In keeping with his newfound interest in lyrics, apparently young Samson has also got dance fever. This morning, as I was trying to get out the door to go to work, he stood in the middle of the living room floor, pointed at the stereo speaker, and said "dance."
Ok, it was more like "denz," but I knew what he meant.
We put some music on [is it any wonder I can't get to work on time?], but no deal. He pointed to Vicki and repeated "denz." She obliged by picking him up and tango-ing him to the door to see me off.
From the looks of playgroup yesterday, all the kids were gettin down. And yes, that's the garbage pail they're drumming on. The living room was packed with toys, but nothing draws a crowd like a closed metal cylinder full of cast-off food and other domestic detritus.
It actually looks like a lot of fun.
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