On a good Saturday my kitchen is kind of like Coyote Ugly
Except, you know, without the hot bartenders and body shots. Instead, there's my ipod, plugged into my new speakers (which kick ASS), a cup of coffee, some half-eaten oatmeal and OJ. And Princess pajamas. And sometimes wooden spoons/spatulas if we feel like lip synching.
I love dance parties with Lily. Thank goodness my daughter seems to like music as much as I do. I have a playlist of our favorite "rock out" songs, and the two of us just go nuts. Sometimes I think I'm a little frightening but she's gotten used to the head-banging, hair-swinging, high-kicks and air-guitarin' that generally accompany such classics as "Come Sail Away" by Styx, "Cars" by Sheryl Crow, and "99 Luftbaloons" by Nena.
Is it bad that I encourage my four-year old to climb up on the counter (we have such a great counter for such dancing extraviganzas) and rock her little butt on the high stage until she feels totally spent? (I don't leave her unsupervised or anything. Jeez, people)