Wordless Wednesday: The “Wednesday Night Dance Party Playlist” Edition

And, my friends, it has finally happened;

I was able to break out the worm again.

All is now right with the world.

“I wanted love. I needed love. Most of all.” Well, that and warmth.

This morning was bitter cold once again. I had to drive my daughter to school, which meant I had to bring the baby along, which meant a lot of bundling.

For me, it was a cashmere sweater, topped with a huge cardigan under my parka.

For the baby it was a long sleeve shirt, courds, a sweater, a winter coat and warm socks.

For the girl it meant a tank, long sleeved shirt, sweater, socks, Uggs, hat, scarf and my gloves (so she looks slightly like a bag lady, but she looks extremely cute, so please don’t take my former comment as anything but a compliment to bag ladies).

But when we got into the car, despite I put the heat on at Max High,

the thermometer read 22 degrees.

It was freakin’ cold.

So, really, there was only one thing to do.

“Pick a song!” I smiled slyly my daughter.

She returned the grin. “Tighten Up” she replied.

“You know the best way to warm up, baby? A dance party.”

And so we did.

And then, every single part of me was warm.

[*Editor’s Note: This post was originally published with the official Black Keys music video for “Tighten Up”; however, I deemed their screen shot to be inappropriate, so rock out to this version with the lyrics instead.]

It’s a little bit sweet.

Two kids home on a Monday morning.
#sickday
Two different viruses, one additional overlapping one. It’s awesome.

Two stops to two fast food restaurants at 10am for throat soothing ice cream. McDonalds ice cream machine was broken. A Frosty remedied the situation.
A lot of this.

Leading to a little jealousy,
So a little of this

And just a touch of our signature dance partying to lighten the mood. I was told that these are dancing shoes.

So though it is a sick day,
It’s also just a little bit
Sweet.

Everybody’s on the food chain, funny, but from day to day we get from bottom to top. And if you get lost, just start over again…

Music is such a big part of my being.

Last night, my new band had it’s first big gig. Two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, and a microphone for me to sing into. It was exhilarating.

I got to dance in wedge heels and belt out tunes from John Pryne and Led Zeppelin and Sublime and be awed, as I always am, by my band mates.

I like them, too. I like them a lot.

So this morning, my husband let me go back to bed, and I woke up and decided it was high time for a dance party with my kids.

I put on a song for my daughter that I found buried in the depths of my iphone, “Food Chain” by Eric Hutchinson. Such a random song, right?

But this song has it’s own story in my soundtrack;

I was 22, and it was the spring before my wedding.

I was in graduate school, which meant I had a ton of free time on my hands.

I remember having this old ipod and sitting on the back patio of my parents’ house,

with a big bowl of grapes

(and, let’s be real, sometimes a glass of Sauv Blanc)

listening to this song.

It was a momentous time in my life; I was about to take le big plunge,

and despite the fact that it was a time when I was about to mark a huge milestone

it was also a time when I felt so young. And free.

So this morning, much older, with things like kids and a house and (and a rock band)

I put this song on and danced around my sunroom and remembered the past and felt grateful for the present.

My dear friend keeps reminding me to do this, and it is a wonderful, wonderful reminder.

Must go–

I have some Jackson Five to dance the heck out of with a certain four year old. Present. It’s a gift.

Yes.

Today was another full day of soaking rain.

After I picked up my daughter at 1 we kept busy

drawing in the sunroom, building with Magnetic tiles from loving “aunts“

and making a run to the drive-through for some donuts;

Vanilla with rainbow sprinkles.

But as four o’clock set in, and the rain continued to pelt mercilessly on our roof and at our windows,

I decided to capitalize on some time while both kids were playing and occupied to unload the dishwasher.

Halfway through my task, my daughter came racing into the kitchen.

“Mommy? Can we have a dance party? To my favorite, Brett Dennen?”

(She really said it like that.)

My dear girl,

the answer to that question was,

and will always be,

Yes.

And it looked a little something like this

And man, did it feel good.

Beauty and Romance (A sneak peak at Lindsay Docherty Photography)

So, I am going to be, in the very near future, writing an extensive post on the ray of sparkling sunshine that is Lindsay Docherty of Lindsay Docherty Photography. I will share with you, then, how she jumped on the bed with us, and joined us in an impromptu dance party and even cleaned up my son’s spit-up. I love this girl. I even had a dream last night that I was marrying her. Word of honor. But the real post is for a later time when all of our work is complete.

So far, we have only been able to hang two of her photos. They are magic.

First, beauty.

Lindsay was able to capture, visually, the fact that my daughter and I have identical profiles. It is now displayed on our gallery wall.

Here. See for yourself.

Pardon the reflection of the third floor bannister and hallway light fixture. I am not a photography genius like, say, Lindsay Docherty.

I’m starting to think maybe I have a secret (not at all secret) crush on her. Hmmmm.

