This morning, Viva got out of bed, came into our room, and after waking me up yelling for her daddy (who was in the shower and perturbed by all the yelling), got into bed with me and snuggled for a minute. But she couldn't get comfortable and kept shifting positions. Finally:
Viva: MOM-ma! Stop it!
Mama Blah: Stop what?
Viva: You're breathing on me, on my neck.
Mama Blah: Baby, I have to breathe to stay alive. You're just going to have to deal with it.
Viva [after a pause]: IT'S NOT FAIR! Breathing is no fair!
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Viva woke me from a dream I was having, in which I had accompanied my father-in-law, Wash, to the mall so he could audition as an opening act for a dance troupe which was holding a performance there. At the mall. "Well, I can see you have all the moves," the woman who was holding auditions said. "How much are they going to pay me?" asked Wash. I was thinking to myself, wow, this is cool, how about that?
But Wash can't dance. In the real world, he has one move. And yet, he married into a family of dancers. My mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and Sweet William are all ridiculously good dancers. They have a natural talent for it. I used to think I was a pretty good dancer considering all the white blood on my side of the family*, but these three have to be seen to be believed. Actually, when I met Sweet William, one of the things I found interesting about him was that he was taking a salsa class in his spare time. I'm pretty sure he was doing this as a way to meet women**, but it was still interesting.
Viva, as you may have guessed, has inherited the love of the dance. She will pretty much dance with wild abandon at any opportunity, much like her father. I love to dance with her.
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* Lighten up, it's just a joke. Hey, you know, some of my best friends are white! (I think that's a different post.)
** That's not how we met. And we've never danced the salsa. I think Sweet William owes me one.
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