Dear Eliza, 73 Months Old

You woke up early the other morning and walked downstairs into my office, where I was working far too early myself. You entered with a mess of hair and hands up blocking the overhead office light from your eyes. You crashed into me and said, “I need to make art.”

That is the sign of a true artist: waking up and needing to make art.

I said, “OK, what do you want to do?”

“I’m going to go paint,” you replied, and then you stumbled away as your body was still waking up. You weren’t really excited to make art. It wasn’t a chore either, but something you just had to do.

I get it. Sometimes you have to get something out of your head: an idea, anxiety, a song… art.

You painted a mermaid and got on with the rest of your day.

You’re staying busy into the fall, making a little less time for art and making you crash harder at the end of the day. In addition to the work week of school, you’re signed up for swimming and art at the YMCA and have plenty of playdates. You express your moments of resulting exhasution through outbursts towards Matteo or baby crying and squealing. Those aren’t my and Mom’s favorite moments to manage, but it’s a phase. I don’t always manage my own tiredness much better.

Last night, after swim lessons, Mom and I caved at the grocery store and got a large slice of cake for dessert. When we got home, you and Matteo dropped your faces into that cake out of some combination of excitement, hunger and being too tired to hold your heads up and eat like civilized little kids. The sugar crash was immediate. No whining session or delays to get into bed.

I’m sure you had big dreams about art as you woke up the next day with more work to put on paper.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 52 Months Old

Body language: Perhaps the most effective form of communication.

Your eyes, facial expressions, hand gestures and posture can exhibit layered tones. Your four-year-old mind is still learning all the ways to leverage body language more effectively than the volume of your voice or the limitations of clenched fists alone.

As you’ve gotten bigger and stronger, you’re able to push your way around a little more. You’ve become tempted to hit, kick and slap a family member when you’re angry about something or winding down for the night. Those actions sometimes trick me into thinking that you’re intentional about what you’re doing, and I have to remind myself that you’re still figuring out how to productively express yourself.

When we catch you flailing at us wildly like an extra in a kung fu movie, we try to say, “Matteo, tell us how you’re feeling with your voice, not your kicks,” or “Matteo, use gentle hands.”

And usually nothing needs to be said. You just want a hug or cuddle with your Mom to calm yourself down. I personally recommend the last option there.

The trick with being a strong boy and eventually a strong man is to control and manage how you are perceived and act physically, especially during stress. It’s easy to use size and strength to get your way, but it’s rarely the best solution.

While you’re in your fourth year, fire away. We’ll help you know when you’ve got it under control and when you’re over-the-top. We’ll probably tell you with body language first, and you’ll eventually get the hint and chill out. That’s the whole idea.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 72 Months Old

Happy birthday, my six-year-old!

You’ve been looking forward to this one. You wrote several birthday lists and drew several iterations of your party, cake and presents. You liked to ask us several weeks ahead of your birthday “how many more sleeps?” until the big day. I hope it lived up to the hype.

We made it an extended birthday week. Your Mom invited over all of the kids from your bus stop for a neighborhood party. We had an awesome turn out and I got to meet a lot of parents. Spiked cider is a good icebreaker for adults. We invited the Oars out to the island cabin (more on that below) so you could have a sleepover party with your friends Mika and Cici and ended your birthday with a proper present session and cake with Grandma Vicki and Poppa Steve. You scored some presents like a small robotic puppy, some art supplies and an umbrella. When I type that out, it’s a funny mix. That’s how presents work when you’re six years old.

We gave ourselves the family gift of a cabin this month, too large for a bow or for words. It’s been a long time planning and a little anxiety at the home stretch to make it happen, but we did it. I couldn’t be happier to have a place to entertain our friends and family and have a place to go to and make memories. The summers are going to be dialed! And I bet you’ll have more than a few birthdays there.

In past, pre-pandemic years, we threw some rager Halloween parties. Since you’ve been around, we traded in scary costumes for Bavarian ones, shifting to Oktoberfest birthday parties. This year, like last year, we’ve had neither big celebratoin out of caution for COVID. I hope that next year we have one or both, and we have a couple of venues to host at now. I feel like those verions of parties represented my and Mom’s lifestages and we’re entering a new, very exciting one. There will be more parties.

Happy birthday, kiddo.

Love, Dad

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