Dear Matteo, 80 Months Old

A continuous challenge in parenting is finding the best way to discipline. It’s a moving target because kids grow and evolve through challenges (to be disciplined) and motivations (to be rewarded or removed).

I was talking to our friend Sean Allphin about child discipline the other day, and he said books were the motivation for him growing up. He didn’t care about being punished or grounded mostly because he loved reading and just got more time to read in his room. Finally, his mother, a school librarian of all things, took away his books to punish him and that did it. He never wanted to do wrong again.

Book removal would also be a suitable punishment for your sister, but I have a hard time imagining that we’d take a way such an important learning tool. That is, of course, unless she pushes us.

As for me, I simply didn’t want to disappoint my parents. Your Nonno would let me know if I failed him or dissappointed him and especially if I disappointed my Mom (your Grandma Vicki). It hurt more if he told me she was upset than if she told me herself. By all accounts, I was a good kid so that didn’t happen often so when I was punished it really mattered because I really screwed up.

Mom and I have struggled over the years with how best to discipline you effectively for wrongdoings and especially poor listening. We’ve taken toys away, but you don’t care and just play with something else. Verbal punishment certainly doesn’t work because you talk back and always want to get the last word in. We’ve taken away shows and movies, but you seem to know that if there isn’t a show today, there could be one tomorrow. You’re generally fearless of punishment and make sure to let us know.

We learned that screen time is the ticket to get you in line, with some important nuance. The screen time has to be related to your Kindle Fire, not just TV time in general. You and Eliza only get to use the Kindle Fire on longer road trips to the cabin or up to the mountain skiing, so it’s special occasion. We had taken the Kindle Fire away entirely before, and in hindsight I realize that was too limited for us because we’d only have one shot at taking it away for effect. We sometimes have to pile on the punishment to get you to snap in line.

Credit to your Mom, she started taking away minutes from your Kindle: “Matteo, you talked back. That’s 5 minutes away from your Kindle time.” Later, “Matteo, don’t yell at your sister, now you’re up to 10 minutes of lost screen time.” These cumulative minutes have added up to 20 before, and when we’re in the car for a next long drive, you agonize over not using your Kindle Fire right away like Eliza and really feel the loss. Eliza’s not immune either. She’s lost screen time minutes, just not as many.

There’s an unexpected benefit, too. You watch the clock and count the remaining penalty box time. You’re doing math by the minute.

All of this is to say that parenting you hasn’t always been obvious to us or automatic getting you or Eliza to desired behaviors. There’s no manual, just trial and error, success and frustration, for everyone. But the times when we get it right, it’s like magic. We’re all happy and acting right.

I share this now because you’re going to have your own trials trying to determine the best way to handle a situation, find an incentive or motivation and change behavior and not limited to parenting. You’ll get frustrated and even feel like you’re sliding backwards. But if you’re in charge, you’ll find the patience and get it right.

Love,

Dad

Dear Eliza, 100 Months Old

I have to be honest. When I committed to writing you monthly letters, I was a naive, new parent and didn’t perceive the scale of the effort. I didn’t know that you’d have a brother who I would also have to write to at the same cadence. So here we are at letter #100, and I’m so thankful for this project to connect us over time and help me reflect and document in the moment.

I also didn’t calculate how quickly you could read these letters. I always write to you as a peer, a future adult, but already at age 8 you can read these letters. Not that you want to yet. You can’t easily access webpages on your devices (thank God) and the subject matter would probably bore you anyway.

Of course, you love to read. I am so happy to have a big reader in the household. You make up for the rest of us. We couldn’t quench your reading habit with just the weekly school library visit and can’t afford to buy you books at the rate you fly through them. I learned that the hard way purchasing a small series of “The Babysitter’s Club” in graphic novel form that you completed in a weekend. That was a fast way to burn $60.

I smartened up and bought you and Matteo your own Kindle reading devices with an unlimited subscription to check out kids books. You’re flying through more of “The Babysitter’s Club” and some unicorn-themed chapter books. My only complaint is that you’ve become used to staying up reading until 10 p.m. most nights, and we firmly have to “shut things down” so that you’re not a crankpot in the mornings.

Another fun, unexpected dynamic is that you like to use your new Kindle to follow along our usual nighttime readings of the Harry Potter series. We’ve almost completed “The Goblet of Fire.” We sit side-by-side with our respective editions as I read aloud. I have to stay locked into my reading because if I miss or skip a word, you correct me. I never expected that kind of oversight, and I laugh every time it happens. I have become a better reader, I’m sure, out of fear of correction. So much for breezing through books in the interest of time or skipping scary parts. You’re all in.

As I write these letters I try not to look too far out, but on this centennial letter I recognize that I’m almost halfway done and will surely finish the series when you turn 18. Don’t worry, I can keep writing you letters from there and probably will anyway. Good habits are hard to break.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 79 Months Old

After the long wait and watching Eliza accumulate cash from her tooth fairy, you’re finally losing some teeth.

You’ve had a few bottom teeth come in behind your baby teeth, creating shark-like rows, but the first tooth finally came out with little drama. Unlike your sister, you’re willing to work your loose teeth back and forth and have no hesitation to give them a solid yank.

