I watch my youngest son swirl on the hard wood floors.

My daughter watches him too.

So much pent up energy.

His motor mouth spouts a monologue of unfamiliar words.

“You’re going to wear yourself out with all that break dancing sonny Jim!” I say to his gyrating form.
“Break dancing?” she giggles, “what’s break dancing Mom?”
“Er…..sort of…..throw yourself about a lot kind of dancing.”
“Never heard of it, anyways, he’s rappin whilst he hip hops.”
“Indeed, is that what they call it these days?”

Verily, I must get a bit more with it.