Dear Tobin,

Sixth grade is continuing along well. While you’ve never had trouble making friends, this year has marked an especially big boom in socializing. You’re still close with you long-time friends, but you’ve also expanded your circle. It seems like every weekend you’re invited to a sleepover at a different friend’s house. You were begging and begging to host one, and since we hadn’t yet reciprocated the generosity of the families who hosted you, your dad and I relented. You had a long weekend off from school, so one of those nights, a few of your friends came over. You played soccer, hide-and-seek, and touch football in the park; ate pizza, chips, and Oreos; stayed up late shrieking; and had a good time all-around. You were really happy with how it went, and I’m sure we’ll be doing it again before sixth grade is out.

You’re a good brother, always ready to engage in active pursuits with Callum. He’s noticed you reading a lot lately and copied you, getting excited about a thick, challenging book. You included him really kindly in your sleepover, letting him hang out with you and your friends until bedtime. You told me that when Artemis had a sleepover, they didn’t let you hang out much, and it hurt your feelings. I read an adage somewhere that a good litmus test of character is whether pains of the past spur a person to expect others to suffer equally, or whether they spur a person to make the world better for others. I’m really proud that you’ve chosen the latter.

Soccer has been another big deal for you lately. You switched to a different team this year, one that includes a lot of your school friends, and you’ve been having a blast with it. Your team had been doing very well until the last couple of weeks, when you’ve had losses, but overall it’s been a great season. You love carpooling to practice with your friend Zach, scrimmaging and skill-building with your friends, and playing the games. You only have one game left this season, which is probably disappointing to you, but I’ll be glad to have soccer wrapped up. It’s only going to get chillier as we move through fall. Also, since Callum’s games are usually not at the same time as yours, it can make for a long day out at the soccer fields. I’m sure you’ll want to play again in the spring, though.

Although you’ve generally been an early-riser when left to your own internal clock, it’s been getting hard to wake you up in the morning. I fear you’re shifting to a teenage schedule of wanting to stay up late and sleep in late. In our school district, secondary school starts an hour later than elementary school, so next year your timeframe will be different. Even when you were a baby and toddler, it was very difficult to wake you up before your body was ready. I remember needing to wake you up early from a nap many days when it was time to go pick up your sibling from school, and I quickly learned that I needed to build in a ten-minute buffer. If I tried to maximize your sleep by letting you continue your nap until the last minute, there was hell to pay. You needed at least ten minutes to just sit there and be grumpy before I could even talk to you.

You’re not quite as much of a turd upon waking up these days, but it’s still a challenge. Your dad handles that task most mornings while I’m packing lunches for you and your siblings. Now and then I am the one who does it, and it always amazes me how challenging it is to get you out of bed. Once the parent in charge finally succeeds, you go straight to the couch and sleep some more. I go over and ask you whether you want your usual cereal for breakfast, and you murmur a yes. I pour your cereal and milk and go back to tell you it’s ready, but you’re always fast asleep again. Then either your dad or I has the job of prying you off the couch. Once we’re successful in that, you eat your breakfast and get dressed. Most days, I then find you asleep in Callum’s bed, fully dressed and ready for school, but happy to nap for a while longer while Callum finishes getting ready.

When you’re not sleeping, playing soccer, or hanging with your friends, you enjoy being part of science experiments. I frequently receive invitations for various paid research endeavors, and whenever you’re eligible to be a subject, you want to do it. You’ve crossed simulated roads while virtual reality cars are passing, you’ve had electrodes measuring your brain waves as you hear different sounds, and you’re part of a longitudinal study about how kids read and learn language. The most recent one you’re doing is part of a study researching the genetic elements of intelligence. You and I both filled out surveys and spit into tubes so they scientists could learn about our genes. You got invited back to the second stage of the study, which involves having your vital signs taken, participating in an interview, and taking a test. The third stage, which is optional, involves an MRI. I don’t know if you’ll be invited to participate in that or even if you’ll want to, but I’m sure the compensation will be part of your decision-making process. You love getting the paychecks and gift cards that come of these experiences. I love being a part of science that could help future generations be safer, healthier, and happier.

Your current favorites: The Percy Jackson book series (and its spin-offs) by Rick Riordan, online gaming with your friends, hanging out with friends after school, sleepovers, soccer, helping cook, and sneaking naps on various soft surfaces throughout the house.

