Dance Partners

After shooting the movie Funny Face, the incomparable Audrey Hepburn said, "I experienced the thrill that all women at some point in their lives have dreamed of- to dance just once with Fred Astaire." And what magic they created! There is nothing quite like seeing Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire dance together. It is, in my opinion, the epitome of elegance. Then again, I do have a slight Audrey Hepburn obsession. Before she ever graced the silver screen, Hepburn was a dancer. I think, like most little girls do at some point in their lives, I dreamed of being a ballerina once. I put Morgan in a ballet class when she was four years old. She adored Angelina Ballerina, so I thought, why not, all the while wondering if I was actually trying to vicariously live out my girlhood dream through my daughter. It turns out that she was no more coordinated at dancing than I am, which, by the way, I am not. I can feel the music, apparently everywhere but my feet. In high school, I briefly dated a ballroom dancer (I know what you're thinking, but the reason that we broke up was not that he was actually gay). He made me look like I could dance. Our claim to fame (if you want to call a few of our closest friends pretending to act mildly interested fame) was recreating the lift from Dirty Dancing (and please people- if you haven't seen Funny Face or Dirty Dancing, go rent some movies) - you know the one where Jennifer Gray does a flying leap into Patrick Swazey's arms and he lifts her above his head like a bird. And that, plus one tango class I took with my husband aboard a cruise ship, is the extent of my dancing experience. And to be fair, the first probably wasn't really dancing so much as hurling myself into the air and letting someone else make me look impressive.

As luck would have it, I recently found a dance partner who doesn't care if I look like Elaine from Seinfeld when I try to bust a move. He's not exactly Fred Astaire, or even Gene Kelly for that matter. He is short, fat and bald, and usually leaves a puddle of drool on my shoulder . I am of course talking about my precious baby boy, Ryan. He was having a bit of a fussy time a few days ago. I have noticed that music usually calms him. So, I tuned into my Micheal Buble station on Pandora (if you love music, and you haven't discovered Pandora, you should check it out), snuggled my little bug close, and began dancing around the room. He settled down almost instantly. This amazed me, since the very idea of me dancing would be enough to make most people cry.

I've had many dances in my life, at various proms, weddings , etc., most of which I don't even remember. But, I think I will always remember dancing barefoot in the living room in tie-die and cargo shorts; the smell of freshly cut grass wafting in on the breeze through the screen door, and the smell and warmth of that new baby head nuzzled against my shoulder. And I know Ryan won't remember, but one day when he leads some lucky lady out onto the floor in his handsome tux and steals her heart, I will remember, that day so long ago when he stole mine. And, if he is willing to humor and old lady, maybe we will turn on some Micheal Buble and dance again, hopefully minus the drool this time.