Dobby Happy

My 20-month old son has no comprehension about his mother's obsession with Harry Potter. He has no idea that the Potter universe exists. I don't read the books to him and he is not exposed to the movies or promotional toys. He does know, however, that I've named the black dog on my Martha's Vineyard Black Dog coffee mug. When I point to it, he says, "Sirius Black," in that endearing toddler slur. Still, this doesn't explain his channeling of Dobby, the house elf.

Like most toddlers, my son is obsessive compulsive and likes to clean. The sight of a broom sends him into spasms and he actually looks forward to trash night. Lately, after his afternoon nap and snack, he tugs my pant leg and points to the rag bag. I oblige him and he spends a good hour or so scrubbing the walls and floor, chanting "Dobby happy" over and over. If I make him stop cleaning, he bangs his head against the wall, so I give him the cloth back and he tunes out the world, wipes the walls, and whispers, "Dobby happy, Dobby happy, Dobby happy..."