Muggle Magic (that's imagination)

Most of us in our home had the flu this week, mild in all cases, but here nonetheless. But, as Pa Ingalls often said, "There is no great loss without some small gain."

In our case, the loss was small and the gain was great.

We finished On the Banks of Plum Creek, and gazing at our bookshelves from our nests of blankets and pillows and puke bowls on the couches, we searched for a new book to delve into. Emmy quickly spotted the Harry Potter series and begged to start it. She didn't have to beg for long.

I hadn't read this to my kids yet, wanting them to be mature enough to handle the "scary parts." This was by far the most intense book we've ever read.
We've read a few Roald Dahl's, and those Vermiscious Knids do get pretty freaky in Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, and the man eating giants in The BFG are certainly nothing to be scoffed at. Emmy thought that Black Beauty had some parts that deserved hiding under the blankets.

But. Nothing compares to Professor Quirrel slowly unwinding his purple turban to reveal the face of Voldemort on the back of his head. That's intense, man.

 My Harry Potter geek has been revived full force. I love these books. I can't even tell you the joy it brings to my soul to overhear Jonah point at his door and say "Alohamora!" before entering his bedroom (that's the unlocking charm). Or to have Emmy ask me if I'm really a muggle.

Emmy really gets into stories. She has her whole life. Before she could speak herself she loved listening to stories. She is content indefinitely (I can only say that because I haven't found the max yet) listening to me tell stories. Relating stories of my childhood, or stories my Dad used to tell me, or reading aloud. She is in her happy place. And she becomes so emotionally involved! I can remember her crying her eyes out when Charlotte the spider quietly died, or when Mary finally finds the door to the Secret Garden and then finds herself inside, or when the storks finally land in the village of Shora in The Wheel on the School.
Jonah has lately started acting the same way, minus the tears. He always listened when I read, but only in the last year or so has he been interested enough to want to sit next to me so he didn't miss a word.
But I digress.

We get interrupted quite frequently when we read, because there are mini emergencies happening all the time at our house. "Mom, Amelia's on the table again." "MOM! I can't reach the PRETZELS!" or even "Could you bring me some toilet paper?!" and at each of these interruptions Emmy and Jonah would collapse in despair at having to stop. At one point in our reading Emmy (who was the only one of us who escaped the flu) sprang up from her reclined position on the couch and started bouncing up and down on her knees and punching her pillow yelling "I KNOW Snape's the bad guy! I know it! I know it! He HAS to be!!"

And isn't it so convincing that he Must be? Love it. Love it love it love it. 

Like I said, we've been rereading the Little House books lately, and switching from them to Harry Potter really threw the kids for a loop. Don't get me wrong, the little house books hold a very special place in my heart and they teach lessons that must be learned, and I value them highly. But watching their faces as J. K. Rowling describes Hagrid and his flying motorcycle was priceless. After the first chapter I asked them what they thought, and they were both wide eyed and grinning.

We finished it in three days, emergencies and everything, and we have had magic on the brain ever since.

I just asked Jonah to grab a diaper for Millie, and he needed to ride his Nimbus 2000 to go get it. Fine by me, just watch out for the ceiling fans.