Walking past a bedroom strewn with Squinkies and Leggos, I hear an odd noise.  It sounds like a pterodactyl or a robot caught in a blender.  It’s the three-year-old.  He’s prancing around – naked.  I stop in my tracks.  Wiggle, wiggle, spin, spin, SCREEECH!  The footwork is quite fancy.  He’s river dancing in front of the closet mirror.  He freezes every few turns  in the mirror and shrieks at his reflection.

I want to say, “Time for bath, so wrap up . . . whatever it is you’re doing.”  Thump.  Thump.  SCREECH!  But one does not simply interrupt the Lord of the Dance.