Eliza established that every child has their own unique tooth fairy, resulting in a large fairy universe. You excitedly placed your first lost tooth under your pillow and wrote a note:

“Hi Tooth Fairy. Can I have a rainbow and gold Pokemon card?”

The tooth fairy didn’t have Pokemon cards, but delivered some cash. I remained shocked that the going rate for a tooth in 2024 is $5. Talk about inflation.

Your tooth fairy also left a note and identified himself as Trent. Eliza was right about the personal tooth fairy assignments.

Aside from this exciting development, you’ve been having a great winter. We’ve got you playing basketball, and you’re scoring 4-6 points per game. You prefer to dribble left-handed for some reason, and we won’t stop you until you realize you’re right-handed yourself.

I’m glad we’ve got basketball going because the ski season has been dreadful. Too warm, too dry. We’ve pushed to get up the mountain anyway to make the most of our season’s passes. You’re progressing technique, skiing your first black diamonds on an icy West Face (Uncle Scott calls it “Colface") and Middle Ferks (also called “Iceberg.”). You’re linking parallel turns incredibly well and sporting a great attitude. You seem to ski better on the harder, steeper runs. On that West Face run, you took a spill and Uncle Scott caught you from sliding 50-60 yards. You got right back up and finished the run without worry. Other kids would have froze in fear or initimidation, but that’s not you. Instead, you complained that we didn’t ski it again. Ha!

Don’t worry you’ve got many more black diamonds to ski and teeth to lose, hopefully never at the same time.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 99 Months Old

When the lights go out, turn them off like Grams. We lost her earlier this month, and she went out the way she wanted: quickly, peacefully and after two active decades of retirement.

Grams lived the western Americana dream. Born in Nebraska and raised in Missouri, her mother died when she was young, so she was independent at the start. She worked at a diner on Route 66 before heading west for work with her first husband. She had two daughters, divorced, and met Gramps, who famously took a newer drug called "Valium" on their wedding day to help take the edge off marrying into the young family. He had a great time.

They had two more girls, including my Mom, who they raised in the greater Seattle area. Grams worked her way up to eventually out-earn Gramps in her later years as a collections manager for Gai's Bakery and then Carnation and judged local restaurants based upon their accounting as much as their menu.

Grams is a retirement legend, living the past 20+ years at Deep Canyon Tennis Club in Palm Desert and the last 10+ since Gramps passed. I visited often over my adulthood, crashing with them for Coachella concerts, bringing friends, babymooning with Amanda, and visiting "Gigi" with the kids these recent years. All the while, she played tennis with the men's teams like the "The Motley Crew," and hit the gym weekly. She color coordinated all wardrobes from tennis visor to shoes, of which she owned 120 pairs. She danced and partied hard, including this past New Year's Eve, just days before she passed.

Grams loved you very, very much. I remember how excited she was for Mom and I to become parents, and we babymooned in Palm Desert before you were born. She loved holding you as a baby and as a “bigger kid” she helped outfit you at the tennis club with those matching outfits. You especially took to those tennis visors for a mature look, and she was impressed by your immediate knack for hitting the ball. I am glad you got to have a relationship with Grams and though you probably won’t remember much of it, I want you to know that you brought her so much joy. We’ve got a lot of great photos and videos to look back on and remember her together.

Love,
Dad

Dear Matteo, 78 Months Old

Pokemon was the word this past holiday season. As a kid, I remember cycling slowly through Ghostbusters, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and eventually into video gaming as an adolescent. Through my adult eyes, it seems like you’re flying from monster trucks to Hot Wheels and now balancing between Legos and Pokemon, but especially Lego figures in the likeness of Pokemon.

Grandma Vicki got you (read: me) a high-difficulty Pikachu Pokemon Lego set for Christmas, and you and I spend a culmulative number of days building the set, which we still haven’t finished weeks later. The body is complete, but we haven’t started Pikachu’s head. We could be done by now if it weren’t for you receiving even more Lego sets, including more in the Pokemon category.

I am familiar with Pokemon because Zio Sergio came up with them at a kid, but I don’t quite “get it.” I definitely do not understand the game itself and can’t track with the universe and value of the cards, monetary or for the game itself.

Because I support any of your hobbies, I took you to a dedicated Pokemon store in downtown Tacoma called Metro Retro so you could spend some allowance (a new system we implemented last month where you and Eliza could earn up to $5 each weekly for chores and some personal hygiene). We spent a solid 45 minutes in the store as you paced, overwhelmed, between walls of high-value ($15-$500+) cards and action figures. We spent the most time scanning through boxes of cheaper cards ($0.50-$3) and you eventually decided on three V-Max cards you could afford. You left on a lottery-ticket winning high with cards in hand.

You’ve since been trading the cards with friends, to mixed results. The collective Dads observe and oversee the process to make sure no one cries or is disappointed, although no one of any age can decipher value other than if the card has some kind of hologram effect.

My role in this all is making sure you take care of the things you like and find valuable and have bought you some card books and cases to help keep things in good shape. The card book itself can keep you busy for hours and you reorganize the cards in categories neither you or I can explain.

Oh, and I’m also the designated Lego builder and rebuilder (in the case something goes wrong). You do your fair share but take breaks and delegate some of the harder steps to me. If you want to hang out like that, I’ll keep snapping the pieces into place.

Love, Dad