About every other day, Grace will go in her room, shut the door, turn up the radio REALLY loud and just dance. Or sometimes, if she gets it too loud, come running out of the room, screeching for help turning it down.
We know the dance party is going on as soon as the radio starts blaring. It isn't satisfactory for the radio to just be on at a normal volume. Everyone knows the room has to be rocking for it to really be a dance party.
Yesterday, though, Scott and I were chatting in the kitchen when we heard the radio rev up. We looked at each other, laughed and finished chatting.
I headed to their room to turn down the radio, and when I opened the door, my heart stopped for the briefest of moments.
Grace was STANDING on top of the changing table.
And jumping up and down.
And generally scaring the crap out of her mom.
No. More. Dance. Parties.