2022 was the year that we settled into our new life in Tacoma, Washington.  We killed most of the grass in our front yard and turned it into a place where we could experiment with a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, and flowers.  Sofia became the garden master, but the boys loved to help.  We spent most of our time at Red Elm Cafe and Owen Beach. 

Noah had his second birthday on June 2nd.  Noah became a toddler this year and started daycare in January.  As a pandemic baby, he was part of a group of kids who never got the experience of a pre-Covid world.  It wasn’t until halfway through the year that he even saw his teacher’s faces.  Nonetheless, he prospered in his new environment.  He went from a handful of words to too many to count.  In fact, it is now difficult to get him to stay quiet.  He is an incredibly playful child who loves cars, dinosaurs, and ice cream above all else.

Henry turned four on December 27th.  Henry blossomed so much this year.  At the beginning of the year, Henry had near zero words in his vocabulary.  Today he has hundreds (you just have to pry them out of him at times).  He started daycare and preschool in January. He moved to a more inclusive preschool in September.  He loves it.  He is known as the captain of circle time—ensuring it is never missed and sometimes taking over as the one reading to the other kids.  He loves to ride the bus, going to Owen Beach, and hang out at “Mama’s Cafe.”

Sofia celebrated the big 3-0 on January 17th.   Throughout the year Sofia transitioned from stay at home mom, to community college student, to barista.  She powered through some of the hardest classes in her Sonography prerequisites (like organic chemistry).  With only a few classes left until she could apply for the full program, she came across an opportunity she could not turn down.  The cafe where she had been doing Sunday barista shifts went up for sale.  She jumped at the opportunity and dropped out of community college.  On December 22nd, she signed the purchase agreement to take over 50% ownership.  As of the first of the year, she will be a small business owner of a cafe with six employees (Red Elm Cafe).

Richard completed his first full year as Assistant District Manager of the Olympia, Washington Social Security Administration.  He was lucky enough to start teleworking from home two days a week, making the 35-40 minute commute much easier to sustain.  He spent a good part of the year waiting for his Steam Deck as he ceded control of the Switch over to the boys.  He spends his evenings and weekends trying to turn his boys into nerds and hanging out at “Mama’s Cafe” and Owen Beach.  In January, he will take over the role of community college student from Sofia as he works towards his bookkeeping certificate.

Last Thursday night, Sofia and I snuck into the boys’ room about an hour after we put them down.  I lit up the room with the screen from my phone.  I went over to Henry.  Sofia went over to Noah.  We pulled back the covers on them and shined the light over their PJs.  We held our hands to their chests to make sure they were breathing.  They were both perfectly fine…and a little annoyed at us for disturbing their sleep.

A few minutes before that, Sofia and I were laying in our own bed.  Sofia had just gotten her phone after 26 days of fighting with Google to get them to replace her broken one.  In those 26 days, I had sent her at least a hundred videos on TikTok (I know),  Now that she had her phone, she could finally watch them.  We were both tired so we curled up and watched them together.  We were about halfway through the last video when we were interrupted.

The sound of gunfire is distinct. From afar you may mistake it for fireworks or a car backfiring.  But up close, those three sounds are very distinct.  So when the sound of about 7 gunshots erupted in the street directly in front of our house, we knew what it was instantly.  We rolled off the bed, but it was already over.  I peaked out the window just in time to see an old green pickup not 20 feet from our front door.  It drove off.

Sofia came around and handed me the phone that was dialing 911.  I stayed on the line and answered their questions until the police arrived.  When they arrived I went outside and met a few of the neighbors  After talking with the police officer, I went back inside.  Sofia and I both agreed that the likelihood of stray bullets getting to the back of the house where the kids sleep was low.  But not zero.  So we went in and checked.

That’s something I never want to have to do again.  The boys will never know until they find this post or I tell them the story in 15-20 years.  But the idea that it happened so close to them and that they were in danger of gun violence is absolutely terrifying.  It was a year ago that our car was stolen.  Although that felt violating, it was not a violent crime.  This is different.  This struck fear into me, my wife, and my neighbors.

After verifying that the kids were okay, I went back out and talked with all of the neighbors and made sure everyone was accounted for.  As I talked with everyone, the full story came into view.  There were two trucks going in opposite directions in front of our house.  As they passed each other–the green truck shot at the blue truck.  The blue truck hit the gas and hit a parked car across the street from us before taking off.  Then the green truck took off–which is what I saw.

The full picture made me less terrified.  The initial fear I had was that a truck was driving around and shooting at houses.  As the cops did the rounds at the nearby houses and cars, they found no bullets in any of them.  So no stray bullets.  We may never find out what happened.  Road rage?  Feud?  And that’s okay.  

The fact that my neighborhood was not involved, but just the location, doesn’t strip away the safety I feel.  I love my neighbors.  I love my neighborhood.  Hilltop is a community with culture.  That is part of why Sofia loves working at the coffee shop at the center of it all.  This place is amazing.  Assholes will not ruin it for the rest of us.

It is hard to describe to someone who has not been through what we’ve been through.  Today I put my three year old son down for a nap.  As I opened the door to leave, he waved goodbye and said “bye.”  When I waved back, he put his hand to his lips and blew me a kiss.  I blew a kiss back and left the room in shock.  For most other parents of a three year old, this would be like any other day.  For us, this is a milestone.

Whether my son is on the spectrum or not is up for the doctors to decide.  I’ve come to realize it matters very little.  I want to raise a happy child—and he is such a happy child.  The hardest barrier he has is a communication barrier.  He has a few signs and he will grab our hands to lead us places.  But you can only communicate so much that way.  Before February, the number of words I would consider to be in his vocabulary would have been zero.  He would surprise us every once in a while, but nothing consistent.

But over the last week or two, that has started to change.  Two things are happening.  First, his younger brother is starting to pick up words left and right.  Secondly, after a couple of false starts due to COVID, he is going to school regularly.  The love of school and the desire to do what his brother is doing seem to be combining in a way that we long hoped it would.  Within days, he is waving and saying “Hi” when we come home.  He will see a bus and say “bus” (his brother will then yell “BUS!” like it is the most exciting thing ever).

It’s hard to communicate the level of relief at hearing his voice.  It was about 18 months ago when Henry first started saying things like “Mom” “Dad “Diaper “Doggy.”  But then those words started to fade—until there were none.  It happened in the first few weeks of his brother’s life—making it more difficult for us to realize what was happening.  The slow burn of the unknown is terrifying—especially when the unknown is your child’s ability to function in the world.  

Having him say “bye” is such a tiny thing.  

But it is impossible to overstate what it means to me.

He is going to be okay.