Reading Harry Potter

We just finished Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows today, after a breakneck Harry Potter marathon over the winter. I would have drawn it out longer, and sprinkled a few other authors in here and there, but we began running into an unusual number of kids who were far too willing to spill the beans about the ends of the books to the twins (why oh why do kids do this? it's never little kids doing this, either, but kids you'd think would know better than to ruin an entire 7 book plotline for a couple of seven year olds, leaving their mother to White Lie it a bit so as not to totally ruin the oncoming deaths of Important Characters). Since I couldn't very well duc tape anyone's mouth shut, I decided to speed up our consumption of that phenomenon known as the Harry Potter series.

We'd already read The Philosopher's Stone, The Chamber of Secrets and The Prisoner of Azkaban; they were begun in the lazy dog days of summer, when none of us could bear to think about school regimens. A good read aloud, I'd thought, that's what we need - that will ease us back into a schedule. And what better than a series about school (albeit a magical school)? Max and I had already read each book as it had come out, so I knew the story, or at least, I thought I did. The twins were captivated. It was a new and wildly delightful world for them. FDPG started carrying around a broomstick, from an old Halloween costume, and we found a website that told us how to make a Hogwarts wand so she could completely irritate her older brother with cries of Expelliaramus! Alohamora! and Wingardium Leviosa! She donned an old Waldorf silk cape and spent so much time whipping around the house on her broomstick that she eventually knocked over most of the houseplants and scared the you-know-what out of the cat (who still flees in utter panic whenever she enters the room). Dominic spent all his time wondering about the finer points: Did all wizard kids go to regular school or just Muggle-born wizard kids? Did they have to do math ever? Why did they wear those billowy cloaks when playing Quidditch? Why does Dumbledore ignore so much critical stuff? Why didn't Snape wash his hair?

We had a brief Diana Wynne Jones interlude (House of Many Ways, The Game, Dogsbody, Castle in the Air), to start the new school year, mostly so FDPG could steel her imaginative resolve a little in time for The Goblet of Fire and its accompanying movie, because we always had a movie showing after the book. But the series takes a more, err, mature turn here: perfectly nice people die, long dead parents have poignant cameos, and the Death Eaters have several creepy scenes (not to mention the fact that my old heartthrob Ralph Fiennes makes an alarming appearance in the film without a nose). I could see all kinds of problems arising if I started this book too early with FDPG: the combination of an impressionable seven year old and a very dramatic story about wizarding tournaments, not to mention sudden and irrevocable death, was not one I was willing to make. Besides, Max and I had seen Goblet of Fire in the theatre when Max was eight, and I was still slightly scarred from watching him cry as we left the theatre. "That was kind of scary," he'd said shakily. He was right - I'd no idea it would be quite so dark. I spent the final 20 minutes of the film cursing all the movie reviewers who'd neglected to mention this while Max hid behind his container of popcorn every time Ralph Voldemort screeched and swung and sliced. I had no intention of revisiting that place with FDPG: to hell with The Boy Who Lived, FDPG is The Girl Who Has Night Terrors. That trumps.

But then we went to a wedding, and some helpful little sod twit 13 year old told the twins that Dumbledore died in Half Blood Prince, and that Harry and Ginny got married in the end. "Oh, he's just having you on," I said, "he's kidding around." It was time, I knew. Either that or have every kid we run into spill what remaining beans there were.

So I hauled out Goblet of Fire. We read it. This book tested my ability for accents: there was McGonagall, Hagrid, Mad Eye Moody, AND Fleur Delacour to remember, to say nothing of keeping Hermione, Harry, and Ron straight. I have to confess that I used the accents of the actors in the movies: they were easy to remember and they made the movie viewing all the more piquant. A ripe Scots accent heralding the appearance of McGonagall in a scene made everyone grin madly, while Fleur's "Ooo, 'Arry, zat was so sweet of you!" had the singular ability to make Max (now 12) blush and scowl at the same time ("She doesn't really sound like that, does she?"). And when it came time to see the movie I simply sat next to FDPG and covered her eyes when the scary bits came. She was more than okay with it, too - she'd read the book - she knew what she was missing: she plugged her ears and I plugged her eyes. "Books are always more scary than the movie, Mum" she said one time. "I don't need to see Voldemort, I can imagine him and that's scary enough."