The next photo that we were able to hang adds a bit of intimacy to our bedroom. In our room previously, we had a few family photos and three from our wedding. But those were 6 years old. Lindsay captured us doing what we do, cuddling on the couch, making each other laugh.

One one side of our bed it shows where we were, and on the other, where we are.

And how close we’ve become.

So much more to come with Lindsay. So much more.

So, it’s bedtime,

and the little one has been washed

and brushed

and lotioned

and jammied.

But, as we were heading towards the bedroom,

the finish line,

she heard music playing from downstairs.

And she perked up.

“Dance party, please, mommy?”

She wants to have a dance party with me.

She said please.

Now how can I argue with that?

So, I guess tonight we will have a different kind of lullaby.

(The very best kind.)

#febphotoaday/5

5. 10am

The Sunday Morning Dance Party edition.

I bet you wish it were a video-a-day challenge, now don’t you?

Some things you’ve missed:

Things have a bit quiet here in the Land of Mom. Well, not in the Land of Mom, but here in the cyberland version of Ever After.

It’s not that I haven’t had what to share;

quite the opposite, in fact.

I have a million posts composed on my Blackberry, scribbled down on note paper and in my actual baby book,

and, even more in my head,

but I’ve chosen to keep them to myself for a bit.

Since I last wrote,

I turned another year older,

and so did my daughter.

Yep.

That’s right.

I failed to write about my daughter’s first birthday.

The old me would be appalled.

Haven’t I been writing about my 1st birthday plans since June?

Yes. Yes I have.

But, something has changed in me.

Maybe it’s the extra year I gained.

Maybe it’s the feeling of time slipping by so quickly that I cannot justify sitting behind a computer screen writing about my baby, when really, I could just be kissing her little face and breathing her in.

Maybe it’s the result of an April Fool’s Joke that went awry and scared the bejeezus out of me.

Maybe it’s something more.

But, I’ve chosen to keep some things close to the vest,

and I hope that you forgive me.

So, for today, I will give you some snippets of what you may have missed,

while I’ve been busy living

in the Ever After.

But, for now, I must leave you. My daughter just came over to me. She wants to dance to Solid Gold Oldies in my arms.

And I will never say no to an 8 am dance party.

Never.

I’m still me,

after all.

I just had the best time of my life

dancing around the nursery with my little girl

to

(what else?)

Hair.

These moments are so precious. I never ever ever ever ever ever ever want to forget them.

So, please. Don’t ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever let me.

We blasted the music,

and danced and danced and danced.

We literally jumped up and down in delight.

She literally squealed with Glee.

No one does a dance party like my daughter.

As soon as this girl hears music,

she starts to bop.

As soon as the beat picks up,

she nods her head along.

And, when she’s really feeling it,

she breaks out her go-to move,

which can best be described as a hybrid between the dance from “Walk Like an Egyptian” and the Elaine dance from Seinfeld.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever seen.

So, yes.

I just had the best time of my life.

And here.

Now it’s your turn.

I dare you to have the best time.

Or, as some would say,

the best time ever. Ever ever ever ever ever ever.

an ode to a Bubbie

Bubbie, dearest–how do I love thee?

Let me count the ways.

I’d wax poetic (har!) about all your charms,

but don’t have enough time in my days.

A Bubbie devoted, you have been,

since the dawn of this baby’s time,

when your favorite little star

was a mere twinkle in your eye.

Before she was born, you knitted for her,

cooed to her, and planned

for the time that you could play “Potchy Potchy Hentele”

with her two pink, perfect hands.

You stroked my belly, proudly,

and kissed us as she kicked.

Singing, “Mommy loves the baby”

would always do the trick.

And then that April morning,

after a 3-day false alarm snafu,

your new best friend arrived,

at your lucky number, 2:22.

And from that middle-of-the-night moment,

you’ve relished in your love affair,

with the clone of (moi!) your first born,

(with the same exact lack amount of hair).

You were touted as the “baby whisperer”,

you were mocked for “hovering”,

you were thanked for your amazing help

and for the expert love-er-ing.

You taught me how to bathe my babe

(oh, you mean I don’t fill the tub with soap?)

you showed me by example,

you gave me strength,

and love,

and hope.

You know just which toys she will adore,

and you shower her with treats.

You help me every.single.day.

and never make a peep.

You’re always up for a dance party,

and on other end of the phone,

you never make me feel silly or wrong,

you never let me feel alone.

If this baby is anything like her mom,

(which she is in every way),

she’ll love you infinitely, amazingly and wholly,

(and be the one calling you 18 times a day).

You’re the consummate mother, the ultimate giver,

and I hope you understand

that Bubbie, as a grandmother,

you are the definition of grand.

So, thank you for the help, thank you for the hugs,

thank you for always always being here.

We will shine for you, always, as your little stars,

we love you,

Bubbie, dear.