The Lords of the Dance

Within the past couple of weeks, the boys have displayed a new skill while in potentially dangerous areas of the house. This began with Liam standing at the top of the stairs, holding on to the iron railing, and shuffling his feet while hopping. He looked like a tiny Michael Flatley, the Irish dancer, sans high-waisted black pants, headband, and dancing shoes. Graeme quickly caught on, since I was obviously entertained by this little show. Graeme decided to inaugurate his dancing career in the just-drained bathtub, while holding on to the handles on either side of the tub. I was again amused, though I had to hide my smiles while telling Graeme that he shouldn't dance in a wet, slick bathtub (I had to at least try to be responsible while stifling the laughter).

Then the funniest moment of the month occurred last night when bath time was over (I don't get out much). I lifted Liam out of the tub and dried him off. Still naked, he grabbed his huge, size-of-a-cat rubber duck, hugged it tightly to his chest, and danced his little butt off with a serious look on his face. I laughed so hard I almost cried. Riverdance, they're ready for an audition, and they even have appropriate names.