Kitchen Dancing

I turned on music in the kitchen.  The Raffi Pandora station.  The kids were eating an afternoon snack and it was getting to be the end of the day, when my energy and enthusiasm for entertaining toddlers is at an extremely low point.  I wanted to tune out.

"My Favorite Things" came on, and Emily said something about how it was one of my favorite songs.  I responded, as I too often do, with a "Mmmmhmmm" while continuing to stare at my phone.  Then before I knew it, there was a little face, right under mine, staring up at me wordlessly saying "you know what you're supposed to do here".  She was dancing, the way she does these days, bent part way over with her arms swinging below her, bobbing up and down by her knees with little or no rhythm, or at least nothing that matched the songs.  If you'd like to replicate it yourself, pretend to be a monkey mimicking someone doing squats rather quickly.  In the jerky movement was the irresistible invitation to join in with her.  She didn't ask, she didn't force, she didn't shame, she just responded to the music with confidence and joy that could not help but ellicit joy in me.

And as we danced, goofy and giggling, the boys bounced up and down in their high chairs, Andy with his arms in the air, Gabe with his head thrown back giggling.

Which is, of course, the freedom with which I wish I lived more of my life.  Confident in the life that exists already.  Responding to that life, and allowing that freedom and joy to be an invitation to others.  Not worried about if or how they will respond.  Joy breeds joy, life calls out to life.  It will not be contained.