Dance Party

KIM.jpgI'm never sure how they start.

But there is this collective agreement.

A collective need to release the energy.

And so one of the kids turns the music on and we are having


We take turns recording our latest and most definitely best dance moves with our Flip.

We don't care if we are out of rhythm (which rarely happens because they inherited my dancing ability, not Art's...phew.)

We don't care how silly we look.

We watch ourselves in the reflection of the large dark windows,

calling to one another when we think we have done something really cool.

"Hey Langston watch this! Hey Mom did you see this? Hey Pallas does this look stupid?"

We are laughing and moving and sweating.

Our legs carry variant loads of our body weight, our hips gyrate, our bellies tighten as our minds focus on giving our bodies just the right command:

jerk your shoulders back, but gently,
wiggle your butt but only on the third beat,
swing your arms to the left, then only the left to the right.

We each try to imitate something the other one does.

And then I am playing mom again.

Time to get ready for bed.

We are panting and smiling and grateful for the trust, the intimacy, the freedom to express ourselves to music.

And in those moments, I see us as a family.

A whole family, not one missing a dad,

but one that is strong and loving (and has good rhythm.)

and I know this is what we do for each other.

We dance

We trust

We release and in that dance party, all is well.

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