The highlight of my weekend was a Saturday Night Dance Party held in Dave and my bedroom. We had Elvis Presley’s Hound Dog on repeat and we were all going crazy, dancing with abandon. My normally subdued husband and staunch supporter of the “I don’t dance” camp was swiveling his hips in a very Elvisish manner. Meanwhile, Madeline and I were pulling out all our moves. With the exception of the baby, we all started rockin’ it with our air guitars during the bridge. Baby Rae, not one to be left alone drooling on the sidelines, joined in with high-pitched screeching.
At one point, I looked over at all my crazy band members and I realized that I wouldn’t want to spend a Saturday night any other way. A few other thoughts crossed my mind as we whirled around the room:
Elvis Presley really is the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Music and dancing can do wonders for a tired mom and dad, cranky preschooler and teething babe.
A dearth of lazy mornings, afternoon naps, novel-reading evenings, uninterrupted writing sessions are small prices to pay for the kind of nonstop entertainment kids offer.
When I can have all of those things again – naps, finished books, written novels – I’m going to really, really miss my little dance partners, jammin’ air guitar solos, giggles and getting my husband to dance like that.
And while I’ve got music on my mind, Joni Mitchell was on to something with her Big Yellow Taxi lyrics: That you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.