hail and harry potter

It's sleeting outside. Both kids are upstairs, praying for a snow day tomorrow. Henry, Nora and I just finished watching episode 2 of A Series of Unfortunate Events on Netflix, a genius Netflix rendition of the story in my opinion. Henry is kind of enthralled that Nora loves it. It is the first dark show that Nora has watched, and Henry, who last week was still reading his way through the Call of Cthulhu, loves that she loves it.

That got him talking with her about books that he loves. One of the more subtle things that define book lovers is their desperate need to share in the experience. Reading and writing are unlike other media in that they are so insulated. Everything happens in your mind, and sometimes the experience is so great that you desperately want to share it. Henry tried for a good ten minutes to get Nora to read the Hunger Games, his absolute favorite series. She, typically female, progressively hardened to it the more he tried to convince her to read it. I explained this phenomenon to him, and he complained that he just wanted to read to Nora. So I told him that maybe he could read something that she wanted to read. (a lifetime of wisdom in that advice)

So as I sit downstairs in the living room hearing the hail bounce off of the windows, he's up there right now, sitting on her bed while she lies under the covers, reading the first Harry Potter to her. I couldn't really imagine a better night.