You’re a hoot, a joy, and a big source of smiles. Your mouth always has something enthusiastic and energetic to say, even if your dad wishes you would eat more quietly. It doesn’t bother me, and I’m glad you approach every facet of life with gusto.

Love,

Mom

Dear Callum,

The word that comes to mind when I think about you lately is energy. I don’t know if it’s because we’re getting your Crohn’s disease well-controlled, or if it’s a developmental stage, but you have been in high gear. You’d rather run home than walk, you love to play with your friends (and your siblings and your siblings’ friends), and you have been riding your bike a lot. I’m so happy to see you so full of life and excitement.

You still don’t love the fact that you have to get so many shots. There’s your every-other-week shot of Humira for Crohn’s, plus you’ve had to have an extra series of hepatitis-B vaccines because your first round didn’t generate antibodies. Now we’re all in the timeframe of Covid boosters and flu shots, and you had to get a couple of blood draws to check for Crohn’s related blood counts too. You sometimes feel a little sorry for yourself, wondering why the one-in-one-hundred had to land on you. I don’t want to dismiss your feelings, because I’m sure it’s pretty crummy to have to get so many shots and know that you’re immunosuppressed. I do try to remind you, though, that there are so many one-in-one-hundred things out there, almost everybody’s going to end up with one of them. Artemis has scoliosis, Tobin is colorblind, and we know other people with more serious conditions as well. For the time being, I’m grateful that we have the treatment options and vaccines that we do.

Photo by Gary Clarke

You’re curious, smart, and interested in the world. I think school is going well for you. We’ll learn more when we have our conference with your teacher, but from everything I’ve heard, you’re learning and enjoying yourself. You’ve taken an interest in insects, partly due to your friend Griffin being very excited about them. You and Griffin and another friend formed Bug Club, which mostly involved crawling around in the mini-prairie by your school playground looking for specimens. I think Bug Club got thwarted, because your teacher and principal didn’t want you bring unwanted guests into the classroom. I can’t blame them for that, but Griffin did find a really cool praying mantis a while ago. You also checked out a very informative library book about the life cycle and migration journey of the monarch butterfly. We read that over several bedtimes. Predictably, you got tearful when the butterfly’s life ended, and you kiboshed my suggestion of trying to raise a monarch caterpillar into a butterfly and then releasing it, because it would be too sad to let it go. In any case, I think you enjoyed the book. We see monarchs pretty often around here, and it’s interesting to think about where they started before passing through here (the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada) and where they’re headed (central Mexico, mostly).

I recently took advantage of the generosity of a Family Folk Machiner who donated delicata squash to our sharing table and made a filling for squash ravioli. You got excited about the prospect of making homemade ravioli, and you got involved in the whole process. I was nervous that you might pinch your fingers in the pasta-rolling machine, but you didn’t. You weren’t too interested in the squash filling, but you made a second variety with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese. You and Tobin both enjoyed eating that. Your favorite food group is still meat, though. You love tearing into a ribeye steak or demolishing a pile of chicken wings. I made wings for dinner last night, and I’m glad I bought a large quantity. Most of the family likes wings, but when you’re at the table, they disappear particularly quickly.

On a recent no-school day, you suggested that we take a trip to the mall to do some ice skating. We often go skating when we’re visiting Ames, but we hadn’t been to the Coralville ice rink in a long time. You caught on faster than I expected, with only a few spills, and you recovered quickly from those. You preferred to stay by the wall most of the time, but you ventured out mid-rink a handful of times and did very well. Tobin was eager to coach you, and Artemis came too. We all had a fun time zipping around together. You hadn’t been to the mall for a long time, because it is one of my least favorite places in the world. Even before the pandemic, I avoided it whenever possible. You and Tobin both love it, though, and you took a spin on the carousel too. It’s funny that you have so many fond memories and associations with something like a mall, but I’m glad we were able to get out and enjoy it on a weekday afternoon when it wasn’t too crowded. In fact, the low crowds made the ice skating especially nice, because a trip to a highly-populated rink brings the challenge of dodging other skaters.

Your iron count was still a little low at your last blood test, so we’re adding some supplemental iron to your diet. Between that and the ferocity with which you consume meat, we’ll have your levels up in no time I’m sure. Sadly, it will take another blood draw to find out for sure. I call you my little pincushion, and I hate that it’s the case, but I also admire how well you handle it most of the time. Like recovering from a fall when you’re ice skating, you’re learning to take a deep breath and push ahead to the next challenge.

