When you’re having fun…

16 Mar

Baby girl,

As you get older, days begin to fly by, and before you know it, weeks turn to months, and months turn to years. Before Arlo was born, I had all the time in the world to write him letters; but after he was born, that time was cut in half. By the time you came along, Arlo had just turned two and I had a newborn at home, so it became harder then ever to write to you as much as I’d like.

Since I wrote to you last, you’ve changed so much. You started to push yourself across the floor, and roll over. Some times you’ll even hold your own bottles. When you started trying to grab our food, we took that as an interest in eating solid foods. You struggled on your first try, but you quickly became a master, and now eat on pace with someone trying to break a record for the fastest time for eating a smushed banana. You’re sitting up on your own, and you just had your lower-left front tooth break through.

Each of these steps are completely monumental and deserve their own dedicated letter praising you for your brilliance on mastering all of life’s little puzzles. But for now, a paragraph will have to do, because most nights and mornings I’m too busy holding you and giving you tons of kisses, and chasing your brother around in circles (often at the same time). I can’t even believe where time has gone. I woke up one day to change your diaper, shortly after bringing you how from the hospital, and found a six-month-old little girl, giggling, bright eyed, and squirmy as can be.

You’ve still got your adorable little pixie haircut you were born with, and are only now just growing into, although we’re still not sure if your blonde or strawberry blonde. You also still have your squishy little cheeks, which i love to kiss. You are such a happy baby who genuinely seems to love people. You search for eye contact, and when you find it, you smile. When the person smiles back, you smirk, showing off your dimples, and then let out a little giggle.

You’re still trying to talk, but the sound is now more akin to a dolphin or blue whale, than a cat fight. Even though we’ve already gone through this with Arlo, I can’t seem to remember the milestones. I’m tempted to go back and read my letters to him to find out when you’ll be crawling, or talking, when you’ll venture out for your first steps; but you’ll undoubtably be your own woman and will get to these things when you’re ready.

As cliché as it sounds, it seems like only yesterday you were born, but when I think back, I can barely remember life before you arrived. One night your mom made the comment, “I didn’t realize something was missing, until she arrived. Now we’re complete.” We are.

I love you so much, my baby girl.



The Specialist

6 Feb

Hey baby girl,

When you were first born you were having a tough time eating. One of the doctors in the hospital, as well as a lactation specialist your mom went to see recommended we have your tongue clipped. Well not actually your tongue, but that piece of skin underneath your tongue.

In some cases that strip of skin is longer, stopping the baby from sticking its tongue out; which both prevents them from latching on during breast feeding, and making a proper taunting face. We were told it could correct itself, or possibly you’d have to have the procedure done when you’re older if you were having problems with speech.

We held off on making any decisions until we talked with your doctor, who we absolutely love. Much as I suspected, this was an optional procedure which he thought was currently being overprescribed. We opted not to do it, and in time you mastered breast feeding, bottle feeding, and you’re currently following in your brother’s foot steps by attempting to concur the spoon before 5 months of age.

The only medical concern we really had, was your eye. Nearly from the first day you were born, your right eye would get all goopy, and often time in the morning it would be completely crusted shut. You’d scream every morning as we’d have to clean your eye with a warm rag, and it seemed to be getting worse with each passing day. The doctor told us this was the result of a clogged tear duct, which would fix itself in time when your tears came in. If we wanted it cleared out sooner, we had the option of taking you to a specialist to perform a minor operation to unclog it. We weren’t interested, instead waiting on nature to take its course.

Around the time we brought you home from the hospital, your brother brought a stethoscope home from daycare. He began proclaiming he had a medical degree and began listing to everyone’s heart beat, immediately delivering bad news across the map, “You’re sssick,” he’d shout with glee.

One night he placed the stethoscope on your chest, then looked up with a puzzled expression on his face. He slowly cocked his head back, then quickly thrust it forward, delivering a devastating head butt to your dome. You instantly burst into tear-less hysterics.

Nearly four months later, as we does every night, your brother emerged from the bathtub and put on his bear towel (a brown towel with a hood and ears). Then, as is his routine, he instructs whichever parent who gave him the bath that he would like to go scare the other parent by growling like a bear. On this particular night I was holding you on the couch feeding you a bottle, when your mom and Arlo walked into the room. 

“RRAAAAARRRRRR,” called out your brother, in an especially loud growl.

You instantly started wailing, and as I stood up to cuddle and comfort you, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—a tear, rolling down your cheek. The next morning, your goopy eye was gone.

A few nights ago, the doctor came to see you again. He held his pretend stethoscope to your chest, and with a sheepish grin, he said, “She’s healthy.” Then he added, “I love Elliott.”

What can I say, modern medicine is amazing.




Defining Love

19 Jan

Hey Boo Boo,

Lately you’ve become so inquisitive about vocabulary. Usually you sit and listen as we go through our bedtime ritual of reading a pile of books, stopping us only to comment on things you see on the page, or to chime in with all of the lines you have memorized. But in the last few weeks, every time you pipe in, it’s only to ask what each and every word means.

