Yeah, that’s right. I said it. Do you realize, J.K. (if that’s your real name) how much your books have hijacked the brains of my (I’ll admit it) utterly addled children?

I know I’ve written about this before, and I’ve certainly thought about it often, but today was bloody ridiculous. It began when I asked my son to choose his breakfast.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” he cried, pointing at my chest with a chopstick.

“That’s very nice,” I said. “But what I want you to do is decide between Cheerios-”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” he yelled again, giving the chopstick a jaunty flick.

“or oatmeal,” I continued.


“Or, if you want-”


“I could boil you an egg.”

“EXPELLIARMUS! EXPELLIARMUS! EXPELLIARMUS!” He vaulted forward, somersaulting across the kitchen floor, zapping me with his magic spell over his shoulder, then from under his leg, then upside down. He shouted the disarming spell while leaping, lunging and flying through space. He was joyful, intent, and unbridled. He was magic personified.

My eight year old – always a cool customer – was not amused. She extracted her spoon from her cereal and licked it clean. Then, shutting one eye, she pointed her spoon squarely at her brother.

“STUPEFY!” she yelled. Leo froze in mid-air, his face a mask of shock and horror, and fell, senseless to the ground. Deedee humphed, twirled her spoon, blew the tip, and resumed eating.

“It’s so easy,” she said with her mouth full, “to be in charge of boys.”

Leo still didn’t move. “Will someone,” he mumbled with frozen lips, “please un-stupefy me?” Deedee didn’t budge.

“Hermione wouldn’t’ve done, so I won’t either.” Deedee tucked into her breakfast and re-opened her book, a barely-concealed, un-uttered snicker uncurling across her lips.

I asked Leo later why he didn’t just get up – why he waited for his sister to finish eating, brush her teeth, and then un-stupefy him. Leo looked at me like I was nuts.

“How could I have?” he asked. “It’s not like I could just break the spell.” And he sat down and ate his breakfast and no more magic occurred that day.

DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO US MS ROWLING? Granted, my kids are crazy, but I think the evidence clearly shows that you have made them crazier. And a bit of a challenge to parent.

Perhaps, it’s time for me to return to my copy of Defensive Magical Theory and my Standard Book Of Spells (vol 1-7) just to brush up.

8 thoughts on “CURSE YOU, J.K. ROWLING!

  1. Oh yes, you need a spell book of your own. (Though something tells me you have it all in your brain.) Meanwhile, did you see the illustrious JK TWEETED this morning, and hinted that she was not going to be using Twitter much because she was writing. At least, that’s how I chose to interpret her tweet.

    And finally: Might I suggest that from now on you serve your children porridge and toast for breakfast? With perhaps a bit of marmalade?

      • Well, it’s completely up to interpretation. She could have just meant she’s a luddite. I am just CHOOSING to believe she’s writing something. Exact tweet was:
        This is the real me, but you won’t be hearing from me often I’m afraid, as pen and paper are STILL my priority at the moment.

    • Oh, man, don’t tempt me. I’m the mother of a child who, at nine months climbed to the top of the refrigerator, and at two, climbed to the roof of the garage. How many times have I fantasized about the imperio curse? Every. Damn. Day.

  2. Pingback: Tweets that mention CURSE YOU, J.K. ROWLING! | Kelly Barnhill: Author, Teacher, Mom. --

  3. HAH! Tooooo funny. My kids run around quoting Dr. Who and Phineas and Ferb. If that makes me a bad parent, don’t tell me. I’m running on chocolate fumes tonight and that just might make me crash. 🙂


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