Dear Evan –

It’s true, I haven’t written lately, and just when I swore I would. I hope that isn’t too much a reflection on me. Life is more complicated than we’re sometimes able to handle, and I admit to a tendency, when faced with a problem, to let everything else fade into the background.

I wonder: Will you be the same? Will you be a focused man? You certainly focus when you’re playing, staring hard at the Duplos or puzzle, mouth open. Deep breaths. You’re definitely heading into your twos. (No surprise; your birthday was last weekend.) You talk constantly now; you get jealous when your mommy or I holds someone not you – yes, even if it’s one of the dogs; you want what you want and let us know when you don’t get it.

We haven’t yet celebrated your second birthday because you don’t quite get the concept yet. After all, getting presents is something that happens on a regular basis for you. Plus, I’m not quite ready to have a house full of strange toddlers.

I mentioned you talking all the time, and you do. “Yeah” has turned into a long “yyyAAAAASSSSS,” your newfound love of sibilants. “Okay” is still a staple of your vocabulary: “Okeeee.” Everything merits a hi and a bye, especially the moon, airplanes (you splutter on the l, which makes the word darling), helicopters. Oh! And spaceships. Your love for “Finding Nemo” has transferred to “Wall-E,” especially the spaceship sequences. In every scene, you point excitedly at the screen and shout “pia!” (which itself is slowly resolving into “spaceship”).

You’re still small, not yet 30 pounds, but two years ago you were just two pounds and almost a third. You’ll get bigger. Your feet are big, like a puppy’s outsized paws.

Oh, and you’re bilingual. Hands are manos – when you’re eating dinner and a hand gets sticky, you’ll hold it out, fingers splayed, and say “Mano! Mano!” Horses are caballos. Turtles are “tugas” (tortugas — working on that one). There’s much more that isn’t coming to mind right this second.

You still use some of the sign language, mostly “more” and “please,” but that’s falling by the wayside.

I can’t wait to take you trick-or-treating tonight. I wonder how you’ll react to the other children in costume. I sort of think you’ll edge toward me, hide halfway behind my leg, peer out and around. My heart swells when you do that. Then you look up, pull in your arms in a sort of shrug and say “Gummeeeeer.” (What I get for always saying “come ‘ere” when I pick you up.) Don’t worry, I’ll carry you.

Happy Halloween!

I love you,

Daddy