The other day we were at the Aldi check-out and Huck said something serious that made me smile and chuckle.  I wish I could remember the details, because I feel like I’m leaving out some really important evidence in the case against me. My giggles were clearly the wrong reaction and he said in his most abrupt tone: “MOM.” His eyes became red and his breathing heavy as he transformed into an angry man trapped in the body of a skinny ten year old.  I accidentally chuckled again, now feeling like I was going to die if I couldn’t start howling with laughter.  Suddenly we were back in time, 1981, my dad and a little me battling it out to the death. Tears welled up as he quietly yelled at me to stop laughing at him, that it felt like I was making fun of him.  All I could think to say while my inexpensive groceries were delicately being tossed into the cart: “Then please stop being funny.” He stared out into nothingness as if he were Romeo at the end of the play.

Then last night before bed he said he wished he could wake up to the sounds of Edward Grieg’s “Morning” from Peer Gynt played on the piano, though the darkness of “In the Hall of the Mountain King” is more his style. (He and his beloved piano teacher have the same taste in music, he tells me.)  I smiled.  ”Are you serious?” He was. I did a top secret Google search and found just the thing to wake him up.  After breakfast he sat at the piano with his legs crossed and played “Ode to Joy” for the first time before heading off to school. Not all days start off as good as this one did.

I think this is going to be the hardest thing about the hormonal tween years: knowing if he’s being funny on purpose or on accident.

a walk on the trail near our future house