You would think that if I had any consistant readers, they would consistantly be disappointed in my ability to do anything consistantly. That's the story of my life, though....never could do things the easy way. I kicked my own mother in the birth canal on the way out, like saying, "Something to remember me by, lady! Recover from this!" Any wonder why she didn't have any more kids....but I digress.

I have been reading the full Harry Potter series. I have become a bit obsessed with it, as you may have seen a little inkling in prior posts. I recently have been pretty sick, with those full body aches that made me kick the bed like a child in a tantrum just to see if I could shake it out of myself and also because the bed became increasingly lumpy as I lay there alternating between a frigid popcicle and a menopausal woman burning herself at the stake. I could not hold the books, too weak to try to attempt that when I had to save my energy for taking care of the baby when Mower would bring her in to eat in between my periods of unconsciousness. During those periods, some of which were like stewing in a sauna in my own bed, and others where I seriously wondered how in the hell it could be so cold in Texas in June to where I wanted to have three comforters and ski socks on, I dreamed of Harry Potter. Of Snape. Of wands. Of Ron and Hermione. Of house elves. And of fire breathing dragons and dementors, depending on where I was physically in the fever--sauna or South Pole excursion.

The positives--lost 8 pounds in a couple days from sweating. The negatives--didn't I just say I couldn't keep reading the books? That's like asking a meth addict to switch to just having an extra tablespoon of sugar in their Cheerios. Not going to produce a very happy response. More like one where there's a chair hurled at someone's head, a chair they were just sitting on as they commented to their meth friend that sugar would be an acceptable replacement.

So, love the books for the most part. Bubba is all excited that another movie is coming out this year. She tries to convince us that every night is Harry Potter movie night here, and we have to remind her that to get a movie night, she has to read 30 books. Mower's trying to teach her the multiplication tables, so she traded some books for doing some tables. I am impressed that she is a little math whiz when it comes to things on paper, and amused that she she thinks like a little kid when it comes to money in her hand. Her purse was getting increasingly heavy, so I told her to count out the pennies and I would buy them from her for quarters. I even rounded up and gave her $1.50 for $1.38 in pennies, and allowed her to keep the eight shiniest ones. She still looked crestfallen, though, when I scooped up my pennies and she felt her bag. I asked what was wrong, because she should be happy she made more than she should have. She looked at me in all seriousness, with those beeseeching blue eyes and long lashes, and said, "Yeah, but you have more coins than I do now." She honestly expected me to feel sorry for her, the little moneybags. I should have known she would not let go of this notion of pennies being almighty when she first came into money and the Tooth Fairy gave her $20 and a shiny penny, and all she could talk about was the penny, and again when I once bribed her a crisp $5 to get her to give a different shiny penny to her screaming brother to shut him up, and she was all in a funk because she wanted her lucky penny back--she couldn't wrap her head around that the only luck that penny gave her was that she got $5 for it because her brother was reaching stroke level over wanting it--she was still focused on that pennies are lucky and worship-worthy. I refused to give in and pointed out that she got more money overall for her pennies than she gave me, and I put the pennies away.

Two days later, what do I find that my little manipulator has now? A purse full of pennies from her grandfather, who she convinced that he didn't want pennies because they aren't worth as much overall. I thought Handsome was my little Gollum with how he perches over a stolen soda, but no, he's got competition from his older sister and her obsession with pennies. I swear, one night I am going to come downstairs and see her arranging them into the shape of Abe Lincoln's face and sleeping in the middle of it. She decided to buy a lucky penny keychain, which after purchasing it, was not a lucky penny after all since it didn't give her enough luck for me to put it with my purchases so I'd pay the tax on it and not her, which is what she tried to convince me to do. And the coup de gras, she was picked up by her grandfather for a car washing where he paid her $5. Mower asked if she'd wash it again if it rained that afternoon. Her response:

"Of course. But he has to pay again."

Yup, a miser and a tough entrepenuer. Mommy's little twin.