We've rearranged the house a bit in anticipation of additional moves, necessitated by tearing up our kitchen floor and replacing it with tile. Kaylee discovered that it created the perfect dance studio — complete with wood floor, mirror and radio within the reach of three-year-olds.
This is a big deal. She can now make music whenever she wants. And the girl loves her music.
Rae and I had already split up for our post-dinner duties. So while she headed off to scrub the bathtub, I proceeded to pick up the dinner dishes.
And the music came on.
And she started to twirl.
And I stopped to watch.
When ABBA came on I smiled a bit because she immediately fled the room. I was already forming stories about how I learned about her great taste in music at a young age. Stories that I would tell family and friends and would-be suitors should the need to brag about my little girl arise.
Then I heard the familiar CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK of the high shoes as she ran back into the dining room — and I immediately gave up on my dreams of the perfect story and did what any dad would do. I grabbed the phone and started recording as she resumed her twirls and pirouettes.
And then she surprised me.
She asked me to dance.
Now if you're reading this, you probably know me pretty well, so it should come as no surprise to you that I don't dance. I just don't. Even in the privacy of my own home, when I'm all alone, I just don't.
But I've always said that if anything could get me to dance, it would be a request from my daughter. And up until now, she has had zero interest in dancing with dad. Even at weddings she'd dance with Mom and brides and grandpas and total strangers — but not Dad. It's always been a little relieving and a little heart-breaking at the same time.
But this time I got my invitation. And I jumped at the offer. It was just a couple of quick spins around the room, no more than a minute at most, but it's one of those moments that I'll always remember.
Even if she lost interest shortly after I turned off the camera.
Even if I got in trouble for not cleaning up the table.
Even if ABBA was the soundtrack.
I guess I got my perfect story after all.