This post contains Harry Potter spoilers.  Stop reading now if you don’t want the series ruined.

So we started Harry Potter Six despite saying three months ago that we weren’t ready at all.  Despite saying the same thing just a few hours before I read them the first page.  But the reality is that what I was trying to keep them from experiencing was the thrill that Voldemort takes in killing, and the ChickieNob noted at the end of Book Five that Bellatrix seemed to really enjoy killing Sirius.  I coupled that realization with the fact that they barely flinched over Sirius’s death.  They cried; they were sad, but they weren’t scared.  And I’m okay with introducing them to the concept of sad.  Dealing with a favourite character’s death, talking out how you feel about that death, is a safe way to process the feelings of death without actually having to lose a real person.  So… I’m all for encountering sad in a safe space.

Then Josh commented that he thought they were ready.  His fear is that the longer we wait, the more chance the books will be ruined as other kids read them and talk about them.

Here is the thing.  That has already happened.  And when it did, I lied.

[I promised I would never lie to my kids, and then I lied lied lied.]

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In first grade, the ChickieNob came home from school upset and asked if she could speak to me alone.  And when we got upstairs, she told me that a boy had told her the end of Book Six just to be mean.  And she wanted to know if it was true; did Snape murder Dumbledore?

She was devastated over the idea that (1) Dumbledore would be killed and (2) that this boy had taken away something from her that she held precious — letting the story unfold as it was supposed to unfold.

So I told her that the child was cruel and had gotten it completely wrong which is to be expected when it comes to six-year-olds watching movies way above their head.

She was relieved, and has gone through the rest of the series calmly, sometimes asking reassurance that Dumbledore would be in Book Seven.  And I’m not lying when I tell her that he’s in Book Seven.  And I didn’t exactly lie when I told her that the boy was wrong.  I mean, he was wrong in the sense that it wasn’t murder.  That it was something much more nuanced than that.  But ChickieNob thinks that Dumbledore lives.  So… it’s a lie.

And it eats away at me now that we are ensconced in Book Six.

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I told them that I have told one lie, and I would like to preemptively ask for forgiveness.  I lied for a good reason, which doesn’t really excuse it.  But I didn’t want the books ruined for her.

And more to the point, she has been so careful not to pass the story along to her brother.  He still doesn’t know why we went upstairs that day; why she was so upset.

There are times when we accidentally ruin a story for someone else.  We say something not realizing the person hasn’t read the story or isn’t at the same part.  It happens.  And while it sucks, it doesn’t bother me.  The person meant no harm.

But this kid ruined the end of the book on purpose.  He told her that he was going to tell her everything and ruin it for her, and when she told him to stop, he kept talking.  And that is a literary violation.  I mean, it sort of sounds funny when I write about it; torturing someone by telling them important book endings.  But in the moment, when it’s happening to you?  It feels as if someone has crept into your bedroom and stolen one of your prized possessions.  She has been holding this series in her heart for years; it is so important to her.  To take away allowing the twists to unfold in due time is a crappy thing to do.

Hopefully she will forgive me when we get to the end of the book.  When I told her that I once told her a lie, she asked me again if Dumbledore was alive in Book Seven.  I told her he was, and then I repeated that when I told the lie, I did so to protect the books.  I offered to tell her the lie, to confess on the spot, and maybe she knows what it was already, because she told me that she’d rather be angry with me when the truth comes out than learn the truth now.

I’m not sure which is worse: being a liar, even if it is to save a book, or being a book ruiner.

The Huffington Post had an article titled “The Top 50 Cities to See in Your Lifetime” that made the rounds on Facebook.  Of course the link makes you curious and you click over to see how many of these cities-you-must-see that you’ve been to. (I’ve made it to 12.)  And then you lament that you haven’t made it to a large chunk of the list.  Which makes you depressed enough to eat an entire carton of butter pecan ice cream.

Yet with the spoon midway between the container and your mouth, you suddenly remember that marveling is all in the eye of the beholder and there are plenty of places that didn’t make this list that deserve to be seen and experienced.

