It is the first responsibility of every citizen to question authority.

The Guardian is guessing (along with most of the world's bookies) that Albus Dumbledore is going to be killed off in the next HP. The paper is sponsoring a "Write the death of Dumbledore in the fashion of a famous writer" contest, and most of them are pretty entertaining. It might just help tide you over till the 16th.

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For all we librarian geeks (c'mon, admit it, your personal library is arranged according to Dewey or LOC. I personally use LOC because it's easier and I am lazy.):
http://www.loc.gov/catdir/cpso/lcco/lcco.html

This is very helpful. Not that it for one moment dilutes my cravings for one of those big LC classification schedule posters to hang in my office at home.

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Si and I are reading A Bear Called Paddington. I had no idea that Paddington was such a haughty, sarcastic little bugger, but this endears him to me. I find it strange that all my life I thought Paddington was this cuddly little talking teddy bear, like Corduroy, but no, he’s this smart-ass real bear from Darkest Peru who just takes up residence with a family in London on the spur of the moment. (Although I personally think he looks more like a hedgehog…)

I did have to explain to Si the concept of many chapters = one book = one big long story. The idea that what happened in the last chapter carries over and is relevant to what happens in the next chapter was one that I think he grasped, and eventually enjoyed.

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Things that happen when you wake up early and your boys do not (because of course it’s a school day and you must be somewhere soon):

• You spend way too much time futzing while getting ready and instead of sticking to your normal moisturizer–lip goop–perfume routine, you put on way too much eyeliner and mascara and look like you are ready to clubbing with a bunch of Goths rather than being off to the library where you sit at the ref desk all day. Fortunately my little wire-rimmed glasses hide most of the effect.

• You read all the web stuff you were saving up for reading at work when it got slow.

Speaking of, I need all these evil bloggers who have reeled me in with enticements of laughs, toddler stories, political commentary, and other riches to post more than once a week (finslippy, this means YOU! How can I miss someone I have never met? And yet I do…) And then I realized I posted every day this holiday weekend, and twice on Saturday, and realize that perhaps, just perhaps, these other bloggers are not lame, anti-social misfits and have real lives to attend to. Unlike yours truly. Who did nothing all weekend but sit around, read, and sleep. And post.

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Last night we hung out with our neighbors, pooling all our leftovers and odds and ends for a veritable potluck feast. We pushed our luck with the boys and Jude was getting cranky. He banged his head on the mailbox while playing on the porch. Then, climbing into my lap to be comforted, he managed to bang his head into the porch column I was leaning against, with a little help from his clumsy mother. We decided to pack it up and go home, and Jude held my hand as we walked down the steps. At which point Dan turned to say goodbye and smacked Jude in the head with his guitar case. Poor kid. Good thing he’s got the Harduk noggin – good Eastern European peasant stock. Solid as a rock.
Or maybe that explains why he slept so late this morning : )