Dance Party

 If there is one characteristic that stands out in Finn’s behavior lately, it’s that he wants to get his groove on.

 Fall appears to have ushered in a time to dance.

And of course, that means we have to follow suit. (Who can refuse a five-year-old saying, “Come on let’s dance!”) 

It certainly pulls you out of the doldrums.

What started it? Lady Gaga came up on shuffle on Erin’s phone one day. Finn wanted to see what she looked like and Erin showed him the Super Bowl halftime show. And the dance craze began.

There are other artists he routinely likes dancing to. Most notably Ray Charles and Mumford & Sons.

I dance on occasion to get my energy going. But it really does more than that.

It summons joy and authenticity. I love watching older people dance at weddings. Their moves are so uniquely expressive. I remember watching the chaperones at school dances when they would venture out onto the floor. You’d catch a glimpse of their teenage selves.

Finn’s moves are so uniquely him. Primal and playful. Lots of pointing, moving backwards in circles and tumbling on the floor (on purpose) all with a look on his face of absolute confidence.

Dancing is not only good cardio but has been proven to improve mental health and focus.

It’s no wonder some motivational speakers begin their seminars by asking everyone to dance.

Ellen DeGeneres has figured out it starts things on the right foot.

I was surprised to read recently that a study at The Albert Einstein College of Medicine found that dancing spontaneously on a regular basis could decrease dementia by 76 percent.

So why don’t we do it more? Maybe it kind of feels like wasting time. It feels silly as an older adult. Maybe it’s a little embarrassing?

Maybe we’ve been laughed at by someone at some point while dancing. I’ve experienced it. It’s kind of inevitable. You’re revealing a vulnerable part of yourself. Movements unique to you. It’s bound to crack someone up, especially if you’re awakening your teenage self.

So it takes a little courage to dance. That’s a good thing, to dance in the face of whatever real or imagined judgement may exist. To own your authenticity.

And perhaps the best thing is that it’s almost impossible to think about anything else while you’re dancing.

It plants you firmly in the now. Dance is like a meditation. Once you get over that initial shyness it immediately connects you to your heart and spirit. And to those dancing around you.

Erin and I are working on a song (Our Children) right now for a concert. It’s from the Broadway musical Ragtime. There is a line, “How they dance. Unembarrassed and alone. Hearing music of their own. Our Children.”

When we’re dancing as a family it’s kind of the ultimate connection.

We’re dancing, watching Finn dance, but he is totally focused. He’s creating each move. Occasionally making himself laugh. We’re there.

But he’s dancing like nobody’s watching.

Detours

It was a family outing that was not going well.

Everyone was grumgry, the term we use for deteriorating emotional states in absence of sustenance.

We had packed a picnic but 30 minutes into our journey we noticed the gas light was blinking. We probably would not make it unless we back-tracked to a gas station.

Erin hates back-tracking for any reason. I personally don’t mind it. I once back-tracked three hundred miles to retrieve my wallet, which I had left at a service station. I was traveling across the desert in the southwest at the time and I got to experience the same spectacular sunset two nights in a row. But I was also traveling alone.

Now I was in a car with two other loved ones. And grumgry was transmuting to hangry.

I had just completed the U-turn and Finn was beginning to whine about our extended trip.

A large Heron flew above the road just ahead of us.

“Oh look! See the Heron?!” I said, hoping to end the complaining with some nature fascination.

“Where?” he said, “I can’t see it!”

The angle was such that he couldn’t see it from the back seat of the car.

“Right there!” I pointed, desperately wanting him to see it but trying to keep my eyes on the road.

“I don’t see it!” he said.

Suddenly the Heron veered out of sight.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, “It just flew behind the trees.”

“Naaaooooo!” he sobbed. “Now I’ll never see the Heron! Ahhhh!”

I was kind of kicking myself because I had made a similar mistake with a hummingbird sighting a few weeks before. But it’s kind of a reflex.

He eventually calmed down, we got gas, had our picnic, went on a short hike but were still not in the best of moods. Maybe ice-cream would cheer us up.

We went to a place that shall remain nameless and the servings were so small I actually thought mine was a tasting. After that I was the grumpy one. Nothing kills the spirit more than being underserved with ice-cream.

We needed to end the day on a high note.

Not wanting to head home just yet, we were driving around sort of aimlessly and soon realized we weren’t far from the Saugerties Lighthouse. We decided on one last hike.

As we were winding through the trails and boardwalks, I looked across the shallow marsh and in the distance saw a lone slim silhouette standing in the water. It was a white Heron.

This time I was little more cautious.

“Finn, do you see anything interesting out there?” I said.

