Good Days

I feel like a lot of my winter posts have been miserable, and I deal with so much just by writing it out that this blog bears the brunt of my struggles with any and all things, so it is important to take inventory and to remark upon the good days.


Or even the days that just don't really suck.


In typical eff you New England weather style, March came in like a lion and is leaving like a swamp rat. It's cold, damp, frequently rainy, muddy and kind of gross. No flowers are poking out of the muck, and there are those delicious wads of dying snowbanks that are ninety percent sand and chemical salt limning driveways and brown, crushed lawns.
This means that I am still trapped inside with the boo boo more often than not.

The war, however, is finally beginning to turn in our favor.

I've begun having post-dinner dance parties with my fifteen month old.
After our super early five o clock dinner, we have about two and a half hours before bed time.

My Beard typically doesn't get home until about six thirty or seven, so there's an hour of "what the hell do we do now?" time between the last supper and the moment I get to throw my kid at my man and hide in the bathroom for twenty minutes pretending I'm peeing, when in fact I am just shakily breathing and looking at my reflection, taking an extra long time to brush my teeth, or plucking my eyebrows-and-hey fuck you random chin hair!

For that hour, I am just about all out of creative ideas of what to do with the bairn.
I am also, looooooaaaaaathe to give in and watch television, because guess what? I've probably already watched an hour or so with the kid after lunch or even let him watch sesame street while I took my shower, and I don't want to depend too heavily on the screen.

So I turn on a playlist of my most random, get up and shake it music, and we dance.
We dance like crazy people.
I pick him up and I swing him around as he giggles hysterically.
I hold his hands and we bop around the carpet.
I chase him across the room and then let him run between my legs, and we generally freak out and scare the cat for a while.
It's really becoming a lovely little thing we do together.

In all honesty, I began doing it in the hopes that it would tire him out and get him ready for bed, but it shows no signs of affecting his energy levels. Instead, it has made me fall head over heels for this ridiculous activity.

I love seeing him shake his butt and run around and giggle madly.
It reminds me how good movement is supposed to feel, that exercise isn't about trying to look a certain way or beating your own PR, it's about joyful physical expression. It's about having a wonderful time letting adrenalin move you and endorphins psyche you up. It's about playing at a time and in a world that really discourages letting go and being uninhibited.

It's also about having a good time.
Just a good old time.