Mommy Will You Dance With Me

They had just downed hot chocolate. To cozy up their insides. And their red noses that were earned flashing their pearly whites for family pictures. And though we’d not yet broken into the Holiday stash yet, Jim Brickman was the music of choice. And the littles began to twirl. And flit. And flutter about. Words that in a few years, I fear these boys will shy away from. But now…
now, they are too young to have any opinions to the contrary. To know what’s perceived as cool. And so they danced. And I swept the remnants of treat time from the kitchen floor.

And then he walked up to me. As I shoved the broom tightly betwixt the trash can and the cupboard, and silently cursed its aesthetically unfortunate home. And he said, with his big brown eyes as open as they’ve ever been, Mommy? Will you dance with me?

Be still my beating heart.

We spun in circle. After circle. After circle. The piano keys trickling a melody. He held both of my hands. Threw his head behind him. His mouth wide open with laughter rolling loose. His eyes squinted shut. He looped under my arm. Twirled in and then out. Giggling. Laughing. I could feel it in my face, that my joy was overflowing. He wasn’t just holding my hands. He held my attention. Completely. And I held onto him. I did not want to look away, or let go, not for a second. I will not let go first. I couldn’t help it. I wouldn’t let the moment slip out of my grasp. It was one of those moments of life that feels surreal… living a moment that felt so unruffled. So free of contrivance. And so full of what I can only label as contentment.

The song was over. But the moment went on. Onto another track. And another. Until it was bedtime.

The boys went off to dreamland. The day was finished. And wholly complete. I have replayed the feeling of that moment, again and again. And have decided that it could likely have been one of the happiest moments of my life. Sometimes, that happens. Life reveals little sparks. Little simple, perfect sparks. In the most unassuming form. That light up your entire existence. That dance. His joy. And my contentment. Sparks.

I can only hope that if I keep playing music, he’ll keep putting me on his dance card. Someday, down the road, but not so very far, I fear, he will stop asking. His dance partners of choice will be younger. And not called mommy.

“Mommy… will you dance with me?”

Every. Single. Time.
Yes.