For instance, if you came to America and only saw the cities that made the list: San Francisco, Las Vegas, and New York, you would have a fairly limited view of life in the states.  Where I live has nothing in common with San Francisco, Las Vegas, or New York.  Don’t you think someone visiting the US should see some farmland?  Or a small town?  Or a beach town?  Head into the mountains?  Tour the Bayou?  While all are nice cities, they’re a somewhat depressing landing ground to experience America.  It reminds me of my cousins’ friends who knew America via 90210 and assumed that was an accurate portrayal of American teens.

And then I started realizing that while Florence was fine, I really loved picking a random town like San Gimignano and taking two buses to get there in order to get a better sense of Tuscany.  Because, sure, Florence is part of that, but if I had stopped at Florence rather than heading out to Poggibonsi, I’m not sure I would have seen the most interesting parts of the area.  I would have just seen the most popular.  And popular and interesting aren’t usually the same thing.

Which makes me guess that the rest of Huffington Post’s list is a bunch of bullshit too.  Just big, popular places that are common tourist destinations.  Not that there is anything wrong with tourist destinations — I mean, Washington, D.C. is a tourist destination — but I would hate to let someone else construct my travel bucket list.

So what is my bucket list?  I mean, where do I want to go?  Because it feels like I should have a personal travel bucket list.

This is what I have so far, though I made it countries or large areas for the most part instead of cities since I would need to do more research to figure out where I want to go specifically:

• Azores (this one is left over from a childhood desire to visit the picture on a page in my National Geographic book)
• Mingulay
• Barra
• Nepal
• Iceland
• Argentina
• Seychelles
• Bora Bora

I seem to be heavy on islands.  I like water.

What is on your personal travel bucket list?

There is a haunted house in my parent’s town.  The house was built in the late 1700s.  A family was murdered there in the early 1800s, and a fire gutted the inside of the building.  It was rebuilt soon after that, but it has been vacant on-and-off for the last 200 years because — legend goes — the family that was murdered in the house haunts it.  You can see the house from the road, hidden by the trees, and the kids and I have ventured as far as the driveway, which is marked by many signs stating the trespassers will be prosecuted.  It is currently owned by a man who opens it up as a “haunted house” attraction near Halloween.  The rest of the year, it lies dormant.

The ChickieNob — a huge fan of ghosts and all things haunted — was interested in getting tickets and going inside until she discovered that it was just a bunch of teenagers in scary costumes writhing around on the floor.  “I want to see a real haunted house and talk to real ghosts; not waste an hour looking at what someone thinks a haunted house should be like.”

Good point.

Because here’s the thing: why are ghosts always portrayed as something scary?  I mean, if I were a ghost, I wouldn’t make a rocking horse creepily bow back and forth to get someone’s attention.

Image: Thomas Quine via Flickr

Real ghosts don’t give a shit about rocking horses.

Look at it this way: Real kids don’t really play with rocking horses save for a few months of childhood.  Fine, I’ll accept that a toddler ghost may play with a rocking horse to get our attention, but anyone over the age of five?  Unlikely.

Human ghosts are still humans.  I mean, we don’t suddenly morph into being squirrels or goats.  We’re people.  And human ghosts would behave like people.  I suspect that if I were a ghost, I would behave with strangers the same way I behave around strangers currently at the grocery store.  I don’t try to freak out people buying grapes or make the people behind me in line quiver.  I either ignore them or make small talk.

As a human ghost amongst strangers, I would mostly be curious about all the things they’re using that weren’t around when I was alive.  I’d be all, “hey, what’s that crazy piece of wearable technology you have over your forehead, kid?”  Maybe I would move said piece of strange technology — I mean, THAT makes sense.  Slide that puppy across the floor toward the person so they’ll put it on and show me how to use it.  But rocking horses?  Or making curtains blow?  Seriously, what ghost is going to bother with that?