Although this new hobby of yours is most prevalent at bedtime, you’ve also begun to stop people in mid sentence to clarify what a particular word means. Just the other morning, on our way to big-kid school, I was singing you songs, as usual, when you stopped me.
“Daddy, what’s ‘hurrah’ mean.”
“It means, ‘yeah!’ Or ‘I’m excited,’ or ‘this is fun!.’

You seemed satisfied with my answer, so I continued on.
“The ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah…”

“Daddy, what’s ‘marching’ mean?”

“It means they’re all walking together in a nice line.”

I’ve sung this song to you countless times, but not once have you ever asked what any of those words mean.

Night after night you’ll ask about different words, or ask your mom or me what the other person was just saying. I’ve learned that when you do this, you’re not asking for a repeat of what they just said, but rather an interpretation into words that you understand. “What Dad just say?”

After a summer of going to visit a few farms, you’ve become a bit obsessed with tractors, and somehow full moons were also lumped in this obsession. Anytime someone asks you what you dreamt about, it’s the same answer every time, “Tractors and full moons.” The other morning you asked me what I dreamt about, and I responded, “I dreamt about you and Elliott.”

“No, no, no,” you quickly retorted. “You dreamt about tractors and full moons.”

Since you love full moons so much, I recently took you over to the window before bedtime, to look at a full moon. You got very excited, and then said, “Look, there are two full moons!”
“No, I said, you’re seeing a reflection.”
“What’s ‘reflection’ mean?”
“It means that there’s really only one moon, but you’re seeing it twice… because it’s reflecting off of the glass. I mean, it’s when something can be seen in something else…”

I heard your mom start to laugh at my explanation, from the bottom of the stairs.

“I can’t really explain what ‘reflection’ means. I’m sorry, buddy.”

Laying in bed that night it occurred to me that I’ll never be able to tell you or Elliott what you both mean to me, how much I love you, or how much you changed my life in the best possible way. There are just some things that I’m incapable of articulating… like the meaning of the word “reflection.”



Roadmap for Growth

12 Jan

Hey buddy,

You seem to be putting together a list of things you plan to do when you get big. Or as you would say, “When my get big!”

Here’s your current list of things you plan to do…

“When my get big my…”

• Going to grown a big blue beard.

• Going to drive a digger.

• Going to get a big bike like Daddy.

• Going to pass a beer back and forth with Daddy, and say, ‘Ahhh!’

I have a similar list I’ve been keeping, and I call it, “Things you’ll realize when you get big.”

• You’ll realize that banana is not in every flavor of yogurt. Currently, and for quite some time, banana yogurt has been your favorite. The problem is that it only comes in a six pack, three banana, and three strawberry. In order to get you to eat the strawberry, we have to lie and say that any yellow on the packaging indicates that there are in fact bananas inside. On yogurt packaging without yellow, it can be tough to sell you on the banana myth. 

• You’ll realize it’s okay to eat or drink out of bowls, plates, or cups that are not blue. Currently, if it’s not blue, you don’t want to have anything to do with it.

• You’ll realize that chapstick is meant to be applied to your lips, then placed back in your pocket with the cap on. Currently, you use chapstick to continually trace the lines of your lips and face over and over again. You also take little bites out of it, lose the cap, and then place it in a bin of your toys. The other day your mom gave you a sip of her peppermint tea, and you asked, “Is dat chapstick?” Days later, in your new pretend kitchen that Santa Claus brought you, you handed me a cup and said, “This is permanent tea.” I looked at you, quizzically. “Whassa Mama call it? Permanent tea? Peppermint tea! Dis peppermint tea.”

The last thing on my list, is that when you get big, I hope you’ll realize how much I love you, and what an absolute blast I have being your Dad.

Love you, buddy,



Cats in the cradle

12 Jan

Hello Elliott Mae,

It seems like, in the past few weeks, you’ve finally woken up! When I grab you in the morning, and once your eye’s have had a chance to focus, you give me the biggest smile. You have the most adorable little cheeks and dimples, and now that you’ve learned to smile, it seems to be about the only thing you want to do.

You’ve also begun communicating. You’ll lay on your back and try so hard to talk to us. Your mom says it sounds just like cats fighting, and in reality, that description is pretty accurate.

And while you are so happy and talkative, that is only true when the TV is off. If someone is watching TV, you’ll do acrobatics to position your head so that you can catch a glimpse of the glowing box. On Saturday and Sunday I let your bother watch “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” You were both sitting on my lap, and when I looked down and you, were staring directly at the TV. I put my hand in front of your eyes to see if you would react, and sure enough, you reached out and tried to pull my hand out of your way. Needless to say, we’re not letting you watch TV, but pretty hilarious that at three months, you have a longer attention span for watching football than Arlo does.

Your other new favorite activity is dancing. We have a book where a little girl dances the Cucamonga with her bear. Arlo wanted to know what the dance looked like, and although I don’t know, I used you to demonstrate, flailing your arms to an imaginary beat. You loved it! Now if we hold your hands, you try your very best to do an Elvis impersonation by standing on the tips of your toes as you swing your hips and flail your arms.

