Because I enjoy torturing myself, this is the second installment of my unofficial “they’re so cute they make me incredibly homesick, and no amount of cake can fix it right now” series.

Meet Mattia, or Mattie for short. She’s Brian’s younger sister, but don’t tell her that. She’s convinced she’s older, wiser, stronger, and tougher. And that she has super powers that are impervious to any big brother schemes.

She’s also a natural swimmer. I watched this little three-year-old swim more than 25 meters across, into the deep end of a pool, blow a few bubbles, then turn around and swim back. It was crazy. And she did it all afternoon, too.

At three, she has more than enough self-confidence for someone twice her age. Or even ten times her age. Her mom once tied her hair back, and Mattie started complaining. She said that the ponytail took away her curls, and plaintively cried, “I’m not me anymore, mommy.” Needless to say, the curls were set free.

She’s the only girl in her pre-school class, and all the boys take direction from her. She decides who sits where, depending on who she wants next to her that day. And, to a person, the boys quietly comply. I’m not sure if it’s because of the sheer force of her personality, or if they simply will do anything to please this adorable little girl.

Yeah. I bet her dad can’t wait for her teenage years.

For now, he can continue enjoying his little girl like this, when even her pouts are cute. And when the only man in her life is her poor, defenseless father who is putty in her hands. Talk about being wrapped around someone’s little finger. And a three-year-old finger at that.

Then again, who can blame him?

I have problem. A very, very serious problem. See this little guy here?

His name is Brian. He’s six years old. His dad and I are first cousins, and his mom is like a long-lost sister to me.

So here’s my problem: Brian is just too far away from me. More than 8,500 miles, to be exact. There’s just no way to make that distance even appear shorter. Not even if I expressed that in flight hours. Unless you love flying and don’t mind spending anywhere from 20 to 24 hours on a plane. Anyone? Anyone?

Didn’t think so.

Just last week, his mom sent an email saying that Brian told her he missed me.

Then he told her that he really liked me because:

1. he thought I was pretty (uh … he’s obviously biased because I built Lego robots with him – more than once, I should add)
2. I played the piano
3. I played video games with him (which, once again, supports the bias in #1)

Brian obviously already knows at the young age of six that the way to a woman’s heart is to tell her that you think she’s pretty. And that she can pop those Winnie the Pooh video game balloons like no one’s business.

Goodness gracious. Those cheeks. My hands are already pinching the air. It’s a reflex action. I can’t help it.

And those eyes. Those mischievous little twinkling eyes that always look like they’re up to something naughty. Look at me. I’m already smiling back.

Speaking of smiles:

You something else? He cleans up pretty nicely, too.

I swear. This kid will be the death of me. A death I will have to die fourteen more times, because each niece and nephew is absolutely so adorable that it has to be illegal to have that many in a single family. It’s got to be either a crime, or a record of some sorts.

And no, I will not be entertaining offers to do “Ivoryhut + 15″ on cable anytime soon. Because let’s face it. Who’d want to watch a grown woman build Lego robots, play Winnie the Pooh video games, and rock out children’s tunes on the piano all day? Anyone? Anyone?

Didn’t think so.