You should know right off that my children no longer think
that I am cool...in any way.
In fact, when any time of funky music comes on and
I bust out some old school moves,
Jack usually says, "Awkwaaaard!"
Will turns his head in shame.
They have even been known to say, "Stop dancing, Mom."
This however just spurs me on to greater dancing heights.
Because embarrassing them adds to the joy.
But yesterday, Will asked me,
"Mom, do you know how to do the moonwalk?"
And I said, "Yes...yes, I do."
Who knew that countless hours as a 12 year old
practicing endlessly in front of the mirror in hopes
of someday dancing like Michael Jackson would bring me
a parental pay off oh these many years later.
(Disclaimer: I had a horrific pre-teen crush on MJ during his Thriller days...
I even wrote him letters with the steps of salvation included.
I was hoping to get him saved so we could dance side by side.
For some reason he never wrote me back...go figure.)
So last night I donned a pair of very slick pink and white striped
fuzzy socks and moonwalked my way across the kitchen floor.
(Linoleum is preferable to carpet for the most glide per square inch.)
Will looked shocked. And amazed.
"Mom, it looks just like it. Do it again."
This was a sweet sweet moment.
Will stood next to me and we practiced together for a good 15 minutes.
Will has the boogie in his blood...no doubt he will outshine
me in my moonwalking skills by the the end of the week.
But last night will always stand out as a grand moment in my mind.
It was the night my child ASKED me to dance.
This will most likely never happen again.
So I'm going to enjoy the moment while I can.