Sometimes you just want to dance in your kitchen. Lately, we dance all the time. We push the island up against the counter to make space. Margot wiggles her compact little frame as soon as she hears music. Jude watches his reflection in the oven door. Violet MUST be picked up. I often refuse, wanting her to learn to dance her own dance (plus, I selfishly want to dance MY own dance, unencumbered by little bodies).