Driving back from the Prince’s first piano lesson, the windshield wipers going. I’d picked up a Harry Potter sheet music book for the Princess; the Prince was looking at it in the car on the way home. “Harry looks mad,” he said.
“Well, Harry might have a thing or two to be mad about,” I replied.
Then, from the back seat, in a sepulchral tone: “Hello. My name is Harry Potter. You killed my family. Prepare to die.”
I laughed so hard I almost ran off the road. I’m still giggling.
Sometimes, I dare to think I’m raising these kids right.