Dear Miles,

The last month featured a very unusual Halloween, lots of yard work and other outside time, a major national and world event, and some more kitchen adventures.

We had an eerily warm few weeks. I wonder if I searched “eerily warm” on this site how many hits I’d get. Anyway, the end of October and beginning of November were objectively beautiful if contextually disconcerting, and you and your brothers spent tons of time outside. Your dad had you doing lots of leaf-raking, which I figured would make you very grumpy. It actually only made you sort of grumpy, and a lot of the time, you and Tobin got along very well. You brainstormed some new video game idea, and you spent a lot of time trying to put it into practice, too. I’m not sure whether you’re still in the storyboarding stage or you actually know anything about programming games, but either way, it was heartwarming to see you and Tobin working together on a project.

You and I busted our buns making your Halloween costume. It came out pretty spectacular: “The Beholder,” a character from Dungeons & Dragons. You weren’t too concerned that no one was going to know what you were, but it was still a thrill when one of your dad’s coworkers immediately identified it at an outdoor trunk-or-treat event. The bad news was that you got carsick and threw up on the pavement shortly after getting out of the car, so that particular activity wasn’t all that fun. Fortunately, your distress was short-lived, and you recovered quickly enough that you could enjoy the candy hunt in the park the next day. While it was mostly smaller kids, a few of your friends showed up, and everybody had a masked and mostly socially-distanced good time. Your friends thought your costume was impressive.

I know you’re almost too old for Halloween costumes, at least ones made by your mom, but for the time being, I still really enjoy making them with you. It’s fun to hear your ideas and go back and forth on how to implement them, and I love seeing your eyes light up when I show you a completed stage. In this case, there were a lot of eyes.

We made the costume out of things we found around the house (cardboard for the basic structure, old sheets and pillowcases dyed with leftovers from a summer tie-dye project, homemade play-doh for the teeth) supplemented with a few extras from Amazon and JoAnn curbside pickup. It turned out great, and while I can’t think of any other occasions that will require a giant pinkish-purple eyeball thing with little eyeballs on stalks, there’s no way I’m throwing it out any time soon. It’s currently haunting me every time I go through the new mudroom.

The mudroom is now fully functional, because the landing/grilling deck and stairs to the backyard are complete. We also got to enjoy our balcony last weekend, because while it isn’t one hundred percent done, it’s close enough that we had family cocktail hour there and toasted the election results.

You closely followed the election and the excruciatingly slow returns process. We knew it was going to be that way; with the record-breakingly large number of mail-in and absentee votes, it was no surprise that it took a long time to get any answers. I peeked into your room a few times and saw maps on your laptop screen as you monitored the situation. I’m proud that you’re engaged in current events, and I think you’ve learned a lot about the electoral college, swing states, voter suppression, and other valuable topics.

You’re becoming more competent every day. I’m proud of the new food preparation techniques you’ve tried through your Family and Consumer Sciences class. The Energy Balls you made were such a hit that you’re considering making additional batches. The smoothies weren’t quite so popular. We’re just not a yogurt family (except for frozen yogurt with lots of M&Ms on top). You have salsa on the docket for tomorrow, and I’m planning dinner around it, so I hope it’s good.

From leaf-raking to cooking to current events, you’re learning so much right now. I still wish you’d let me hug you more, but you’re also learning about who you are as an individual, and if that means some physical separation as you sort yourself out, I can deal with it. I think you know that I love you undyingly, and you can take the risk of sometimes being a turd to me without gambling on my affection.

Love,

Mom