We all knew it was coming.  We’ve known “neither can live while the other survives.”  Warner Bros. was business saavy kind enough to string the last book out into two movies.  But, now it’s here.  This week is the last of it.  It will be over.  I have my tickets for Friday night.

I picked up this week’s copy of EW.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited about the last movie.  I know Greyson will be cheering when Mrs. Weasley kills Bellatrix Lestrange.  I’m psyched to see our dear, bumbling Neville become a hero.  Of course Ron and Hermione, finally.

I’m not one of those kids who grew up with Harry Potter.  Being alive in the last decade meant I certainly knew who he was, but I was already in college when the novels and films became a worldwide phenomenon. One night I was home from school and was going to pick up a CD and a latte from my local Barnes and Noble.  When I walked in there were hundreds of children in round plastic glasses waving sticks.  I had apparently stumbled into the midnight release parties of one of the novels.  I was annoyed, but intrigued.

Years later I read all of them, start to finish, the entire series.  Then I read it again.  Then I made Greyson read them, and he thanked me as he sniffled his way through the final chapters of The Deathly Hallows.  For us as adults, it was the ultimate escape.  I don’t know an adult who’s read the series who hasn’t confessed they would love to get their letter from Hogwarts.  In my mind, everyone I know is “sorted” into a house.

I guess the only thing sweetening the bittersweetness of the final movie is knowing that now that I’m a parent, I get to share Harry Potter with my daughter someday.  Charlotte, sweetheart, when you get big enough I’ll send you the owl to let you know it’s time.  It will be time to crack open The Sorcerer’s Stone and head to number 4 Privet Drive so the story of the boy from the cupboard can enchant you as it has your parents.  In my mind it will be, well…magic.

I came home this evening and opened the cabinet in the kitchen where we keep all of the things we only sort of knew existed a year ago.  You know, Dr. Brown’s bottles, Munchkin bowls and spoons, Born Free training cups, and Medela breast shields.

 

You know that weird place between asleep and awake where you aren’t sure if you’re still dreaming?  Last weekend I had the most ridiculous terrifying moment in that place.  

My baby thief!

Like everyone else I was glued to the Casey Anthony verdict yesterday.  But, my reaction was apparently not like everyone else. 

I completely, 100% agree with the jury. 

I know, I know, I can hear you now, “But Amy, you are a mother!  Aren’t you outraged!?”

Yes.  I am outraged.  I’m outraged this woman didn’t report her child missing for more than 30 days.  I’m outraged she lied to investigators.  I’m outraged they found the body of a two-year-old with duct tape on her face.  I’m outraged there are no answers.

If Casey Anthony was on trial for being a lying, crazy woman, or on trial for being a lousy mom, then she’s guilty on all charges.  (and she was found guilty of lying.)  But, she wasn’t on trial for those things.  If she murdered that child, then the state didn’t prove it.  It has to be “beyond a reasonable doubt”.  There was a lot of doubt in this case.  If I were a juror I’d be a tad insulted at having to sniff cans of crime scene scents that someone called “science.”

Everything about this is just so sad.  A child is gone.  Clearly this family has some terrible issues.  I watched all those people protesting outside the courtroom.  They were so angry at the jury.  They kept chanting, “Justice for Caylee!”  Well, the trial is over and no one was convicted.  So to me, if we want justice for that child, the only thing we can do is protect our own children and love our own children a little more.

This weekend was great.  We relaxed, just the four of us.  (I include Ginger here.)  I actually had the 4th holiday off work.  Greyson showed off his rib smoking prowess with his Father’s Day present.

For multiple nights this weekend, people kept setting off fireworks in a neighborhood nearby.  A number of  years ago I would have been thinking this when I heard them…

“Ha!  Awesome!  Who has fireworks?  Let’s grab some more beers and go see who’s shooting them off.  I wonder if they have any of those purple-flaming-Mexican-bottle-rocket-spinning-thingies?  Surely it’s not a bad idea to mix alcohol and do-it-yourself explosives.  I hope no one calls the cops.”

This year I thought this…

“If they wake up my baby I will call the cops!  Don’t those people know our area is under moderate drought conditions!?  They could start a fire!”  

At a local 4th celebration where you decorate your kid’s stroller/wagon/bike.

Charlotte and Josh decided to rip the sign and chew on it.  Yum!  If they like posterboard, wait until they get to taste hotdogs next year.