Mom is bouncing. Not like jumping-bouncing. Like excited-bouncing. Like her voice is doing cartwheels and her eyes are sparkly and she keeps saying things like “This is magical” and “You’re going to love it.”

She’s holding the remote like it’s a wand. She’s got snacks lined up like a Hogwarts feast—popcorn, juice boxes, and those chocolate things she calls “Hogsmeade treats” but I’m pretty sure they’re just regular candy from Aldi.

The movie starts. There’s a baby. There’s a lightning bolt. There’s a lot of British talking.

Mom gasps at everything. “That’s McGonagall!” she says, like I know who that is. “That’s the Sorting Hat!” she says, like I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet a talking hat.

I’m mildly interested. Like, I’m watching. I’m not not watching. There’s a big dog. That’s cool. There’s a troll in the bathroom. That’s very cool. But mostly I’m here for the popcorn and the fact that nobody’s making me brush my teeth yet.

Mom keeps looking at me like she’s watching me watch the movie. Like I’m the movie. Like she’s waiting for me to say, “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” I say, “It’s good.” She squeals.

She doesn’t know I’m mostly thinking about how I’d use a wand to turn my broccoli into pizza. Or how I’d ride a broom to school and crash it into the playground on purpose.

She’s so happy. Like heart-soaring happy. I don’t totally get it. But I like sitting next to her. I like the way she keeps whispering “Just wait till you meet Hagrid.” I like the way she laughs when I say “Hermy-own.”

I don’t know if I love Harry Potter yet.
But I love popcorn.
And I love Mom when she’s this excited.
And I love that I don’t have to go to bed.