Dear Tobin,

You are a person who really connects with other people. I have a friend who has a son close to your age, and she invited us to his outdoor birthday party this weekend. You’ve never met the kid, but when I told you they were renting an ice cream truck, you were all about it. You said, “It’s always a little awkward to go to a party for your parent’s friend, but hey, I can handle it.” I admire that about you so much. In your shoes, I would have said no way. I’m nervous around strangers and never feel confident in social situations unless it’s with friends I know well. But you are so natural and ready to jump into anything.

Likewise, you’re kind and thoughtful. You and Callum torture each other a fair amount, but today he was sick, and you were so worried about him. You checked on him many times and told me how concerned you were about him. It’s strange to have a sick kid—we’ve been so careful about safety precautions ever since COVID came on the scene that we haven’t even had colds. Callum ended up with some kind of stomach bug, possibly from his bad habit of putting his hands all over the kitchen floor somewhere between washing up for dinner and eating dinner. He seems to be getting better now, which I know will be a relief to you.

You’re always ready to help with projects. Skitter came and helped us build an electric fence, and you did a good job pitching in on post-driving and leveling. The electric fence is complete now, and though I have been too nervous to touch it to find out if it’s working, it seems like it probably is. We’ve had tons of rain lately, and it was muddy work. It’s also prime gnat season in our creekside neighborhood, but you were brave and tenacious. Your dad had the idea that you should do some kind of summer job or apprenticeship with the contractor who coordinated our home addition. This summer probably isn’t the right time, but I can see you being good at that. The trick for you would be finding the discipline to actually get work done rather than sitting around chatting with the crew all day.

You also helped out with a recent music project. We had a Family Folk Machine open mic event, and I was scraping together some inspiration from sounds I could make with household objects. As I was working in the kitchen, you came in. My first reaction was to put aside my own work and see what I could do to help you (it would probably be snack-related). Instead, since I didn’t have a clear vision for what I was doing anyway, I decided to pull you into it. You drove a remote-control car around the kitchen in a rhythmic fashion, clicked your Rubik’s Cube to the beat, and spun around in circles. In the end, it might not be the greatest work of art ever made, but it was fun to do. I also like the idea of thinking of my kids as part of my creative process, not an obstacle to it. Some tasks require privacy and focus, but some of them benefit from the enthusiasm of a curly-headed Rubik’s Cube clicker.

I’ve noticed lately that you seem to have grown and matured a lot in recent months. Mubby mentioned it too. It will be interesting to see how all your classmates have changed over the year-plus that it’s been since I’ve seen them. Nine has been a big year for you, and it’s nearly unfathomable that you’ll turn ten around the time school starts in the fall.

Speaking of school starting, we’re once again in a conundrum. We’d planned for you to attend school in person in the fall, under the assumption that the school district’s mask mandate would be a reasonable safety precaution until you can get vaccinated, which will probably begin in September or October. Now, with all local mandates struck down by the Governor, I’m not so confident. The school district will be offering online education again next year, with the potential to switch to in-person after the first trimester. I am hoping infection rates continue to drop and we’re able to feel confident sending you and Callum to school in the fall. It would be a big hassle to continue online learning. You really did great at it, and I have to give you a lot of credit, but I know you are longing to get back to your friends. When I mentioned the possibility of online for one trimester, though, you didn’t immediately hate the idea. I appreciate your flexibility and maturity. We’ll keep an eye on things and hopefully come to a solution that addresses your academic, social, and health needs.

We had a weird dinner schedule last night, because Miles was busy with Geek Club, you needed to eat early to make it to taekwondo on time, and Callum wasn’t feeling up to eating. It’s not often that your dad and I share a meal with just you. It was certainly a different dynamic, without the smack-talking that goes on between you and your brothers, but it was still funny. You have a contagious laugh and you find delight in the silliest things, which made for an entertaining meal. With the diminished opportunities to go places and do things, we haven’t been able to do the one-kid outings we used to do. I hope soon we’ll be able to start doing more of them again. That’s one reason I like to invite you out on walks or jogs on weekends, because you’re energetic and are actually a pleasant person with whom to do active pastimes.

On Saturday, you joined me for a walk around the neighborhood, and as we strolled, a four-leaf clover caught my eye. For most of my life, I wasn’t very good at finding them. I often felt frustrated by that fact, since my mom (aka Mubby) had a knack for it, and I was envious. I’ve found more four-leaf clovers in the last nine years than I found in the thirty-odd years before you were born, and nearly every time I find one, you’re with me. In fact, the first one that I specifically remember finding was when I was pregnant with you. Last weekend, as I leaned down to pick the four-leaf clover near our neighbor’s sidewalk, I noticed another. You bent down and looked as well, and between the two of us, we found six four-leaf clovers. You even found one with five leaves. We brought them home and pressed them in my big dictionary, which had previously been used to keep the couch from banging into the wall. No offense to dictionaries—I like them a lot, but it’s much easier to look up words online. In any case, the dictionary still clearly serves a purpose. Some day in my dotage I’ll be looking through my books, open the dictionary, and end up with a lapful of Kleenexes with four-leaf clovers pressed inside. I will think of you, my Tobin, and I’ll smile.

