Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.*

I spent a good chunk of the last few days doing this:

It was the most intense HP book in the series, by far. But isn't it great when you already know there are three more books to follow, so he's not really going to die in the end (no matter how bleak it might be at the moment.) The part of me that likes this is probably the same part of me that thought it was enough of a surprise to find out the baby's gender at the ultrasound, rather than the birthing room. My husband said this was like "ruining Christmas."

The other day, my husband made the observation that no matter how much time I may spend reading whilst involved in a good novel, in the long run, I probably still spend more time scrapbooking. I had to think about it and disagree--"You don't know how much time I spent reading as a kid," I said. He thought for a second. "Okay, from the time you started scrapbooking, then." "Okay," I agreed finally.

Also, here is Jude helping water the plants yesterday. He loves to help me, and he loves watering plants. Yesterday was the first day I let him do almost exclusively by himself (except for the ones he can't reach.)

One more thing: Jude just came into the office and offered me an empty plastic teacup.

"Look, Mommy, I made you tea!"

I took it and pretended to slurp it up. "Just the way I like it!" I said.

"Orange Pekoe!" he replied.

Is it a bad thing if my four-and-a-half-year-old knows the type of tea I prefer? (Or one of the two, anyway? The tea I have in my real mug right now is actually Chai, sweetened with honey. Mmmm.)

*Groucho Marx