There are days like today, when you've got a nasty head cold and sore throat, and your house is a total mess, and your desk is overflowing with bills and mail, and one of your daughters has a nearly TWO HOUR tantrum, when it feels like nothing short of a small miracle to turn on your digital camera (which you finally have a new battery charger for) for the first time in several weeks and and discover this:
The soundtrack, for anyone who's curious, is "Salsa for Kittens and Puppies," a CD given to us by a super-cool friend of ours. The hats are mine. (You may remember them from the recent Baby Squared fashion expose.) But the rhythm and moves are 100% Clio and Elsa. These girls LOVE to dance. Anytime we put music on, they start bopping and spinning and clapping. Sometimes we play "dance class" and I'll do various crazy moves for them to imitate: kicking, stamping feet, the twist, the pachanga. (Sure, Neil, no problem. We'll end the season with the pachanga. Great idea.)
So, yes. They dance.It's good to remember this when my patience is nearly worn thin and I'm considering putting my children up for sale on eBay: They don't just scream and yell and stomp and cry and make ridiculous demands ("No Mommy talking! No mommy talking! Mommy read a book! Read a book! NO MOMMY, NO TALKING!!") They also dance.
Ah, dance.