And thus we moved along, through Order of the Phoenix, The Half Blood Prince, and finally, through The Deathly Hallows. There were times along the way when I found the words too sad to read, and Max had to take over, and times when FDPG decided that she read better than Max and that SHE would take over when I got all emotional. I said earlier that I thought I knew the story, having read it already, but as each book opened up I found all sorts of things I'd forgotten or not noticed on the first reading. I also noticed things I hadn't before: plot lines that, if one reads the stories back to back, make it quite clear who's good, who's bad, and who's in between. I'd been in such a hurry before that I'd raced along at my own breakneck speed, desperate to see who lived and who died at the end, and sometimes I was left wondering. And here I was reading it again. It was more fun this time. It was fun hearing FDPG shout "And then we apparated out of there!" from her bedroom, while she and Dominic played Harry and Hermione at Hogwarts. It was also fun pretending to be McGonagall during math: I'd wear a red satin cape, smack the white board hard with a stick and let it rip with the Scots accent. I sometimes added or deducted points from the houses, just for the heck of it (Maxendor, Katenclaw, and Dufflepuff). We pretended to drink pumpkin juice at lunch and the boys dreamed of multiple desserts after each meal. And it was fun reading the little notes FDPG left for Dominic in his room, promising an entrance to Hogwarts if he behaved himself ("Dear Dominic, Now that you are 11 you can come to Hogwarts, here is your book list").

Finally, I wish I could have made a sneak video of FDPG's face while I read the books, because every grimace, grin, scowl, and look of anguish every character manifested, not to mention each flick of a wand hand, was tested out on her face (and hands) each and every morning, over her cup of tea. You don't get that in the theatre, and you certainly don't get that when you read by yourself.

Flower in the Garden Revisited

I know I use this title a lot (if you've never noticed let's just pretend I never said that). I blame it on a cloth book FDPG had when she was 3 months old. She'd sit in her bouncy chair and glare at the book, willing the pictures to turn into words, I'm sure. And yes, we do have photographs of her doing that. How could we not take pictures of a 3 month old glaring rigidly at a cloth book? Especially one entitled Flower in the Garden?

Today was a day for the heralding of spring. It was t-shirt weather. It was dig in the garden weather. It was bask in the sun on the deck weather. It was even Watch Richard Read Academic Literature On The Deck Weather (not nearly as gripping as it sounds). It got so warm I even had to turn off the heat mat in the cold frame. If my neighbours hadn't been in their yard wondering where the stench of chicken manure was coming from I might even have frolicked a little, doing my Julie Andrews Hills Are Alive impersonation, tra-laaing with my new garden fork. But my neighbours aren't big on irony so I restrained myself. Plus, the stench of chicken manure was coming from my garden and I didn't really want to draw attention to the fact.
The weather is supposed to turn tomorrow (oh gosh, quel surprise) so I made the most of today: I paid asked the twins to help me push all the vegetable garden soil through a sieve so we can get the carrots and beets and root vegetables started soon. Last year I skipped this step and our carrots grew into rude manly shapes that no one could eat without bursting into hysterical laughter and the beets didn't do much of anything. Even the peas struggled for a while. So this year I am trying a new tact: I am doing what the garden books recommend. Novel of me, I know.
Look at that soil!







I also dug some trenches and planted a lot of potatoes (Russian Fingerlings, Desiree, and Yukon Gold). Emptied the compost into the tomato patch. Took all the sod from the front yard and lad it upside down onto the sloping lawn in the back yard so I can use it for garden at some point soon (see photo to the left). This part of the yard doesn't look very sloping here but it is quite steep. I nearly ripped my leg muscles trying to slide down the hill with my wheelbarrow full of sod. You'd never know that there are about 20 newspapers and two bales of straw there, under that sod and chicken manure.








It's still hard to tell what might have bit the dust over the unpredictable winter we had, but if I look really close, I can see the peonies, lilies, and hardy fuchsias coming up. This is a Star Gazer lily. When my grandmother died I dug it up from her garden. Some people like to have jewelry or books from relatives who have died, I like to have plants.





A primula. Primulas are like a People magazine for me: I always regret buying them (they never come back the same way twice and slugs live for them) and but they are fun for the moment.

The only kind I've ever had any luck with is the pure yellow variety. But this one? I think this is the first and last time I'll see this two-tone colour...










This violet is poking up everywhere. It's even in the lawn. Nodding purple heads attracting all the early bees.









And finally, the miniature daffs and the pulmonaria. More fodder for the solitary bees. Not to mention my camera.

Something Along Those Lines

The kids have a science fair this month, and we were going to do something pretty hilarious in the Greek line, but after the Multicultural Lunch we attended we all felt a bit Greeked out. My fault, I think, because I've been dragging this unit out for far too long, always seeing a new White Rabbit to dash after: "Ack, we forgot about Pythagorus!" or "We really should read this laboriously long 698 page Roger Lancelyn Green book" not to mention the old "But we haven't finished every bloody single story in Famous Men of Greece!" trail.

So when we sat down to reconsider our contribution to the science fair, I asked the kids if they were okay with our Greek plan, or did they want to explore something else. Max immediately blurted out "Something else!" That was that. While I have been known to flog a dead horse beyond belief when it comes to heated Jeopardy arguments discussions (especially when I am right and Richard is oh-so-wrong), I know enough not to mess with the interest levels of those of us in this house who are hovering on puberty the kids.

"So, what shall we do?" I asked.

