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See this little kid? Yeah, he doesn’t live here any more. Gone are the spontaneous hugs and scribbled hearts in crayon on my walls. Gone are lovely little expressions of gratitude and merriment. No more singing in the back seat of the car. No more dancing in the aisles of the store. This brooding boy now grunts his way through his day…and that’s when we’re lucky! Our bright, happy child has been snatched in the night and in his place is a very, very moody 10 year old. We never know from moment to moment: will it be the happy Boy Wonder or will it be his Evil Twin, Grim.

So, when the morning rolls around and IZ instant messages me, “Hey, is Boy Wonder awake” you can imagine my dread. He’s quiet. That’s good. He’s not making any noise at all… he’s either still asleep, as moody children are wont to do, or he’s avoiding schoolwork. It’s not any surprise when I message back, “Um, I’m not waking him up… YOU go do it.” If Evil Twin, Grim emerges from his room, I don’t want to be the one who faces him before coffee!

Evil Twin, Grim is cranky. He spits out his words with no amount of respect. Pointing out to him that consequences for his behavior are of his own making causes one to fear breathing wrong. His eyes narrow and boring holes into your soul he snaps, “You. Have. Offended. Me!” Heaven forbid. In a moment he’s angry, in the next he is a bundle of tears. (And, if you even hint to him that I told you any of this, I will deny ever knowing you.) I don’t remember signing up for Evil Twin, Grim. You can imagine why, lately, Chez Wonder hasn’t been such a wonderful place to live!

Now, there is a certain amount of attitude I’m willing to ignore. He is no doubt growing and suffering the awful side effects of hormone rushes. There is a requisite amount of door slamming and stair stomping to be expected. But, honestly—I’m not liking Grim all too much. Because, while I get his angst (premature, in my opinion) and his complete meltdowns and his bouts of irrational thought, not to mention the over abuse of words in my direction, what I’m missing is his sense of humor. He’s never been overly adept at laughing at himself while in the midst of drama—that’s to be expected at his age. But when the humor of everyday life is missing… then, you get a wee bit homesick for that quirky kid who used to wear your flip-flops with socks and groove to his own little beat. Where is that kid?

And then. Then he has his moments. He surprises you by paying attention. By being ever so thoughtful. By trying really hard to be pleasant. Yet, the specter of Grim’s eventual arrival lurks on the edges. That’s when you hear loud thumping on the stairs, the door slam open (yes, that’s possible) and he unceremoniously thrusts these into your hands:

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“Here,” he grunts. “I was going to give these to you for Christmas, but, well here you go!” And you are taken aback that at 10 he knew the only thing you wanted for Christmas was a few handmade houses to begin a village of your own.

In your hands are little houses of wonder. And you remember that this, in all its brooding grimness and all its delightful wonder, this is exactly who you signed up to love.