Dancing Queen

This evening you, Daddy and I had a boogie session in the kitchen. We played the iPod and put the wheels on your chair to good use. We twirled you in circles, shoved your chair across the room to one another, rocked you back and forth. We clapped and snapped and helped you move your arms to the beat. You loved it. We loved it. Until Daddy got a head butt and was down for the count. One of us was bound to get hurt—that’s how most our fun ends. We just get too excited and silly and (apparently) uncoordinated. At least we laugh through the pain.