Miss Dub loves a good dance party.
And I’m happy to oblige.
At least once a day (if not more), I like to break out the iTunes and get down.
Real dancing – the kind where you jump up and down, feel the rhythm in your blood and just let go. The kind where your hair looks frazzled from the commotion. The kind where your heart is beating so fast you wonder if someone else can hear it. The kind that is so contagious your 6-month-old starts to do a little shimmy-shake.
That’s the kind of dancing Miss Dub likes.
And I’m happy to oblige.
On Friday, I had a lot of procrastinated cleaning to get done but worried if the lil’ Miss would patiently endure it whilst hopping in her exersaucer. So I turned it into a dance party.
I put on some lip gloss, grabbed Miss Dub and the cleaning supplies and blasted The Gorillaz.
Between Clorox wipes, I hopped up and down while Miss Dub gleefully watched from a nearby bed or couch. While sweeping, I stopped and sang Sia into my broom/microphone and imagined Miss Dub was a sea of roaring fans. And when it came time to switch rooms, I grabbed her and spun us wildly to the intoxicating choruses of Regina Spektor.
(I should note that while I really, really want Miss Dub to dig mellow, indie tunes sung mostly by women singer/songwriters, my child wants nothing to do with them. She’s happiest when I’m shaking my thang to a little Jay-Z or doing to the robot to a little N.E.R.D. Because I pretty much think the robot is the perfect dance for all music, including classical.)
By the end of the music mix, my house was filled with a lemon-fresh scent and lick-em-they’re-so-clean countertops. But most importantly, I was out of breath – some due to the cardio nature of dancing, mostly because I was overwhelmed at the sight of a giddy baby.
Miss Dub was raucously laughing, clicking her heels and tossing her head back. She didn’t care that I was multi-tasking. She didn’t care that it was 1 p.m. and I hadn’t showered. She didn’t even care that I sometimes sing the wrong words to songs.
She just cared that I was dancing.
Because Miss Dub loves a good dance party.
And I’m happy to oblige.
And I’m happy to oblige.
At least once a day (if not more), I like to break out the iTunes and get down.
Real dancing – the kind where you jump up and down, feel the rhythm in your blood and just let go. The kind where your hair looks frazzled from the commotion. The kind where your heart is beating so fast you wonder if someone else can hear it. The kind that is so contagious your 6-month-old starts to do a little shimmy-shake.
That’s the kind of dancing Miss Dub likes.
And I’m happy to oblige.
On Friday, I had a lot of procrastinated cleaning to get done but worried if the lil’ Miss would patiently endure it whilst hopping in her exersaucer. So I turned it into a dance party.
I put on some lip gloss, grabbed Miss Dub and the cleaning supplies and blasted The Gorillaz.
Between Clorox wipes, I hopped up and down while Miss Dub gleefully watched from a nearby bed or couch. While sweeping, I stopped and sang Sia into my broom/microphone and imagined Miss Dub was a sea of roaring fans. And when it came time to switch rooms, I grabbed her and spun us wildly to the intoxicating choruses of Regina Spektor.
(I should note that while I really, really want Miss Dub to dig mellow, indie tunes sung mostly by women singer/songwriters, my child wants nothing to do with them. She’s happiest when I’m shaking my thang to a little Jay-Z or doing to the robot to a little N.E.R.D. Because I pretty much think the robot is the perfect dance for all music, including classical.)
By the end of the music mix, my house was filled with a lemon-fresh scent and lick-em-they’re-so-clean countertops. But most importantly, I was out of breath – some due to the cardio nature of dancing, mostly because I was overwhelmed at the sight of a giddy baby.
Miss Dub was raucously laughing, clicking her heels and tossing her head back. She didn’t care that I was multi-tasking. She didn’t care that it was 1 p.m. and I hadn’t showered. She didn’t even care that I sometimes sing the wrong words to songs.
She just cared that I was dancing.
Because Miss Dub loves a good dance party.
And I’m happy to oblige.
9 comments:
i know ... you and that robot!
if kalle hears any music - even just blip on a commerical she starts shakin' her booty!
it's funny because none of the other kids i watch her age, get down quite as much as her. but then again if she hears music she looks right to me and starts dancin!
must be something the ybh-girls past on to their kiddos!
here's my plan: dance party. my house. early june. can miss dub please come?
cute, cute and cute! Sometimes you've just got to get clever with little ones...it's the only way I get anything done. I find that they're usually happy to help if you make like Mary Poppins and "snap! the job's a game!"
perfect - now she really can be my daughter in law. of course, that was never in question.
That little girl is very flexible. I love the stretching pose!
Those are some fantastic action shots. You can tell she is LOVIN' it!
seriously, that jane fonda jazzercise pose is the cutest thing ever. and leggings? oh dear. :)
i 2nd leslie's comments fo sho. seriously. eden ROCKS the leggings!
i am in love with her. complete love. talk about personality, personality, personality! can't wait to squeeze those cheeks again!
Post a Comment