Your current favorites: taekwondo in the park, video chatting with friends, chips and salsa, Starbursts, anime, talking about anime even though no one else in the family knows what you’re talking about, and generally being cheerful. Spring is the perfect time for you, because it’s when you can get out and see friends, run around in circles without knocking over household objects, and dance like a maniac.

You’re a hoot, Tobin, and even if I never find another four-leaf clover again, I’ll still consider myself lucky to have you.

Love,

Mom

Dear Callum,

It’s springtime again. You enjoy the outdoors quite a lot, and you’ve been having fun getting out onto the balcony and playing in the backyard and at the playground. Tobin started masked outdoor taekwondo, which is held at a local park, and you’ve been going along and playing at the playground there during his class. You also enjoy playing with the other kids afterward, which I think is good practice for re-integrating you into social situations.

We’ve been doing some gardening together, including planting sunflowers. You got interested in sunflowers because we watched a video in which our favorite YouTuber, Emmy of Emmymade, roasted an entire sunflower head and ate it like an enormous sandwich or calzone or something. You found that very impressive. I’m not sure I can commit to roasting and eating a sunflower head, but planting the seeds was simple enough, and I hope they grow into something you can enjoy on a botanical if not culinary level. We’ve also been rooting around in the garden looking at isopods, worms, and slugs for science class. The district’s online science activities, led by a favorite teacher from our home school, are really fun. I admit I sighed when I found out we were expected to actually lift logs and gather bugs from the yard, but it ended up being a fun and memorable activity.

The downside of all this springtime outdoor play is, of course, the consequences for your eyes. Over the course of this month, we’ve been in and (I hope) out of your worst weeks of the year in terms of allergies. Every year, I think maybe this is the year you’ll have outgrown them, and every year they come back. We’ve never had you officially tested—from what I understand, the process of allergy testing is pretty arduous for a little kid, and while your seasonal allergies are pretty awful, the peak is fairly brief. You’ve gotten a lot better about tolerating your eyedrops, so having those in our regimen along with Zyrtec, Benadryl, nightly baths with full hair-wash, and frequently laundry, we get through it okay. I feel awful seeing your eyes so puffy, but you really don’t complain about it much. I do always have to send a note to your teachers warning them that you actually did not get punched in the face, despite appearances.

I’m worried about speaking too soon on this topic, but it seems like your obsession with never throwing anything away is fading. I appreciate your reluctance to waste things, but you often insisted on saving things you would never use again, like disposable straws from juice pouches. We probably could recycle those, but it’s not even the Earth impact that seemed to concern you, just the idea that it wouldn’t be in your possession anymore. Maybe it’s a littlest brother thing. Maybe it seems to you like your brothers have a lot of items in their purview and you don’t. We mostly use reusable straws anyway, so I guess your impulse is reasonable.

As you and your classmates work toward the end of the school year, you have a special activity that corresponds to each letter of the alphabet. You have so far enjoyed art day, bubbles, crazy hair day (out came the Afro wig again), dance party day, and exercise day. We were looking at the schedule, and the last day is Goodbye Zoom. You got tearful at the idea of not doing Zoom anymore, which surprised me. You say you’re excited to go back to school, and I believe it, even though you’re probably a little nervous too. It’s hard to imagine someone actually enjoying Zoom for its own sake. You’ve gotten a lot braver in your classes lately, though, volunteering more and interacting with less support from me. Sometimes I can even get something done during your classtime other than sitting right next to you and prompting you to follow instructions.

You’ve been in a big Daddy stage lately, full of hugs and kisses and interest in spending time with your dad. You don’t usually see him much during the school day—maybe a little bit at lunch or now and then when he comes upstairs for a break—but you must enjoy knowing he’s there. He went out of town for a funeral last week, and even though you didn’t see him much less than usual, you really missed him. You asked over and over again when he’d be home, and when he finally arrived, you dashed out to the garage and climbed into his lap in the car. I think he enjoys the extra attention from you, though he’s still vexed by the fact that you don’t want morning Big Chair time. Both your brothers always snoozed on his lap in the recliner for a few minutes after getting out of bed every morning, even Miles up until last year. It always made me laugh to see such a big kid draped over him on the chair. It reminded me of my cousins’ dog who loved to cuddle on my aunt’s lap as a puppy and never gave it up, even after he was a big adult dog. You never really took an interest in Big Chair time, though, preferring to curl up by yourself for a few minutes in the Poäng chair. But when you’re awake, you love to be with your dad.

Your current favorites: drinking everything with a straw, playing with friends in the park, the new Switch game called Arms that your dad borrowed, pizza, steak, waffles, cuddling, and cute animal videos on TikTok. We watch some TikTok just about every morning during the few minutes before school starts, and you’ve amassed a big collection of favorites. You especially like “Kind Kitty,” a name you gave to a cat who meows gently over subtitles that say supportive things like “I know you’re worried, but it will be okay.” You also like the adventures of a farmer and her animals, including some cute corgis, pigs, chickens, and goats.

