Dear Tobin,

Tonight, as we were all pitching in to clean up after dinner, you were telling an anecdote from one of your favorite books. It was a little bit funny, I guess, but funnier was the way you cracked up as you recounted the way Greg called his brother “Ploopy.” Your laughter is so joyful, pure, and enthusiastic. You feel everything so strongly, and your generally-sunny disposition makes family dinner conversations pretty hilarious.

You get so excited about your favorite things. Last night it was the fact that we got pizza for our Sunday-night take-out ritual. Today it was the fact that you got leftover pizza for lunch. And this evening it was the fact that I made beef and snow-peas stir-fry. All of these events warranted singing and dancing in the hallways.

You have big tender feelings too. Callum was having a hard time letting go of our Christmas tree, and you hugged him and gave him lots of love. Later, you told me, “When he cries, it makes me want to cry too.” Another time recently, after Callum was asleep, I thought he wasn’t breathing the way he normally does, so I leaned over to listen to him more closely. You asked me what I was doing, so I explained, and you said, “It’s okay, I do it too.”

When everything feels dangerous and deadly, I feel good knowing you’re taking care of your little brother. You have such a big heart.

I know you really miss your friends, your extracurricular activities, and all the fun things we used to do, but we’re developing some new traditions too. You and your dad have been bagel buddies for a long time, but it’s become a more firmly-established ritual lately. Bruegger’s has a drive-through, so often on a weekend morning he’ll bring you a bagel and a hot chocolate.

We’re definitely going to stick with online school for the rest of the academic year, because it seems like every day I get an email saying there’s another student or staff member or both at your school who has tested positive for COVID-19. We don’t know yet when the vaccine will be approved for kids, or even if it will protect against the new strains we’re seeing emerge. I know you want to go back, but unfortunately it’s looking like the Governor and legislature are going to pass a law requiring schools to provide one hundred percent in-person education. Our district superintendent sent an email describing the implications of this legislation, including the fact that they would not be able to maintain the health and safety protocols currently in place for hybrid students (those who are in school part time and online part time).  It will mean larger class sizes without six feet of space between desks and a reduction in their ability to equip staff and classrooms with health and hygiene supplies.

Fortunately for us, the district has already decided to continue the all-online program parallel to in-person education regardless of infection rates. I was dearly hoping we wouldn’t have to use it, because I know you and your brothers really want to get back. Hybrid may have been a possibility, but with that option probably getting nixed, I feel even more reluctant to send you to school. The vaccine isn’t approved for kids, and unless so many adults are able to get vaccinated that infection rates plummet, I just don’t feel like in-person is a reasonable choice. I know not every family is in our situation, and many of them rely on having school as a place to send their kids five days a week, but my anxiety would go through the roof if you were in school every day. I know I can’t protect you from everything, but I can protect you from this, and I will.

We’ve found ways to have fun. You and your friend Ben do online gaming together, and sometimes Miles even includes you in his Minecraft games with his friends. You’re still doing taekwondo online, and even though you miss seeing your friends in class, you’re always in a good mood when it’s over. Your dobak is getting way too small, and I was resisting buying you a new one until you were taking classes in-person again, but it’s just getting ridiculous. I talked to your teacher about ordering a new one, but for the time being, it’s just sweatpants and t-shirts for you. That’s actually how I’ve been living most of the time too, and I can’t complain. I don’t know how we’re going to get back to wearing jeans and boots and outdoor weather gear again. You don’t play outside as much now as you would if you were having recess every day, but you have been shoveling snow for your dad. I keep plenty of spray whipped cream around for post-shoveling hot chocolate.

Your current favorites: pizza, of course; your favorite knockoff Starbucks drink; watching videos and playing games on the iPad; being silly; jumping out of your chair at the dinner table and dancing around while other people are trying to eat; and having bloody noses. That’s not really a favorite of yours, but it happens kind of a lot, so I wanted to record it. You had a huge bloody nose in the night a few nights ago, which is almost certainly related to the very vigorous way you rub it. Your pillowcase looked like a Pollock painting, and not one of his better ones. The stain spray (or, as Callum corrected me, the stain-removing spray) worked well, so it ended up not being a big deal. You seem to think it’s kind of interesting. Maybe we should get a humidifier, though.

Your joyfully attitude makes our whole house a happier place, Tobin, and I love that you’re the bubbliest part of our bubble. Thank you for all the warmth and kindness you add to our lives.

Love,

Mom