You know this boogie is for real

I am trying to teach Muffin to dance. When I get home from work each day, I crank up the iPod with our theme song: Jamiroquai’s “Canned Heat.” I love this song because it reminds me of the gleefully corny dance performance in “Centerstage” as well as the so-dorky-they’re-cool moves of Napolean Dynamite. As the synthesizer starts, I wiggle my hips exaggeratedly to get Muffin’s attention. Then I whisk her up with a flourish (I try to time it with the swell of the music), and we bop around the living room and the kitchen. She grins, holds on tight and makes the “heh heeeeh” sounds that are her strange way of giggling. As we ramp up to the chorus, I support her head, spin in a circle, and then dip her dramatically as Jay Kay sings, “Dance! Nothin left for me to do but dance!” I follow the same routine each day, and yet every time she squeals at the unexpected delight of feeling weightless. It’s funny to me that she can be scared of the sound of packing tape but have no fear about falling. I guess she trusts me.

I think my efforts are paying off. I notice that now she smiles and wags her little butt when she hears the opening bars of our song. Now that she’s starting to stand without holding on to anything, she's totally ready for jazz hands.