This is the part where you tell me to get over it...

I mean, it's just a book, right?

Cade took Sydney on Saturday morning, while I was teaching a piano lesson, to Maple Street Children's Bookshop to pick up our reserved copy. We'd made a deal: he could read it first if he promised, swore on the graves of every person who'd ever loved him, that he would not give an iota of precious information away. No gasping, no muttered reactions, no eyebrows raised meaningfully on the way to the bathroom--nothing. And so far, so good: he finished the book on Saturday night and has yet to say a word about the fate of Harry and his friends and enemies. As of this morning, I'm about halfway through.

You know, I'd be a lot less anxious if the title were a little different. Oh, I dunno, maybe something like 'Harry Potter and the Really, Really Happy Ending.' Or 'Harry Potter is Totally Going to Kick Voldemort's Ass.' Or even 'Harry Potter is Not Going to Die, I Swear,' or something like that. Anything but the 'Deathly Hallows.' I mean, is she trying to induce a full-blown panic attack, or what?