This afternoon we headed up to celebrate the third birthday of one of the muppets’ girlfriends. It was a dance party.
Destroy was very excited – he practiced his moves all morning. DANCE DANCE! (Search wasn’t feeling all that great. He much preferred to cuddle.)
It poured on the drive up and neither muppet was terribly pleased to be strapped into a car seat. (Boy, are they going to enjoy the six-hour drive to GrammaJ and GrampaStavo’s…) But once we arrived, Destroy’s eyes lit up as he observed a room filled with food, girls and music.
DANCE DANCE! He shimmied out of his shoes and bopped across dance floor.
He introduced himself to all the partygoers and then bee-lined for the birthday girl. Are any of us surprised? No.
Search just wanted to be held.
Destroy strutted his stuff around the dance studio. He’d pause to shake his little groove-thang next to his new friends. He had absolutely no concern as to the whereabouts of his brother or me. None.
I just shook my head as the fellow moms laughed. I’m pretty sure the dads were giving me the evil eye. “Keep that little Casanova away from our daughters!”
When it came time for the piñata, both muppets took a turn. Well, they took a turn holding the bat anyway. Search took hold of it, choked up, decided it wasn’t for him and handed it back. Kaeden, a strapping four-year-old, took the bat, would up and SWUNG.
The head of the bat went FA-lying. The piñata remained firmly intact. The partygoers sat silent, peering around the plié bar to see where the broken bat had gone. That was certainly a first – and one hell of a hardy piñata. (I felt kind of bad for the decapitated pony when all was said and done.)
By the end of the afternoon, Destroy was stumbling around – drunk with happiness. His moves were getting a little sloppy. So it was time to bid the celebration adieu.
The birthday girl walked up to Destroy. She kissed him. On. The. Lips.
He turned and beamed at me with all the joy a toddler could muster. Then with a mischievous little grin, he pinched his fingers together furiously. “Mo! Mo!” (Translates to more if you didn’t pick up on that.)
Sigh…fathers – watch your daughters. I’ll do my best to raise my guy as a gentleman.
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