I love you, you funny little pup. You’re my sunflower, even when you’re puffy.

Love,

Mommy

Dear Miles,

Sunday was Mother’s Day, and as a special treat, your fully-vaccinated father went to Trader Joe’s and picked up some of our  favorite frozen croissants. I set them out to thaw the previous night, and on Mother’s Day morning they were poofy and tempting. All I had to do was bake them and we’d enjoy a delicious breakfast together. You and your brothers were all sleeping in, and I was getting really hungry. Those poofy croissants (chocolate-filled for the kids, almond-filled for the adults) were taunting me, so we finally made the executive decision to haul you kids out of bed.

Callum came out first, and he wanted to cuddle on the couch as usual. Tobin came out next, and I made room for him on the other side of me. Tobin is not opposed to cuddling, but he is a very wiggly person, so it wasn’t surprising that he vacated his spot pretty quickly. Finally, your dad coaxed you out of bed, and I half-jokingly invited you to join me on the couch. You never, ever want to hug or cuddle anymore, so I wasn’t expecting you to come sit down and put your head on my shoulder. A big part of that could be the fact that you were forced to get out of bed at the indecent hour of 9:30 a.m. and you were too groggy to register objections, but I didn’t complain.

In fact, I was so moved by your uncharacteristic show of affection that I started to tear up. I had one arm around Callum and the other arm around you, so I couldn’t wipe my eyes without risking messing up the situation. I just sat there for a good five minutes with tears running down my face in happiness. You even woke up enough to tell me an entire plot from an episode of The Simpsons without leaving your position. I don’t think you could see my face from your perspective, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of and make you feel awkward, but it was a big deal to me.

Eventually we got up and had croissants. They were really good.

Other than Mother’s Day, not much new or interesting has been going on here lately. You got together with your friends outdoors last weekend, which I think was good for you. I hope you can do that more often as the weather improves. At the time of this writing, the FDA should be approving the Pfizer vaccine for your age group any day now. I’ve been Googling “FDA Pfizer 12-15” multiple times a day for weeks, so I sure hope we can check that off our list soon. UPDATE: the news came in during the writing of this post that the FDA approved Pfizer for your age group. Now we just have to figure out the logistics of getting it to you. Nevertheless, we’ll persist.

I also know that I can trust you to wear a mask as long as is necessary, which may be a long time given the piss-poor vaccination rate in our state and nation. I’m grateful that our community has a higher rate than elsewhere, but I still doubt that’s enough for true herd immunity. You’re a cautious person, and I’m grateful in advance for that quality for when you start driving.

On the assumption that you will be vaccinated by August, I went ahead and signed you up for one camp this summer. It’s the advanced session of the FilmScene animation camp you’ve loved for several years now. Last year you did the online version, which I think was fine, but it will be good for you to actually interact with your peers again as a warm-up for going back to in-person school in the fall. There’s a good chance some of your campmates will be fellow eighth-graders at your school, so any leg-up is useful. You’ve maintained friendships with a lot of your elementary school pals and gotten to know some new friends, but some additional face-to-face interaction will be useful. In the past, you’ve always gone with one of your good friends, but he hasn’t decided yet if he’s going to attend. I asked you if you’d want to go even if your friend chooses not to, and you gave a definite yes. I’m happy to know that you feel comfortable on your own.

It will be interesting to see how school goes next year. You’ve had a little trouble getting work done on time, despite all my efforts to keep an organized list of your assignments and due dates. I don’t know if there’s more homework in this online environment to make up for the limited in-class time or if it’s a fair representation of how things will be in-person. It will be harder for me to monitor your deadlines next year if they’re not all on the class websites like they are now. I know the responsibility for keeping track of those things needs to shift to you, and junior high is a good time to learn those skills. We’ll see how things change when you move to in-person school in the fall. It will be a time of transition in many ways.

Your current favorites: online games with your friends, The Simpsons, the extra Sprite we have leftover when making cocktails, and homemade tomato sauce. I made a big batch of it last weekend, because you eat penne with tomato sauce most days. My favorite part of the process is when I ask you to come taste it at the very end. Normally you meet any request for you to leave your room and electronic devices with begrudging acceptance at best, but you come to the kitchen enthusiastically to taste tomato sauce. We don’t have garden tomatoes yet, so we make due with canned, but we do have plenty of fresh oregano. You taste, squint, taste again, request a little more this or that, and finally give the thumbs-up. It’s a pleasure to work out the final tweaks with you and to see your face when you smile and say “Perfect.”

I guess I’m grasping at dregs of connection with you, Miles, as you grow more reluctant to share them. You’ve mostly done well this year, and I know it must be hard to be stuck at home with your family during a life stage when you would naturally be spending more time away from us. I don’t take it personally that you are growing more independent and craving freedom. I want you to have a life of joy and experiences, but I also want you to come sit on the couch with me while we wait for the croissants.

May Trader Joe’s never stop selling them.

Love,

Mom