Monday, August 8, 2011

"Mum, this was the best night of the summer"

This is what Henry said to me after we all came home from partying on Saturday night.

We went to a big 40th birthday party that night. And I mean big. After the huge dinner (and the bellydancer, and the fireworks... did I mention this was a biiiig party?), they rolled out the dance floor. As the first strains of Lady Gaga boomed out of the speakers, I could see Henry start to tap his feet. Then he started to wiggle. I asked him if he wanted to go dance but he shrugged his shoulders. But those shoulders never stopped moving. "Come on! I'll go with you" I said, and off we went. Surprisingly we had never before been in a dancing situation like that before. I have never properly danced with my kids. How did that happen? Growing up I loved to dance.

We danced and danced. That kid had some sweet dance moves. He spun, and shimmied and boogied his little heart out. He got so sweaty and so into it that he reminded me how much I loved to dance. Don't get me wrong, neither of us will be contestants on So You Think You Can Dance anytime soon (unless it's the gag auditions) but it looks like we both enjoy flailing madly. And trust me, I will bend over backwards to arrange a situation where we can dance together again.

I agree, kiddo. Best night of the summer.


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