My indoctrination of Magoo is nearly complete. At Grandma’s house he learned to do head spins.
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The other day in the car I was listening to an old Bread CD when Magoo got super excited and yelled, “HEY! MOM! Go dance!”
HEY! I went. I danced.
When a Destiny’s Child song came on the butt-shaking radio station, he got DOWN in his car seat (”˜Which song?’ you ask me. Does it really matter?). Mariah Carey was next and he would not so much as twitch to Emotions. Perhaps he is opposed to long runs that end in high notes only wee doggies can hear. Perhaps he was not a fan of Glitter. Whatever the reason, he refused even a direct command to shake it for mommy.
Me: Dance buddy.
Me: Do you only dance to Destiny’s Child now?
Which saddens me greatly because as much as I like my kids listening to songs that teach them to “leave their men at home because the club is full of ballers with their pockets full grown”, and “all the mamas who profit dollas, throw your hands up at me,” I don’t currently own any of their compact discs.
And oh how I love to watch him get down.