Dear Tobin,

When you were born, I wanted to call you Toby.  It really never caught on—your usual nickname is Tobes.  Now that I’m accustomed to it, Tobes does sound pretty good on you, but I always thought Toby would be such a cute nickname for a roly-poly guy with sweet little round cheeks.  Nobody agreed, so there we aren’t.

Still, sometimes I call you Toby (or Toby-heart) as a private name just between us.  You like it.  You’re halfway through your sixth year now, which is hard to believe, since seven sounds so old, but you like to revert to little-boy things sometimes.  It’s when you’re extra tender and cuddly that I call you Toby, and it makes me remember the little bald head and constant smile you had when you were small.  Now it’s hard to imagine you without your signature curls, but your smile has stuck around.

School continues to go well for you.  You still don’t enjoy getting up in the morning—in fact, today, you flopped onto the floor, wrapped up in a blanket as usual.  I asked you if you wanted a juice in your lunch or if you wanted to buy milk at school, and I got no response.  I had to go prod you with my foot, because you were out cold on the hardwood floor.  Once you get going, though, everything seems great.  You tell me that your two best friends are Ben and Aiden.  You’ve had a couple of playdates with Ben, and we’re going to have to get Aiden’s contact information to set something up with him, too.  The teacher sends home a weekly newsletter that includes a couple of pictures of what the class is doing, and I’d say about 80% of the time, you’re in the pictures.  I don’t know if you’re a camera hog or she just thinks you’re as photogenic as I do.  I look forward to talking to your teachers about your progress at your parent/teacher conference next week.

You and your dad have been having fun at basketball, too.  I haven’t been to a game yet this session, but I plan to go next week.  I think you’ve really improved—when we went to Tot Time a while back, you joined in a game with some other kids and were sinking baskets like it was no big deal.  You asked to do baseball again this spring, so I signed you up for that.  It will be interesting to see how your sports preferences evolve.  Soccer has kind of fallen off your radar (maybe because it was the sport your dad was least interested in coaching), but you seem to like basketball a lot.  You and your dad like to watch the Hawkeyes on TV, and you even had a special date with him to attend a game last weekend.

You’ve been craving one-on-one time with each parent lately.  I’ve gotten a couple of notes from you asking for special dates.  It’s hard for me to do that, since I always have another kid or two with me, but we’re going to have to find some time to do it.  Your current plan for us is to go to the library, then the Natural History Museum, then get frozen yogurt.  We might have to pick two.

Yesterday your dad was sorting out the details of a work trip he’s planning to take next month.  It’s a ways off yet, not until after spring break, but it seems to be firmly on your mind.  You’ve been asking about it, seeming sad about the idea of him going.  It’s just for a few days, and you’re excited about extra screen time (the only way I’m going to be able to survive without a co-parent), but you seem worried too.  It will be okay.  I can’t promise you any one-on-one time during that period, but we’ll find ways to make it special.

Apparently you’ve become quite the master of the video game Legend of Zelda.  You and your dad and Miles all play it, and even though I don’t understand the details, from what I hear you’ve accomplished some goals that nobody else in the family has achieved yet.  Just think how good you’ll be after the extra screen time when your dad is gone.

You’re still funny and enthusiastic and high-energy.  You have your moments of ennui (the hot water ran out during your shower last night, and it was the end of the world for about ten minutes), but you always spring back, cheerful as ever.  You relish the joys of life, and even though you and your brothers sometimes clash, the night always ends with hugs.

Your current favorites:  Legend of Zelda, running around in minimal clothing, the cookie butter cookies from Trader Joe’s, your school friends, bedtime cuddles, and dancing around in your towel after a shower.  Sometimes it’s without a towel.

I love you, my special Toby.  I’m glad you’re learning and growing and kicking butt at video games, but you can always be little with me if you want.

Love,

Mommy