Ben starts his new job the day after tomorrow, and is presently enjoying his last couple of days of freedom by taking the boys to The Simpsons Movie, which they have been clamoring to see since the advertising blitz began oh, a month or so ago. I am jealous as hell, since I haven’t even seen the new Harry Potter movie yet, but in my case, time really does equal money. Since I’m paid strictly by the hour, a bargain matinee can cost me a couple of hundred dollars and therefore is no bargain at all.

My office is moving to new facilities at the end of next month, and today I was informed that the new office physically has no room for me — not even a secretarial bay or a supply closet, much less the nice spacious private office I’ve got right now. Bad news? No, because they want me to telecommute full-time. I’ll have to drive back and forth to pick up and drop off files and so on, but that’s all tax-deductible — whee! — and I can access the network from my home computer, for which they may even allow me the use of a spare PC, since I am a dork and run a Mac at home, which isn’t compatible with much of anything we use here.

So, this is good news. The bad news is that I will have to exercise some serious self-discipline to avoid playing with the dogs and/or watching Spongebob all day.

After I refused to buy the new Harry Potter book and only read the ending, I crept back to Borders with my tail between my legs on Monday to buy the book after all.

But the joke was on me, because the big table just inside the front doors, which had been stacked high with copies of Book 7 on Saturday, was empty. They had sold out already.

So, since my husband had just received and accepted a rather lucrative job offer, and since I was too lazy to go chasing around looking for a copy elsewhere, I bit the bullet and shelled out $40 for the “deluxe” version of the book, which insofar as I can see is identical to the regular version except with color pictures, a colorful protective box, and a much higher price tag.

I’m about a third of the way into it, and it’s as wordy as any of the others, but I had to have it — I had to find out not only the end itself, but also how they got there. And thanks to me, J.K. Rowling is just a teeny bit more wealthy today. Have a cup of Starbucks on me, Jo.

So I ended up going to Borders, fighting to park, standing in the long long line of people with copies of the new Harry Potter in their hands, and reading the epilogue while in line. It matched a spoiler I’d read a few days back, wherein all is well.

So I will tell you that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all live, and also reproduce. Spoiled!

At some point in the future, I probably WILL shell out for the book. But perhaps not. I know all I needed to know. About bloody time! Happy ending.

I’m a well-known Harry Potter junkie; in addition to owning all the books and all the movies, I lay my head down every night on either a Harry Potter or a Ron Weasley pillowcase from Hot Topic, and my office contains three Harry Potter calendars and a Ron Weasley action figure. (No, I am not a grownup. I never claimed to be.)

But things are financially lean for our family right now, so I’ve resolved to avoid shelling out for the new Potter book to be released Saturday midnight. To be honest, I find the books rather long-winded and tedious, and I really just want to find out what finally happens. Therefore, I have been prowling the ‘Net seeking out spoilers.

There are a ton of them out there, and they mostly conflict, so I’m discounting them all. So I’m waiting until Saturday, after the official release, in hopes of finding out the truth without the necessity of shelling out $30 and wading through all 100,000 pages of the new book. Meanwhile, if you truly know anything, drop me a line. Because I am (1) cheap and (2) lacking of the attention span to get through the whole damned book.

A couple of weeks ago, I cut my hair super short — I mean, Jamie Lee Curtis short. That little modified wedge cut I got a while back just wasn’t behaving itself, and I have approximately five minutes each morning to fuss with my hair. (Less, if the kids are acting up.) So I tore everything down to start again.

The surprise? My hair is growing back in thick and curly, the way it was during the Julia pregnancy. It’s going to take quite a while before it’s at a respectable length again — my heart aches a little every time I walk past the basket of scrunchies, ponytailers and barrettes that still sits in a corner of the vanity area — but I think it’s going to be okay, eventually.

(It is probably incumbent upon me to post a picture at this point, but I didn’t wear a lot of makeup today and am feeling fat besides, so you will have to use your imagination. Picture Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading Places, have her age 20 years, and put little curls all over the back of her head. You’ve got it.)

The thing about taking a vacation with three small kids is that you end up as stressed out at the end of it as you were when you left home. Our condo was an upstairs unit, and we weren’t there an hour before the downstairs people came up to knock on the door and complain about the “sound like a herd of buffalo” beating on their ceiling. Those would be the sounds of Sam, Matt and Julia recreating.

We spent the rest of the vacation hissing Walk! Don’t run! at the kids. When we arrived back home, both Sam and Matt commented on how great it was to be able to run around like maniacs again. (Erika calls our home the loudest place in the world, and I think she has a point.)

I love my rug rats, but I have to say it’s a bit of a relief to be back in a nice quiet office with no one demanding juice or popcorn or hugs or a clean butt. On the other hand . . . I miss the little boogers already.

We are insanely overdue for a vacation, so tomorrow we’re leaving for a week at the Lawrence Welk Resort in Escondido (which, of course, we always call EsconDILDO). It’s sort of out in the middle of nowhere, inland in San Diego County.

Anyway, I won’t have computer access while we’re away. Will this kill me? Yes, probably. But the blog will be on hiatus for a week. Love to y’all!

Weekends, to me, rock for the very childish reason that IT’S NOT A SCHOOL NIGHT — I CAN STAY UP AS LATE AS I WANT. Last night, I stayed up until midnight playing video poker and reading my book of Ted Bundy’s Death Row interviews. Was that late enough? It was not. At approximately 1:00 a.m., Ben woke up feeling peckish and ordered peanut butter and mango jelly. “We’re out of bread,” I reported. So he made Andersen’s Pea Soup, and what surprise that Boolie, at 2:00 a.m., woke up and wanted some? There wasn’t enough. So she wanted Lucky Charms. I am impressed by her determination to report that even in the dead of night, she picked out all the marshmallows and left the cereal.

Today, it’s 10:10 a.m. and I am just barely on my feet, espresso cup at my elbow. Insomnia may suck Monday through Friday, but it sort of rocks on weekends. You know?