After dinner, we push the island aside, put on some music (last night, "Rubber Soul" by the Beatles), put on our dancing feet, and cut a rug.
In this strange photo, Violet's foot looks like it's put on backwards, but really, she's just mid-twirl. Her dress is PERFECT for twirling, is it not?
We dig a too-small party dress out for Margot, and she feels the thrill of being twirled, too.
When I see the girls dancing with my husband, I remember how my dad used to ask all of his daughters to dance at our small town wedding receptions. We'd jive (none of us with the grace of our mother), and waltz and two-step. We felt safe in dad's arms, and beautiful. I remember the feeling as I grew taller and fit into his arms better, and how I always hoped I'd meet a man who could dance.
Now we mostly dance in our kitchen, and the kids giggle when their dad puts his arms around me for a slow song. It occurred to me that when older people reminisce about these days we're in (seemingly suffering from amnesia because they never mention the whining, fighting, exhaustion, and mess), THIS is what they miss.
These are the moments they're remembering with such fondness.
And lest you think we're forgetting him, I've already told him that if the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, then the way to a woman's heart is through dance. So we teach them to keep the time, to keep their heads up but be careful not to step on each others' feet, and most of all, to keep their partner safe in their arms.
Because isn't that just one of the best feelings in the world?