One of Sara’s more colorful combos: a summer dress, polka dotted turtleneck, fall leggins, patent leather shoes, pink purse, monkey hat, and a knit cat she tied around her neck.

Driving home from preschool today, we passed a road, seemingly under construction.  Sara squealed, “I see a crack pipe!”  WHAT did you say you saw?  “A crack pipe Mommy!  Look!”….as I’m having flashbacks to my time as an ER nurse at Boston City Hospital.  The first time I smelled crack, I threw up on my shoes.  I’ll just tell you as an RN, you’ll never live that one down.  Gonna get teased FOREVER if you puke on your shoes.

Looking down, I saw a cracked pipe being pulled out of the ground by men in hardhats.  Crack-ED pipe.  CRACKKKEED Sara.  “I know, that’s what I said”.  Quickly changing the subject (because, knowing Sara, we were 2 seconds from her asking what is the difference between a crack pipe and a cracked pipe), I asked, “What did you do at preschool today?”.

Sara (quite matter of factly): We put our hands on our bottoms and learned to dance the Macarena in gym class.

Mommy: OK.  Well that’s…different.

Sara: Yeah, Coach was really getting her rock on.

Mommy: What does THAT mean?

Sara: She was dancing all over the place. (Her tone was very 13 year old, “Duh Mom…were you born 100 years ago? Which is always pleasant coming from the lips of a 4 year old.)

Mommy: Did you mean she was rocking out?

Sara: That’s what I said!

For a Monday, pretty average stuff at our house.  When we got home, Sara demonstrated a full dancing knowledge of the Macarena, again, causing me to cringe.  The ER memory had faded, being replaced by a foggy recollection of the year some nursing pals invited me to Gay Halloween, circa 1998: imagine me in a crowded bar somewhere near the Boston Harbor, after a few too many Long Islands, “rocking out” to The Macarena, dressed as Monica from “Friends”.  No one can pull off a “Type A-hyper-brunette-cook-who-cannot-dance” like I can, especially in a bar full of gay men.  The Momma and dancing go together like my gut and the smell of crack.  Sara has clearly inherited my sense of rhythm, so we have to look forward to…