We’ve nicknamed Huck “Horrible Phrase Boy,” or HPB if we’re in a hurry, on account of the horrible phrases he says many times a day.  They include, but are not limited to: “Good for you.”  ”Sure.”  ”Boo Hoo.”  ”Really?”  ”Good for me.”  ”Too bad for you.”  All said in a slightly sarcastic, slightly nonplussed horrible-voice and often followed by even worse smug-laughter.  We spent Memorial Day weekend in Kansas with the grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, many of whom are around 5 years old.  At their age, a lot of the day is spent being silly and laughing at toot sounds.  Turns out both a lot and not a lot changes in five years time.

Age 10 bedtime has Huck asking for several things: a kiss/hug/kiss OCD series, an A-Z idea (things you want to do this summer, people we know from NYC, characters from favorite books, etc.) and something to mull over.  At some point in his alphabetical list he usually bores himself to sleep, but some nights he stays awake long enough to mull over something like middle school or the change of seasons or wormholes.  Recently he woke up feeling growing pains and confusion, first yelling for Dad and then settling for me, crying in my arms over who knows what, giving me a sad glimpse into his prepubescence.  The other morning I mistakenly thought I heard him call my name and he said, “You do that a lot. It’s like you just want to spend time with me so you imagine me calling for you.”

Being in my parents’ house where I spent years zero to 18 is inevitably nostalgic. Hanging out with almost 5 year olds giving Huck permission to be a little kid again is its own kind of nostalgia, as is having him crawl up onto our laps like a big Labrador who thinks he’s a puppy, causing his middle aged parents to complain of achy backs and sore legs.  Watching my recent high school graduate niece’s slide show of photographs from the last 18 years seemed impossible.  Hearing about my middle niece’s student teaching work and my oldest niece’s upcoming wedding brought on vivid memories of Troy throwing the two of them up in the air for hours of “Up and Away” when they were toddlers.  Playing grown-up parlor games and having to pause for Huck’s laughter to subside feels like he’s one of us.  That line between babyhood and adulthood changes its depth several times a day, but never more than when we go home for a visit.  And I’m not just talking about Huck.

As he might say in his sassiest tone yet, “Good for us.”