I'm so excited and I just caint hide it! That's right! Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows tomorrow night at 10pm! We've already got the tickets.
We pulled out all of the movies and have been doing a systematic countdown. My three year old has been walking around waving his wand yelling "pe-la-mus!" Which apparently means "Expeliarmus" in three year old lingo.
If you didn't already know, hubby and I heart, heart, heart, Harry Potter. I hearted him first, though, for the record (if anyone's keeping records). I read all the books and forced my husband (then boyfriend) to take me to see the first movie. He was not pleased, but the thought of having a chance to try and feel me up in a dark theater was enough to get him there. Now we count down the days until the newest Harry Potter movie is released.
I got the first book browsing in the Walmart youth section, (Yeah, I troll the youth reading section. I read Twilight, Uglies, and Twitiches, too!), and I saw this bright blue book about a wizard. Now I had never heard of Harry Potter, even though he had become a BIG sensation already and there were three books out, I didn't know a Snape from a Grindylow. I was waiting the loooong wait for new tires and decided to catch up on some reading.
The cover sucked. It was one of those second edition covers with just the title and a gold foil outline of a boy on a broom.
But the title, Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone.
I decided to check it out. Why not? I was bored and I always liked a good story about magic. I had read two thirds of the book, before I knew it. I spent more than two hours sitting in the floor of Wal-mart's book section, enraptured. I had missed the auto department call my name twice.
I was pulled into a wonderful world of wizards and witches and three-headed dogs named Fluffy. And a very ordinary boy who thought he was no-one and had nobody to care suddenly thrust into a crazy existence where he was someone and had somebodies who had cared enough to die for him.
I bought the book. I finished it that afternoon. I haven't fallen that in love with a book like that since, well, ever.
Until the next book, and the next. I've read them all. When the last book came out I dreaded reading it, it was the last, the end. I was also so excited I could barely contain myself.
Throughout the series, I had found myself alternately laughing and yelling at a book, then later, the screen. I cried for Dumbledore, cursed and blessed Snape's eyes, laughed at Ron's inevitable unending calamities and cluelessness, cheered on Hermione's freedom causes, staunch friendship and intellect, and felt a certain pride in all of Harry's triumphs, empathy for his losses. I even felt some sympathy for the devil. Even Voldemort was innocent once and had a past and heritage that twisted him into what he is today.
I kind of felt like I grew up with Harry. The books became more in-depth, more adult, as the series went on. I felt like I did, too.
I guess what I'm saying is: Farewll, Harry Potter. Ahh, we're gonna miss you.
We pulled out all of the movies and have been doing a systematic countdown. My three year old has been walking around waving his wand yelling "pe-la-mus!" Which apparently means "Expeliarmus" in three year old lingo. If you didn't already know, hubby and I heart, heart, heart, Harry Potter. I hearted him first, though, for the record (if anyone's keeping records). I read all the books and forced my husband (then boyfriend) to take me to see the first movie. He was not pleased, but the thought of having a chance to try and feel me up in a dark theater was enough to get him there. Now we count down the days until the newest Harry Potter movie is released.
I got the first book browsing in the Walmart youth section, (Yeah, I troll the youth reading section. I read Twilight, Uglies, and Twitiches, too!), and I saw this bright blue book about a wizard. Now I had never heard of Harry Potter, even though he had become a BIG sensation already and there were three books out, I didn't know a Snape from a Grindylow. I was waiting the loooong wait for new tires and decided to catch up on some reading.
The cover sucked. It was one of those second edition covers with just the title and a gold foil outline of a boy on a broom.
But the title, Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone.
I decided to check it out. Why not? I was bored and I always liked a good story about magic. I had read two thirds of the book, before I knew it. I spent more than two hours sitting in the floor of Wal-mart's book section, enraptured. I had missed the auto department call my name twice.
I was pulled into a wonderful world of wizards and witches and three-headed dogs named Fluffy. And a very ordinary boy who thought he was no-one and had nobody to care suddenly thrust into a crazy existence where he was someone and had somebodies who had cared enough to die for him.
I bought the book. I finished it that afternoon. I haven't fallen that in love with a book like that since, well, ever.
Until the next book, and the next. I've read them all. When the last book came out I dreaded reading it, it was the last, the end. I was also so excited I could barely contain myself.
Throughout the series, I had found myself alternately laughing and yelling at a book, then later, the screen. I cried for Dumbledore, cursed and blessed Snape's eyes, laughed at Ron's inevitable unending calamities and cluelessness, cheered on Hermione's freedom causes, staunch friendship and intellect, and felt a certain pride in all of Harry's triumphs, empathy for his losses. I even felt some sympathy for the devil. Even Voldemort was innocent once and had a past and heritage that twisted him into what he is today.
I kind of felt like I grew up with Harry. The books became more in-depth, more adult, as the series went on. I felt like I did, too.
I guess what I'm saying is: Farewll, Harry Potter. Ahh, we're gonna miss you.
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