I awoke this morning, with muscles I had forgotten about, screaming at me. I sat on the edge of the bed wondering why in the world I was having so much pain…then……I remembered.
We are a family of very eclectic musical tastes. When the kids were growing up, I tried not to limit what I exposed them to although admittedly, they cut their teeth on a goodly amount of classic rock.
My oldest daughter will happily tell you about the birthday when she got a an Amy Grant CD and a Neil Diamond CD. Both she and Brianna remember the parade of little girls rocking out over the sofa and across the kitchen table to the sounds of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”
In my last life, we had stacks of vinyl that ranged anywhere from Frank Sinatra to Led Zeplin to Pavoratti….in this life Kurt Cobain, Smashing Pumpkins, and Michael Buble have all made appearances.
We turned a back bedroom into a jam room and Matt’s band used to practice there. Other moms would ask if it didn’t, in fact, drive me crazy, but I would smile and tell them “At least I know where my kid is”
Fast forward to the present and a new generation here in the lost world. Caitlyn is raising Sophie-bean the same way she was raised. Josh Groban, The Platters, or Alice Cooper…you simply don’t know at any given time, what you’re going to hear in this house.
Sophie loves it – singing in her tuneless little 2 year old voice and shakin her stuff like nobody’s business! Of course Gramma’s gotta get into the act, too, and we dance all over the house while Caitlyn’s pregnant self plays DJ.
Last night was no different. Sophie is particularly fond of techno so we started with DJ Mystik and Robert Miles. Cate flips the light switch off and on mimicking a strobe light and Sophie thinks she’s hot stuff. It’s pretty easy on Gramma too as I just had to show her how to move her little hands and she was raving like the best of ‘em. Next time I’ll break out the glow sticks!
Last night, though, that wasn’t good enough and we moved on to…um….more strenuous selections. We spun and dipped and rocked out. It was great right up until……MC Hammer.
If I could write a letter to my younger self it would include a warning that a woman my age should never….EVER….try to do the moves from “Can’t Touch This”
*sighs* Should have stuck with Cotton Eyed Joe