to figure out your income potential.

When you weren't watching out for Olivia, you spent plenty of time with friends your age making movies on your iPad and building out a fort in the woods a few camp loops away. We also made several trips to the beach for time in the sand, which we swept out of the cabin for the balance of the trip.

Between my early mornings fishing (4:30 a.m. wake-up calls) and you and Matteo traveling by bike all day, I felt like I barely saw you two. That's OK because this is one of those trips where you spend time with friends and not a true family vacation where it's just the four of us. In a lot of ways, Mom and I got more downtime because you kept yourselves so busy, just checking in for meals.

Speaking of meals, we were responsible for one shared dinner and opted for homemade pizza with our portable outdoor oven and Nonna's Sunday ragù, which your Mom absolutely nailed. You could eat that sauce like soup, especially with pork roast that fell off the bone. All the parents were impressed by our bar-raising meal, and I am sure we have set expectations for a repeat menu next year.

We got away one afternoon to head into Astoria. I pushed us toward a Nicaraguan restaurant because rice, beans and fried plantains sounded so good to me, but you were less enthusiastic. We made up for it with ice cream later. We also stopped by the Goonies house, where Mom performed a “Truffle Shuffle.” We put real effort into keeping ourselves entertained and providing you some mild embarrassment. “Hey, you guys!!!”

We got back home today with a cooler full of salmon fillets and some good memories. I'm sure we'll be back next year, and you may have some more hard-earned money in your pocket to spend at the camp store.

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