At this moment, you mean eeeeeeverything…

It’s not the greatest theme song for a mom and her children to dance to, but if you block out most of the lyrics and just focus on one itty, bitty line, it’s pretty fantastic.
Our kitchen has, I believe, abnormally large floor space. Like there should be a big butcher block island right in the middle of it, but there isn’t. We did it that way on purpose because we thought that such an obstruction would surely be cause for detrimental wounds and cases of bandages as our children learned to walk/run/boogie/etc. As good of an idea as that was, it was an even better idea because without knowing it, we’ve created our very own private dance club.
And let me tell you, Club Kitchen gets really rockin’ sometimes. There are nights when the music blasts and we’re all in our wool socks showing off some smooth disco moves on the wood floor and other times when I hope the neighbors aren’t watching because I’m trying to do my best MC Hammer impression. We waltz to classical, and it goes without saying that everyone should stand clear when the polka music is cranked up.
But our kitchen, like most kitchens, “rocks” in many different ways.
Like one morning a few weeks ago. The place was hopping, and despite my few hours of sleep and not enough caffeine, I was doing my best to keep up with everything, sans music.
Because I am the procrastinating type, I somehow thought I could whip together a costume for Right to Read Week’s Fairy Tale dress-up day, prep another kid for show-and-tell for preschool, and do everything else I normally do, all within a span of about 15 minutes.
There were breakfasts to be made, babies to be fed, letter “S” day, and myself grasping at non-existent creativity to try to transform my first grade daughter into Thumbelina, who is really nothing more than a tiny girl.
So while braiding hair with one hand and pinning dresses with the other, my left foot shoved oatmeal into a crying baby’s mouth who decided she didn’t like oatmeal anymore and my right foot told my son to change his clothes because, and I quote my big toe, “you can’t wear a “sleeveless shirt” to preschool even though it starts with S because it’s only 28 degrees.”
We ran, we rushed, we made a gigantic mess in the kitchen, and we made it out the door just in time to drop off my fairly well-clothed son and Thumbelina at their schools.
It wasn’t until I got home and looked at my kitchen that it all hit me. There on the counter sat a spilled box of safety pins from the costume and four thousand breakfast dishes. On the floor was a pile of sleeveless shirts. In the fridge was the juice box I had forgotten to pack Thumbelina, which I had never forgotten to do in what seems like a lifelong career of lunch-packing.
So I did what any decent mother would do.
I grabbed my baby, turned on my theme song and started dancing away to (and I know you’re all waiting for it) “Come On Eileen.” Like I said, not the greatest theme song for a family. Beyond its great beat, though, one line taken completely out of context is absolutely wonderful. “At this moment, you mean everything.”
The pins can wait. The dishes, too. The clothes will still be there because I know I’m the only one who is going to pick them up. That morning, I meant everything to my kids, getting them ready for their special days, and any warm-blooded person can tell you there ain’t nothing like dancing with a baby. After a morning of tending to everyone else, at that moment, she meant everything.
Who would have ever thought that a one-hit-wonder from 1982 could have such a deep and profound meaning and bring such solace to a family? Too-ra loo-ra too-ra loo-rye-aye. It plays quite frequently at Club Kitchen.


Erin O'Connor said…
One of our favorites is the slow song, Swaying to the Music (Slow Dancing) by Johnny Rivers. It's a good one before bed. Lyrics have to be interpreted differently but it's got some good lines to apply to kids :)

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