Elliott is love with music, and has been for a long time. Soothed by my off-key voice, he sings with me in a cacophany of sweet jibberish in the carseat, the highchair and rocking to sleep each night. My mom unearthed the synthesizers of my sister's and my youth. Elliott is in heaven. Not only is he a tiny songbird, he's got mad white-boy dancing skillz. Of course, this is likely due to the fact that my dad and my husband, the penultimate white boys, were providing the model. Witness for yourself:
1 comment:
Don't forget that he also inherited some mad skillz from you, friend. We've torn up many a camp dance with our booty-shakin'.
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