This week is parent teacher conferences at Daughter’s school, which means she only has class Monday through Wednesday. By some ridiculous stroke of luck and series of wonderful coincidences, we managed these things: an earlier conference on Thursday morning, Husband has Thursday-Sunday off to spend with us, our favorite pet sitter was available, Husband’s sister and her husband were happy to have us come visit over the weekend. Already this was a wondrous series of events.
Then the megafantastic happened. This weekend is also the weekend of a much-desired festival right near my sister-in-law’s home. It’s not just some festival, though. It’s a Harry. Potter. Festival.
So, this weekend, I get to do a handful of my most favorite things to do on the planet ever. I get to visit with a college friend who was unable to attend my wedding due to a horrible traffic incident and the missing of a flight. (And we weren’t able to attend his wedding due to poor financial planning, resulting in not seeing this wonderful man in 20 years.) I get to hang out at the home of some of my favorite humans on the planet. I get to be a part of taking Daughter to a new museum, which happens to be a science museum. Science=amazing. AND, I get to go to Hogsmeade.
I plan on allowing myself the willing suspension of disbelief. I will be fully emerged in J.K. Rowling’s universe. I shall cast spells and complain about muggles and drink butterbeer. I will embrace wizard culture. With this childlike giddiness I prepare for my weekend, and the joy cannot help but bubble from me.