Harry Potter and My Daughter

I feel better today. I got a bite from one place I sent my résumé. I am, after all, going to three interviews (of sorts – two of them are really tests of my ability to write and edit) this week, and I am cautiously optimistic about my chances with all three. Make that four, once I get to talk to the other person who responded to my résumé. Ahhhh… I feel myself relaxing a bit.

I played around at Warner Brothers’ Harry Potter website. I was totally psyched that the Sorting Hat put me in Gryffindor! I was just like Harry, sitting there going, “Please put me Gryffindor, please put me in Gryffindor…” Although Harry was really just hoping not to wind up in Slytherin. If you haven’t read the books, you have no clue what I’m blathering on about, but it’s my diary, so deal with it.

While I was there, I went shopping in Ollivander’s Wand Shop, and I found the perfect wand: Phoenix Feather, Redwood, 8 ¾ inches.

Finally, I practiced Quidditch. I sucked at being a Keeper and a Beater. As a Keeper, I kept letting the other team score. As a Beater, I ran into my player twice and hit the Bludger right into his head three times. I couldn’t get my computer to run the Chaser practice. But guess what… I totally KICKED ASS at being a Seeker, just like Harry Potter. I’m not usually good at sports, and I know it was just the computer, but it still kind of made me feel good. I’ll take it where I can get it, you know? Anyway, I am going to join the Quidditch diaryring to celebrate my extreme Seeker talents.

Anyway, the site is really cool, and I’m a dork. So what.

So I talked with Sarah’s father, and he says she tells him she really likes it here. She likes her school. She is making friends. She told me today she was making up a song about her new home.

She’s such a sweet kid. I was upset the other day (over everything), and she asked me what was wrong. I said I didn’t feel well. She asked me if I had eaten. How’s that for a little mother hen? I said yes. She asked if I’d eaten dinner. I said no. She concluded that was the problem and promptly made me one of her peanut butter/graham cracker sandwiches. How could I not feel better after that?

Speaking of these sandwiches, she “invented” them the other day, and she is very proud. She even submitted her “recipe” to the Zoom show on PBS. She came out of the back bedroom asking how to spell “cracker.” I told her, and she went trotting off. Then she reappeared wanting to know how to spell “squish.” I followed her back, as my curiosity was piqued. She had signed on AOL, found the Zoom website, figured out how to submit a recipe, and was in the process of doing so. All by herself. Pretty soon, she’s going to be smart enough to figure out how to get around the parental controls I put on her Internet access.