Your current favorites: muffins, playing outside, playdates with friends, steak, chicken wings, video games, the shows Word Girl and Odd Squad, cuddling up to read and talk at bedtime, and playing the various instruments we have around the house. You’re going to do a recorder solo in an upcoming Family Folk Machine open mic night, and I’m so proud of you for being brave enough to do that.

I love watching you dive into life and explore the world, my sweet Callum. Enjoy the remaining nice days of fall.

Love,

Mom

Dear Artie,

Fall is here, and it’s as busy as usual. Marching band has been taking up a lot of your time lately, with football games, competitions, showcases, and parties keeping us all busy. You’re not a huge fan of the marching component of marching band. You said to me, “I wish there was a kind of band where you just there and play music.” I don’t know if you were being deliberately obtuse or not, but when I replied, “You mean like a band concert?”, you agreed that that was a good idea.

Sophomore year seems to be going well so far. You’re taking challenging classes, including the honors versions of English and French, as well as AP World History. It seems like you’re more challenged this year. When I poke my head into your room each night to say goodnight to you, you’re often doing homework. Last year you didn’t have to do homework very often, so I’m glad you are getting things done of your own volition. I’m also glad you have access to thought-provoking coursework and good teachers. When your dad and I went to your school’s Parents’ Night earlier in the fall, we were impressed with your teachers and the content you’ll be learning.

While you do still spend a lot of time in your room, you’ve been getting out and doing things (besides marching band) too. You went to the Homecoming Dance with friends (and foiled my efforts to get pictures), you joined us on a trip to the ice skating rink on a recent no-school day, and you’ve been a pleasant and entertaining member of the family cocktail hour squad. I’m often impressed with what a funny, intelligent person you’re becoming. We’re coming up on a school board election in our community, and there are a handful of candidates who are using the dog-whistle of “parental involvement” to push for things like removing LGBTQ issues, the discussion of slavery and the Civil Rights movement, and other foolhardy efforts. I take such joy in hearing your thoughts and ideas, even when I don’t fully agree with them or hadn’t considered them. Why would parents want their children to only be exposed to concepts they, the parents, already know? One of the greatest pleasures of my life is learning from you. What a loss it would be to only hear you spout things I taught you. Plus we’d be SOL on the France portion of our Europe trip. I’m counting on you for that.

You took the PSAT recently. You have a while yet before college, but taking that kind of step in the collegiate direction felt a little wild. You said the first three sections were surprisingly easy and the last section was surprisingly hard, so I guess we’ll see how it all sorts out. You haven’t yet expressed any particular opinions on where you’d like to attend college or what you’d like to study, but I’m not too concerned about that. I hadn’t thought any of that through too much at your age either.

We’re all up to date on our Covid vaccines now, which eases my mind a bit as you attend school unmasked this year. Of course, you managed to catch it last year even wearing  mask most of the time. There’s no really effective way to mask during band and at lunch, and I want you to be able to enjoy your school experience. You got over it pretty easily then, and now that our vaccines are re-upped, there’s no reason to think we wouldn’t all do okay if it hits our house again. Callum is the wildcard, due to his immunosuppression, but we’ll just have to do our best and take comfort in knowing that his doctors said most patients in his position do fine with Covid. It’s funny to think that it’s in all likelihood a permanent part of our lives now. Since I plan to live to 100, I’ll live over half my life in a Covid world. You’ll live the great majority of yours in one. Fortunately we have access to vaccines, good hospitals, and other valuable advantages. It’s hard for me, because my instinct is to do anything and everything I can to protect you and your siblings, but I guess I need to relax my grip a bit in order to let you develop into interesting people.

Perhaps I should take some of my own advice from above: I can’t expect to hold you as tightly as I want to and still have you grow, learn, and explore. It’s a matter of balance. You’re a smart and trustworthy person, and there’s nothing I want more than for you to grow into your own self-determined future.

Your current favorites: the French singer/songwriter Zaz, cream soda, Goldfish crackers and Honey Nut Cheerios, pasta in many shapes, the shows Breaking Bad and Lost, exclusively wearing comfy clothes, using the Scratch programming language to build games, schooling me on the subtleties of modern slang, and sleeping late.

Every conversation I have with you makes me think, and a lot of them make me laugh, too. I love you, you’re important to me, and I’m so glad to know you.

Love,

Mom