Dear Callum,

Our long, cold spring abruptly ended a few days ago in a heat wave and an explosion of plant development. That’s bad news for you. Every year I think maybe this will be the year your eyes aren’t too badly affected by allergens, and every year I’m wrong. I spent a long time going back and forth on the phone yesterday, trying to get you into an allergy clinic that offers a sublingual therapy that’s an alternative to allergy shots. I jumped through all the hoops they asked me to, including getting a referral from a pediatrician, but I still don’t have an appointment for you. I think they’re slammed these days; I’ve heard a lot of locals complaining about the same allergens that are attacking you right now. I’m not optimistic that you’ll get in during this allergy season, but it would be nice to have a strategy in place for next year. Fortunately, your worst symptoms usually only last a few weeks. We don’t know for sure what you’re allergic to, but we suspect it’s some kind of tree pollen, and it’s definitely active now. In the meantime, we’re giving you antihistamines, eye drops, and lots of baths. It’s not a perfect strategy, but it’s what we’ve got for the moment.

It’s a shame because you love the outdoors so much. On a nice day, you can spend a long time just hanging out by yourself in the back yard, swinging sticks around and putting rocks into piles. You don’t need playground equipment or a ball court, just some natural elements and your imagination. I only let you outside for half an hour yesterday, to eat lunch on the balcony as part of an online school lunch bunch, and your eyes blew right up.

You’re on a baseball team for the first time, and the usual schedule is that you stay with your dad after your game and watch Tobin’s game. Last time, after you finished your game, your dad had to run you home because your eyes were so itchy and swollen. I was in a Zoom meeting, but I left for a few minutes to get you bathed. It was truly untenable. I think you’re going to skip your game tonight, because not only is it another high pollen day, but it’s 95 degrees out. Those factors combined just seem like more than any little kid should have to tolerate.

Baseball has been a mixed bag so far. It’s your first time playing a sport or being on any kind of team, so you’re trying to figure out the rules of baseball as well as the physical elements. Another consequence of having done online school for two years is that you’re not very well-practiced in skills like lining up and hustling in when your coach calls you. I’m glad you’re at least getting some exposure to that now, because we’re hopeful that you’ll go to school in-person in the fall, and those are important things to know. One bit of bad luck that befell you was getting hit in the thumb with a pitch from the pitching machine at your very first at-bat. It was pretty gruesome, actually, and quite painful for you. Your thumbnail has since fallen off, and you got some cash from the Thumbnail Fairy.

Your injury doesn’t seem to have turned you off to baseball. You still enjoy going when the environment isn’t completely awful. However, you say you don’t like hitting the ball because of the way the bat vibrates your hands and arms. Your dad and I were in Mexico last week for a wedding, and Mubby and Skitter came to take care of you. Somehow you ended up with some new suction cup arrows for the bow you made out of a stick and elastic. You’re pretty good, actually. Skitter agreed when I suggested that archery might be a better sport for you than baseball. I’m not sure how hard real bows vibrate, but maybe less than baseball bats.

Your other extracurricular of the moment is Family Folk Machine. You’d been reluctant to participate in the past, but this time there’s a special collaboration with the Eulenspiegel Puppet Theater for the kids. You and the other FFM kids, including Tobin, are doing a shadow play during one of the songs. That’s been a nice way to ease you into participating. I’m still not sure you’re going to do any actual singing—it’s hard to tell whether your mouth is moving under your mask—but I’m glad you’re a part of it anyway. You were excited when I reminded you that the concert is this weekend.

I need to consolidate the funny and quirky things you’ve said lately, because you’ve had some good ones. You’re in a stage where you like to make observations, and you’re still sweet and innocent enough that you often don’t know how comical they are. For example, before your thumbnail had fallen all the way off, it was dangling from your nail bed fairly disgustingly. I was trying to be reassuring.

Your current favorites: orange soda, theme days in your online class, the Magic Treehouse book series, Minecraft, Wild Kratts and all the obscure animal facts that you learn by watching it, wearing deodorant, meat of all sorts, and the last bits of your Easter candy.

I sure hope that by this time next month, I can report that your eyes are back to normal and you can play outside again. You don’t let it bring you down too much, but I still hate to see you in that amount of discomfort. Nonetheless, I admire your jolliness and interest in spinning around in circles, even if your coach wishes you were attempting to field the ball. You do your own thing, and I love you for it.

Love,

Mom