I am NOT my mother.. Am I?

The British Playwright, Tom Stoppard, once said that "if you carry your childhood with you, you never become older".    As each year of my "dirty 30s" pass, I remind myself of that quote as a somewhat sickly sweet justification for holding onto my youth and rationalizing why I still act like a kid.

Thankfully, music was a huge part of my life growing up just as much as it is today.  Although my own children don't quite appreciate my eccentric tastes, I love to blast nostalgic tunes in our house or car and shake my groove thing.  My boys have come to accept that mom is a free spirit despite their teenage embarrassment.

It's not uncommon for them to come home from school to mom dancing around while cleaning house.  Perhaps, that's why they like to make sure the scene is cool before their friends walk into the house with them.    After this past weekend, we've reached that "my mom is humiliating" phase though.  I remember that myself and swore I'd never embarrass my own kids like mom did me.  Uh oh, I'm becoming my own mother.

My sister's surprise 30th bash couldn't have been more perfect-yummy food, a little alcohol, great company and a kick ass DJ to boot.   When she walked in the door last Friday night awestruck and started crying, I knew we had pulled it off despite my fear of loud mouths ruining the surprise.   It was perfect!

Finally, the stress of party planning was over, and it was time to dance, dance, dance!   The DJ laid down lots of new stuff for the younger kids and old soul, funk, 80's, and disco for the rest of us.  Good times! 

But, there's always that awkward beginning where no guest really wants to be the first on the dance floor.  I hate those moments - so I knew I'd have to start it off eventually.  Being a huge fan of The Gap Band, I couldn't stand it any longer and rushed out to the dance floor with my aunt when "You Dropped the Bomb On Me" started playing.  Everyone followed along, and finally people were comfortable enough to let go and enjoy the music!

Not realizing that my boys were sitting there staring at me, I continued to bust a move and shake my booty.    At one point, I believe there was even a little "Jane Jane" sandwich action happening.

So, lost in the moment of grand fun, I turned around to see my fifteen and thirteen year old staring at me with a look of horror in their pretty blue eyes.  The song ended and I walked over to them only to receive a nice little lecture about how mortified they were to see me dance in public.   I laughed and told them to relax.  Right after those words emerged from my lips, the boys started snickering and were pointing at the dance floor.  I turned around to see my own mom shaking her groove thing. 

Instantly, I knew exactly how my boys were feeling!