I plan on being an inquisitive ghost that keeps up to date on the latest advances in technology.  I am hoping that the humans I lurk around leave open Web pages so I can read them too.  In fact, realizing how I want to be in the afterlife, I’m thinking about placing the latest issue of People magazine on my dining room table and turning the pages every five minutes so any ghosts in the room can keep up to date with celebrity gossip.  THAT is what ghosts would care about; the same sort of drivel we care about while we’re living.

“Maybe they’re angry,” Josh offered.  “Maybe the family that was murdered is still angry and that’s why they’re haunting people.”

Give me a break.  I hold a grudge against people who have pissed me off.  But strangers?  Even at my angriest, I don’t take out my frustration on strangers.  I don’t think ghosts — even angry ghosts — would turn their anger towards people who weren’t even alive when they were murdered hundreds of years ago.  I really hope that after 200 years, they could set aside their spite and enjoy watching someone use their iPhone.  That has got to be cool for someone who died in the early 1800s.

I like the idea of ghosts.  I would be comforted to have someone I lost still with me.  I know that idea doesn’t sell tickets nor does it feed into the general festivities surrounding Halloween.  But I’m sticking to my version of ghost stories.

By now, you have likely heard about the discovery of the vampire squirrels of Borneo. Granted, it’s local legend, but I totally believe it. I believe it enough to write a series of songs about vampire squirrels and sing them for Truman.  He is in full agreement that we want to live in a world with vampire squirrels.

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Next Roundup marks the 8th anniversary of the Friday Blog Roundup.  As always, I’d like to do something to mark the occasion.  Because it would be difficult for all of us to write an ode to vampire squirrels in time (I get that you need to organize your thoughts), I instead propose that every single person who reads the Roundup weekly takes two seconds of their time this week to find one blog post out there to highlight.  That’s it.  Just find one post.  You do not have to stress if you find two posts that you like or decide between them: just submit two.  Or three.  Or eighteen.  Really, this is about gathering up good or interesting or moving or funny writing.

So bookmark this Roundup, and when you find a post you like this week (meaning, written today or later… up until Thursday morning), leave it in the comment section below.  I will gather them all up, and we’ll have a fat Second Helpings for next week.

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In case you missed this post earlier in the week, Lori is hosting an online book tour for Apart at the Seams, and I would love it if you joined along.  Pretty please?

Lavender Luz is hosting a book tour for my newest book, Apart at the Seams (thank you!).  Sign up goes until August 1st, and the posts will go up September 4th.  See, lots of time to read the book and join along.  All you need to do right now is click over and fill out Lori’s online form to let her know you’re participating.

If you can’t participate, but still want to do something, consider spreading word with a blog post, Goodreads review, Amazon review, or getting an enormous Arianna tattoo across your lower back.

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DON’T SKIP THIS SECTION, SLACKER!

Time for your weekly nag:

This is just your friendly nudge to do your weekly backup.  I know, I know, who has the time to create backups on a weekly basis?  No one.  But you still need to do it and forgo ten minutes of something else, once a week.  Right now, before you do anything else, use this post to roll through a quick backup of your email, documents, images, blog, social media accounts, and mobile devices.  Reading the Roundup on the go and don’t have the ability to do your backup right now?  Email yourself a copy of the Roundup so that the email will serve as a visual reminder to get this task done.  Ten minutes of your time once a week may save you a major loss of time and data down the road.  Don’t have regrets.  So, on your marks, get set, back up!

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

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And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Syncopation” (Mrs. Spit)
• “Stuck” (Moodscope)
• “Pro-Choice Postpartum” (Cornfed Feminist)

Okay, now my choices this week.

I love this post about shedding things by The Empress and the Fool.  It’s a bit like a snake sloughing off its outer layer to make way for the newer, shinier skin.  I love this line: “I’m also in a really strange place with friends, shedding relationships like a molting bird, some of it circumstantial, some of it by choice.”  It’s about making space in your life for new things, even as you mournfully bob in the memory of all that has sailed away.

A Woman My Age has a post on house envy, but it’s really coveting whatever you don’t have.  It throws into sharp relief the reality that every single decision brings with it benefits and drawbacks.  Having kids, taking a job, buying a house: every life decision can be examined through a positive or negative lens.  And knowing that, well… you can see the positivity in every choice.

