One of Snags’ recurring ideas is to hold a Dance Party. He usually begins planning the event upon waking in the morning. He must think about the party all through breakfast, because as soon as he downs that last bite of brown sugar Pop Tart, he springs from the table to begin gathering everything he’ll need.
His list of rockin’ party supplies generally includes an overturned laundry basket to serve as a convenient table, a CD player, at least one CD (you’ll be lucky if there are two), a couple of lights to throw various colors around the room, and some snacks.
Since he’s not allowed to plug anything in himself, I get recruited to help. I do so, but I admit it’s with a weary trepidation. I’ve been to these dance parties before you see. They aren’t well attended, and the night usually ends with the host in tears as I shoo him off to bed before the fun ever really starts.
Snags is, of course, the host of the dance party. He also controls the lighting, the music, and the snacks. The lights aren’t bad. His disco balls and stop lights throw multiple colors across the walls, almost like a real disco. If you close your eyes you can imagine that you aren’t in my family room; you can almost pretend you’re on a wide wooden dance floor and not surrounded by strewn toys, crayons, magic markers, or the oversized sofa.
The snacks are just so-so for a dance party. But if you favor graham crackers, fruit snacks, and apple juice, then you’re in luck.
The music, however, leaves something to be desired. Maybe it’s me. I admit I’m not a great dancer. I can’t keep a rhythm. Even so, it’s easier to dance to popular music: hip-hop, rock, disco, or dare I say it, even country. But try dancing to Barenaked Ladies as they sing “Oh Hanukkah Oh Hanukkah” over and over. Or “Baby Bumblebee” from Toddler’s Favorite Tunes. Whatever Snags’ favorite song du jour is, that’s what you’ll listen to non-stop until your head explodes or you trip over an errant tinker toy and have to retreat to the sidelines with an ice pack planted on your ankle.
Fairly soon after that the dance party will end. I’ll declare it’s bedtime, and the Dance Party DJ will cry in protest as I begin to turn off disco balls and unplug the CD player.
But don’t worry, there’s always another dance party being planned. Be sure to check your mailbox, your invitation should arrive any day now.
Running With Books 