going places

Tucker and I saw Hadestown over the weekend and although I know it is not my place to try to sculpt a particular outcome, I couldn't help but imagine him playing the piano; on stage with the cast, the orchestra on several occasions really stole the show.

Friday evening Tuck went to the middle school dance. He didn't have much to say afterward, but smiled and admitted having fun.

He is suddenly so teenager-y, broody and moody and secretive. Most of the time he moves like he's been mentored by a tortoise, unless he's made his own plans in which case there's a real sense of urgency. 

He is typically surly for the first hour after waking, loquacious before bed. When he does want to talk, he speaks out of what seems like nowhere but what must be a real place inside him. His face contorts, a prelude to words, Where do the egg shells go? (compost, not trash) or What else has Nicholas Cage been in, besides PIG? 

I mean, he's almost thirteen and thinks he knows everything, except he also wonders where to place the stamp on an envelope and what assuage actually means.

He does know that a B minus is not the death of any dreams, and that sometimes failure is actually an option. He gets so engaged in projects that he often forgets to eat, but he's pretty sure he likes his hair shaggy and he always offers to help fold laundry or clean dishes before he heads for a screen. 

He has a questionable sense of direction but also really excellent manners and a big wide open heart.