So this weekend we threw out my parenting rulebook and turned our living room into a full-blown disco inferno, and by “disco inferno," I mean a chaotic, sticky-floored, toddler-led rave that probably violated several noise ordinances.
It all started innocently enough as I was scrolling through my phone minding my business, when Baby Shark suddenly blasted from the speakers at approximately 900 decibels. (Thanks, YouTube Kids. You’re a menace.) Next thing I know nephew of 3-year-old, Chidiebube, is breakdancing like a tiny, caffeinated street dancer, and my 1-year-old, Daniel, is wobbling in circles like a drunk Pilot with me? Well, I had two choices be the boring adult shushing everyone… or join the revolution and set the house on fire.
Let me say this to you that there’s nothing quite like dancing with kids their moves are 50% interpretive art, 50% possessed like the windmill. Daniel just squats and bounces like a happy little spring and me! Well Let’s just say my rhythm is enthusiastic. Picture a flamingo having a seizure, and you’re close.