Will Carry On is pregnant after adoption and loss, and she writes about feeling like a fraud.  I love this point: “‘I’m one of you!’ I want to shout. ‘Do you know what I’ve been through?!? I deserve this.’ It’s like I want, and need, to defend myself…to total strangers.”  But mostly, I really love the end of the post: the questions she has about being pregnant after so much loss, and having a new association with pregnancy instead of equating it with pain.  It’s a really moving post.

Lastly, Stumbling Gracefully has a post about comparative parenting, wondering if she is a good mother when she observes other mothers.  She explains, “I know comparison is the thief of joy, and I honestly believe that to be true, but I don’t feel like this is that kind of comparison. I’m not looking at what my cousins have and wishing I had it. This isn’t about envy or jealousy of a feeling that something is unfair. This is about watching other women who are damn good mothers and not ever seeing them falter and wondering if the fact that I do falther makes me a bad mom, or less-than in some way.”  Go over and read the whole post and comment section.  It’s a very interesting thought on whether we’re as good as we think we are when we don’t have a measuring stick to tell us otherwise.

The roundup to the Roundup: Vampire squirrels!  Help fatten up the Second Helpings section to celebrate the 8th anniversary of the Roundup.  Sign up for the Apart at the Seams book tour. Your weekly backup nudge.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between July 4th and July 11th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

It’s the only appointment I need to go quickly, and it’s the only one that runs late.

The general practitioner runs — at most — fifteen minutes behind.  Last month, I was taken early for my mammogram.  I was out of the radiology department before my scheduled appointment time even began.

But the OB/GYN is always running a half hour behind.  An hour behind.  This week, two hours behind.

I sat down in the waiting room and noted, as always, that I am the only woman without a pregnant belly.  I am surrounded by women rubbing the soccer balls tenting their maternity shirts.  Five pregnant bellies, four bored men, and me.  And two toddlers climbing on and off the disappearing laps of the pregnant women.  A children’s show playing from an iPad.  A floor covered in dried Cheerios.  A television set playing medical infomercials near the ceiling: “Are you having trouble getting pregnant?  Are you over 35?  Talk to your doctor about your fertility.”

A half hour past when my appointment was set to begin, the nurse informed me that it would be another hour and a half.  Did I want to reschedule?

Reschedule?  So I could sit in the waiting room again with a new set of pregnant bellies and infomercials?  I had already been there for 45 minutes having shown up 15 minutes early for my appointment.  I asked them to get me in with anyone.  There are many doctors in the practice.  Surely someone could do my annual exam.

An hour later, they squeezed my appointment into a different doctor’s schedule.  They called me back.  She entered the room and spent three minutes servicing my internal organs.  She exited the room, and I cried while getting dressed.

I got to check the appointment off the list for another year.

Someone needs to create an gynecological practice for the infertile.  No obstetricians on staff — you’ll need to go elsewhere for pregnancies — and perhaps still with toddlers and Cheerios in the waiting room.  But a quiet practice where you will never have to listen to medical infomercials while you wait or sit in a sea of pregnant bellies.  Where the doctor will enter the room knowing that this is the appointment you dread more than the dentist, that you put off until last minute or even later.  She’ll walk in the room, let you know that she understands how hard it can be to be lying with your legs in the stirrups.  Maybe she’ll hand you a box of Kleenex.

You’ll never walk up to the desk to inquire why your appointment is running so late and be told that you need to be patient because the doctor needs to see all the pregnant women ahead of you.  The nurse won’t purse her lips while she says, “pregnant women” and give you a look that says, “how dare you insinuate that you should be taken at your appointment time when there are pregnant women here!”

I will give up my seat to pregnant women on the Metro.

I will give up my parking space.

I will let them go ahead of me in line at the grocery store, remembering how uncomfortable it can be to stand for long periods of time.

But I don’t think it’s asking too much to get to keep my appointment time.  Especially when I am wishing so hard every time I visit that office that it will go quickly and my doctor always runs so late.