A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post called Please Don’t Blush about how Emory had become self-conscious and stopped dancing. I have good news! My boy is back.
The video below was taken yesterday while showing my mother a few dance numbers from Wednesday’s So You Think You Can Dance. One of the numbers was a hip hop routine and it turned Emory into a dancing machine. (His second favorite was the Bollywood routine.)
Unfortunately, I was too busy smiling from ear-to-ear, basking in the joy of my son’s return to dance to film his first attempt. But he wanted more! So I got it the second time around. He’s a little tired in this one, but it’s still awesome. And I am so happy my son is dancing again.
A few things to note: He’s watching this routine. And he was really trying to emulate their moves. For example, when he comes at me, he’s acting out what the dancers are doing. And whenever he grabs the sides of his head, the dancers are messing with headphones. For those of you who may have seen this, you’ll probably (albeit loosely) follow his smooth moves. :]
Emory isn’t yet potty trained. Of course, he’s not really supposed to be, at 21 months. We do have one of those Bjorn toddler toilets and have for almost a year but we’re not militant about putting it to use. I store it in our bathroom across from the regular toilet.
The other day a friend of mine called me sobbing. At first I thought something terrible had happened to someone in her family. My mind raced with possibilities before she was able to get the words out.
Toby Joe and I love soccer. We’re huge fans of the English Premier League. Today’s UEFA final between Barça and Manchester United is a match I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I’m giddy with excitement, watching the clock and preparing snacks. I really think this one is going to be awesome. Emory and I will probably watch it together once he gets home from school.
When I dropped Em off at school yesterday, I told the women what I tell them every morning. “If he’s sick or seems sad, tired or cranky, call me. He had a rough night last night and I’d hate for him to be in pain or cause problems for you all.”
I have no idea how this happened, but Em loves the vacuum. He treats it like a pet. He requests I take it out of the closet at least once per day, which is kind of sad considering he might think we keep a pet in the closet. He likes the Dyson so much, he throws starts crying whenever it has to go “night night”. (I swear I didn’t start personifying the vacuum until after he developed an attachment to it.)
One of Em’s first ever words was “flower” only it sounds more like “fowah”. It doesn’t matter if it’s a book we’re reading, a TV show we’re watching, or an advertisement we pass by, he will find that damn flower, or anything that looks like a flower, and he’ll let you know about it.