Some days when I get home from work you’re just wrapping up your happy time and ready for a nap. I bundle you up, and nuzzle your head in-between my shoulder and my chin. Often times your mom will tell me, ‘You know you can set her down once she’s asleep?’ Not a chance, I know these long cuddles can’t last forever, so I’m enjoying them while I can! 

I love you so much,



Tricks, but mainly treats

21 Nov

Hey buddy,

It’s nearly Thanksgiving, which is crazy, because that means christmas will be here before I know it. Just yesterday it was summer, filled with 90-degree days, then I blinked and it was autumn, time to carve pumpkins and go trick or treating.

For Halloween you were Captain America, and an amazing one at that; you were a true Steve Rogers doppelgänger with your blonde hair and bright hazel eyes. It was your choice to be Captain America, and then you decided that mom would be Batman, I would be Spider-man, and Elliott would dress up as Superman. I lobbied to be Iron Man, and you acknowledged my request, but insisted I be Spider-Man.

For your big-kid school, what you call your new daycare, we went on a Halloween parade where we handed out candy to people on Alberta, telling them, “Happy Halloween.” At the end of the parade your mom gave you a lollipop, and you absolutely loved it.

When you woke up from your nap, you were on a mission to score another lollipop. I explained to you the concept of trick or treating, and that people give you treats, you were in. At the first house, you said “Trick or treat,” and then a person dressed as a very scary zombie presented you with a piece of candy. You took the small candy bar, and then with a completely puzzled look on your face, you looked up to the zombie and said, “I want a lollipop.” The man laughed and guaranteed you’d probably find one along the way.

A few houses later, you got your lollipop and promptly made it clear that we would go no further, until that sucker was in your mouth. After that, you walked up to many houses and said, “Happy Halloween,” waved, and then turned to leave. When the people offered you a treat, you’d say, “No thanks, I’ve got a lollipop.”

You know what you want, that’s for sure. When you were a baby,  I used to tell you, “I love you tons!” Then somewhere along the line I started saying “so much,” and your mom took over tons.  Now if I say “I love you tons,” you immediately say, “No, no, Daddy! Daddy ‘so much,’ Mommy ‘tons!'” It never fails that you’ll correct me if I express my love for you in the wrong metric.

You’ve also begun testing your boundaries. We’ve recently decided not to focus on your behavior if you do something like hit the dog, or color on the wall, we just say “oh-oh, time for a timeout,” instead. We put you upstairs for two minutes and typically you’re good as new. But you now understand what earns a timeout, so often times you’ll stand behind one of us, and say, “What’s my doing?” To which we respond, “I hope you’re not pulling the dogs tail, because that would be a timeout.” You then giggle like crazy. Recently you even mocked our inflection perfectly, and giggling, you said “uh-oh, time for a timeout.”

Although you like to test how far you can push it, you also like to rat yourself out, “My hitting Dexter,” you’ll inform me.

“I hope it wasn’t hard, that would be a timeout,” I’ll respond.

“It was hard,” you insist.

You’ll then instruct me just how you want your room set up for your brief stay in the pen,”noise machine off, light on, blinds closed, door open, please, Daddy.”

Terrible twos or not, we still see far more of your sweet side that anything else. A few weeks ago while gardening together, you walked up behind me and then began to pat my back.

“Sorry, daddy!”

“For what?”

“I just dumped dirt all over your back and now I’m wiping it off.”

You’ve got such a funny sense of humor, and have begun telling Mom, “I’m silly like Daddy.” You’re so full of energy, and curiosity, and raw emotion. At times it all gets wrapped around itself until you crumble into a sobbing ball. But I even love these times, because often they lead to some really great cuddles. And more often than not, those turn into a giggle fit and ear-to-ear grins.

I love you so much,



Like father, like daughter

21 Nov

My little Elliott Mae,

I’ve got some good news, and some bad news; but in a world constantly struggling not to get caught up in the negativity of it all, let’s choose to first focus on the positive side of things.

You are such a happy little baby! Although you are typically incredibly sleepy, you are beginning to open those deep-blue eyes of yours and start to take in the world around you. You’ve started to smile quite a bit, especially for your Mama. You two will carry on long conversations where you let out a variety of squeaks and squeals amid flashes of smiles and your little dimples.

The other great news, your brother has become your biggest fan. He still doesn’t like others to hold you for too long, minus your grandparents, but he’s incredibly sweet to you and will not go to bed without giving you a hug and kiss. He will literally drop anything he’s doing to rush over and try to comfort you, if you’re crying, or if you’re in the bed he crawls on top of you and begins singing to try and comfort you.

We still don’t know what color your hair is, or who you look like more, but that doesn’t matter,  you’re so adorable. But now for the bad news… There is one feature you clearly inherited from me—your butt .The reason it’s so painfully obvious, is because it’s missing. Just like your good old dad, your back makes a smooth transition to your thighs, without so much as a slight change in elevation. I’m really, really, sorry, but the good news is, I’ll buy you as many belts as you’d like!

See, no reason to focus on the negative, the good news is that you’ll have endless amounts of belts, and who wouldn’t love that?

I love you so much, my little squirt!

Love Dad



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