If you ask him how middle school is going, he'll say: "It's fine. It's long." And yet he still auditioned for (and was accepted into) the afterschool jazz ensemble, which he says "flies by so fast" because he likes the "jazzy music" and because his saxophone "is like, the main character of jazz."
He's tall and lanky and huge and handsome and at least a couple girls have noticed, but he's not interested, no, ew, stop. (But don't you dare say things like girls can't game or code or use "throw/play/scream like a girl" as an insult because you will get an earful.) The kid who couldn't stand Halloween is now begging to go on ghost tours and jump-scare haunts. Next week he's going away on a two-night, outdoor education field trip with his class and I'm the only one who's even remotely stressed about it. "It'll be fun. All my friends are going."
He still asked for a Lego set for his birthday, but probably mostly because he hasn't realized he can ask for gift cards to Steam yet. The Lego obsession is slowly giving way to video games and drawing comics and YouTube, though he still likes to spend the occasional afternoon constructing a massive 3D version of some video game building/map/world down to the tiniest detail. His capacity for memorization amazes even me, the person who can still quote at least nine seasons of Simpsons episodes practically verbatim. His love and passion for American history is as strong as ever, although he recently got into his first polite but heated political argument with his grandmother.
"I don't know where she's getting her news," he said later, shaking his head, "but I really wish she'd change the channel."
At 12, Noah is the most Noah he's ever been. He's also just the most, you know, 12.
Happy birthday again, buddy. You gotta stop with this, because it's also flying by so fast.