"Gardening!" shouted FDPG (who has discovered that shouting trumps almost any voice).

"Butterfly gardening!" said Max.

"Pollinators!" shouted FDPG.

"Clone wars!" said Dominic, hopefully.

"Good ideas," I said.

So we went to the museum.

I like our museum: it's full of cool stuff, helps us clear our heads when there are too many things going on, and I've found a place where we can park for free for 4 hours that is right beside the museum. Free parking! What's not to like about that?

We wandered around a bit, saw some weird exhibits (believe it or not, Mr Museum Curator, but there IS such a thing as too many argilite carvings), rode up and down the very tall escalators a few times (dare I confess that this ranks up there with some of the Marine Biology exhibits for my kids?) and presented our Membership Cards several times just for the heck of it (FDPG finds it incredible that she now has real picture ID - I eventually had to confiscate it from her).

Then we hit the gift shop. Or, rather, I hit the gift shop. Max sat outside at the free movie centre with the twins. The twins hate gift shops. I'm not sure why. It might be because I love museum gift shops. And I like to have a whirl round after each visit in case something new (and educational) has appeared in our absence. Max loves gift shops, although he has taken to hovering so closely over me during these whirl rounds that once or twice I've fallen into him after turning around. (some people are close talkers; Max is a close walker) So I went in but about 3 seconds later all three kids followed me. Apparently someone near them at the free movie centre was sniffing too loud. Or something equally banal. Personally, I think they were worried about missing something.


After escaping the friendly but overly voluble docent, I rifled through the kids book section. And found this. It looked kind of fun. Nice cover. Combined bugs and experiments in a way I figured would work with both Max and the twins (not an easy feat some days). Looked fun as a science fair idea stimulant. So we bought it. And came home to a renewed enthusiasm for the Science Fair. Bugs, bees, butterflies and gardening. We had most of the makings already: homemade plant tags, lots of little, dearly beloved, tenderly nurtured seedlings, bee houses in varying stages of occupation, cold frames, heat mats, a worship of butterflies that borders on the near insane, and a passionate interest in growing and eating things that reside in our back yard. Or something along those lines.

Oh, by the way, remember me mentioning how I can flog a dead horse when it comes to Jeopardy discussions? Last night we were all watching Jeopardy, and when the Final Jeopardy question popped up ("Who wrote 'You're nothing but a pack of cards!'" or something along those lines) FDPG shouted "LEWIS CARROLL WROTE THAT!" (as I said, she has discovered the power of shouting).

And what do you know, but she was right.

Art For Cats

I've posted before about this art blog and how much the kids like the projects she has. We tried a new pastel project today. It seems to really draw the kids, particularly Dominic, like a magnet. He loves pastels. We've almost used up my box of high school Reeves Oil Pastels in just a few weeks.

If you click here you can see Kathy's posting; here are my kids' interpretations. This was a very cool colour project - I love how vibrant the colours are with the oil pastels.

I'll leave whose is who's up to you to figure out...

Anyone For Tennis?

ServeReturn (same plants, just in case you're wondering if I've really, utterly, lost it)

Fairy Diva Pony Girl Gardens

The industrious FDPG, getting her garden ready for its close-up (I get to play Mr DeMille and document her). And yes, she is kind of glaring at one of those pots. I'd hate to be that Lumina pumpkin if it doesn't perform to her specifications. She's kind of like the White Queen in Narnia when things don't go her way. Just kidding. No, I'm not. You're not supposed to say things like that about your kids.




She planted the seeds (we wrangled a little about just how many millions upon zillions we were ready to see growing in my garden) that she'd chosen. This is only a small portion of what she wanted in that little plot of hers. In the end I gave her the option of ripping up the field where she and her brothers run around, or planting all those seeds. We compromised by me giving up more garden space and gnashing my teeth a lot.









Then she wrote the names of all the plants laboriously on the little wooden tags she'd made, and watered every single pot thoroughly.

We placed the trays on heat mats, on window sills, in sunny places and in aquariums. We even put some outside in the cold frame, which is a very cold frame at the moment, but quake not because we put them on another heat mat. An industrial strength one!

And now we wait, something FDPG isn't too excited about. She wants it all NOW.

I kind of relate. I kind of want it all now, too.

What Goes On Behind The Scenes

I'm not exactly sure what's he doing, but I liked the way the light fell on the floor at Max's feet and how all the colours in the room mixed together. And how my cluttered, too-small kitchen looks so, err photogenic (instead of cluttered and too-small). And how calm and quiet and pensive my teetering-on-the-cusp-of-puberty son looks. You can't see the dryer with its four day old load of half dry laundry, or the sink with its load of unmentionable dishes, or the kitchen floor with its muddy cat prints skidding across.

Nope, instead it all looks so calm and artistic. I must remember this moment. Cling to it. Like grim death. Don't panic. Women and children first.