Dear Tobin,

We can always count on you to liven up any situation.  You remain high-energy, joyful, and always ready to dive into any activity.  It sometimes drives the rest of us crazy.  Your dad and I joke that the last time you sat through a meal was when you were strapped into your high chair.  The idea of sitting still and reflecting on any topic is not of interest to you.  We can barely even get you to sit in a traditional position on your chair at the table.  You’d prefer to be half-standing, shoveling your dinner into your face, ready to launch into a dance move or to go get a book you’ve been enjoying or to grab the iPad.  We’re working on it.

We had your school conference, and I asked your teacher if she has a similar issue with you in school.  I know you often finish your work before deadline, and it’s hard to imagine that you’d take that opportunity to double-check your work or sit quietly and rest.  Your teacher confirmed that you tend to be mobile, but that you’ll often get up and help a friend with his or her assignment.  That’s cool, as long as you’re not being a know-it-all.  There’s a fine line between supporting someone’s efforts and gloating, and as a little brother whose goal in life is to surpass his older brother’s accomplishments, you do tend toward gloating.

Being the middle sibling can be tough on you sometimes.  Miles and Callum have a closeness that you don’t really share with either.  Miles can be resentful of your talents, which are different from his, and your gloatiness doesn’t help.  Callum loves to play with you, but you often get too wild and someone ends up physically or emotionally injured.  I usually don’t worry about it too much, since you’re so good at making friends wherever you go that I know you won’t be alone in life.  It can be a little tough around here, though.  I’m not always sure about the best way to refill your metaphorical bucket, since what works with Miles (a one-on-one outing where we can talk and hang out without distraction) isn’t necessarily what works with you.  You live for distraction.  Your entire life is a series of distractions, and you thrive among them.

You enjoy outside play time, so during the last nice days of fall, I’ve taken you out to play a few times.  You’re perfectly capable of going out to our nearby park on your own or with your brothers, but you love to show off your monkey-bar moves and your ability to jump off tall things.  You haven’t broken a bone yet, and I do hope we maintain that streak.  Still, if I had to predict which of my kids would break a bone first, my money’s on Tobinio.  This is yet another reason you’re not allowed to play football.

You chose to be a spy for Halloween, inspired partly by the Spy School book series, which you’ve been enjoying both as reading material and as audiobooks.  We listened to one as a family on our drive to Colorado last summer, and that got you into a Spy School phase.  I think that one might be petering out, though, because you’ve read or listened to all the books.  We need to find you a new series.  One benefit to our temporary move (house-sitting for friends while our house is under construction) is that you’ll have access to a whole library of new reading material.  I bet you’ll get a kick out of raiding your friend Ben’s book supply, and he’s just enough older than you that he’ll probably have a lot you haven’t seen yet.

Ben is your best Family Folk Machine friend, and you’ve said that you don’t want to do if if he’s not going to be there.  Ben and his family are spending about half a year in Germany, so we’ll have to see if I can get you there without Ben as a lure.  Music is not a top interest of yours, but playing with friends definitely is.  I think you’ve gotten friendly with some other FFM kids who will still be around, so I hope you’ll remain a member.

We had a song in our recent Family Folk Machine concert with lyrics by Kahlil Gibran.  On the topic of one’s children, Gibran reminds us, “You can strive to be like them, but you cannot make them just like you.”  That’s something that can be very difficult to keep in mind.  I strive to be like you—to laugh off insults, truly enjoying the comedy of them rather than taking them personally, to share a big smile, to live with energy and enthusiasm.  I cannot make you just like me, and that’s okay.  I already exist, and it’s not your job to replace me.  When I look back on my life, I’m not going to remember all the times I wanted you to just sit down and eat a calm dinner with the family.  I’m going to remember your contagious laugh and your excitement about things that no one else finds exciting (I am simply not willing to invest the time it would require to understand Pokémon).   I’m going to remember your smile and your willingness to help.

I love you, you rascally little guy.  The world is sunnier with you in it.  Thanks for keeping me tired.

Love,

Mom