It was a little far off but he saw it almost immediately. Thank goodness. Though I was ready to say something like, “Aren’t those amazing lily pads?”

Our day trip had been a jumble of detours and false starts until that last piece fell into place. Suddenly a puzzling excursion had been reworked into a graceful mosaic.

Off Duty

The other day I was trying to get Finn’s attention.  He was sitting in a chair staring off into space. I can’t remember why it was important for me to interrupt him but nevertheless I did.

“Finn,” I said for the third or fourth time.

“I’m off duty,” he replied.

“Really?” I said. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I’m just not doing anything,” he said matter-of-factly.

I kind of wondered what being “on duty” meant for him but I didn’t inquire further.

I’m sure he was repeating what one of us might have said when we were in the middle of something and attempted to “pass the baton” so to speak.  

“Talk to Mommy. I’m off duty.”

Would I say that?

Regardless, I don’t think it’s really possible to be off duty as a parent once you become one. You never stop thinking about your child for more than a moment or two.

Even on date nights we inevitably spend half the time talking about Finn.

Summer is the season for taking time off. The rising temps and heavy humid air naturally slows you down. So it’s no wonder we want to get away for awhile.

There is an art to vacationing and it often takes as much effort as not. The expense, the supplies, the planning, the packing, unpacking, packing again. How much time one actually spends relaxing depends on so many things.

I’ve personally become more fond of spontaneous days off and evenings in the backyard when Finn and his friends are playing independently. Or little family day trips.

Recently, I’ve read about the significance of children having time off from scheduled events in the summer. The importance for them to experience boredom, so they can learn, with proper guidance, how to deal with it.

Who knew that lying in the grass staring at the clouds is actually valuable and important? Well, we all probably knew it intuitively. But for some reason, having a study to confirm it offers some sense of satisfaction.

I’ve never had a problem with being bored. If there is one thing I know how to do, it’s to contemplate. Creativity springs from contemplation. Taking the first step in a project beyond contemplation usually presents more challenges for me.

An even bigger challenge is turning off the creative brain. Giving it a rest. Not thinking about what “the next thing” should be. That, for me is the hardest part of vacationing. Putting everything on hold.

That’s where Finn is a huge help. He’s so in the moment that when we’re watching him, it’s almost impossible not to be present as well. It’s something I had noticed well before Finn came along. Children have the innate ability to be here now.

Of course there are other ways to quiet the mind. Crashing waves. A walk in the woods.

But there’s nothing that quiets the mind as well as observing a little one who’s “off duty”.

Building

On a recent afternoon I was raking, removing the winter quilt of leaves from the flower beds.

A few yards away Finn was busy with a project of his own. He was piling sticks and bricks on the patio where I had just cleaned.

I feel as though his response to any space being clean these days is: “Oh good, now I have more room to create.”

He and his friends have been building little forts lately from a supply of bricks beside the garden shed, leftover from some past construction project.

By the time I had finished my raking, Finn had constructed a couple of walls with bricks and incorporated some lawn chairs for end caps.

I resisted the inclination to stop him. When he chooses an activity within close proximity so I can watch him and be productive myself, it’s worth a little clean up later.

The bricks have become kind of outdoor legos for the boys. A few days ago they built “A bakery”. They made countless trips across the lawn, each carrying one or two bricks. It was a full day project. They all slept well that night.

With his walls complete, Finn carefully placed sticks across the top and eventually covered them with leaves.

I reminded him it was going to rain later.

“Well it’s a good thing I put a roof on it!” He said

Later, after we had gone inside, it began pouring rain.

He wanted to go out and check on his work. I told him to put on his rain coat.

“I don’t have to! I can just get in my shelter!” He said, as if he was having a eureka moment. “Then I can enjoy being outside in the rain!”

I let him go outside. His disappointment was immediate.

“Awww Daddoo! The rain is coming through the top!”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Not enough leaves! I have to put more leaves on,” he said.

I can remember building forts as a kid. You stack some things together and your imagination fills in the rest.

A few times, my brothers and I made forts under kudzu. Kudzu is a vine in the south that covers entire trees and sometimes whole forests.

From outside it looked like the perfect shelter. On a hot summer day it was cool underneath.

But it was always a surprise to us after a rain to find our fort and whatever we’d managed to drag in there, sopping wet.

Finn piled more leaves on his shelter. More rain came and this time with wind. The roof fell in.

The next morning as I watched him survey the damage, I could almost see the wheels turning in his little head. He talked aloud trying to figure out what to do next.

I heard him mutter something about stacking large stones on top. Dismiss that plan. Then his interest was pulled elsewhere.

More striking to me was watching him build and discover. Experience disappointment. Learn from his mistakes.

And when it didn’t turn out the way he expected. He moved on.