Party like it's 1999

This weekend, we went to the wedding of a dear family friend.  It was all the way up in Maine, which is a long way to drive if (and only if) you're a wussy Bostonian like me or a six-year-old who gets carsick.  I was really stressed out about taking this weekend away as it does nothing to soothe the sense of impending doom for teaching all my classes again next week (I mean... I just taught them this week, you mean I have to do it AGAIN, with new material next week?)  However, I really love the bride and her whole family and the groom, too, so I fed Elsie a Dramamine, pulled myself together, and Hub and I hauled the family to Maine.

It was a GREAT wedding.

I don't drink any alcohol anymore, so the first few minutes of dancing feel acutely awkward, but as soon as I see Elsie run off and dance her heart out with some toe-haired boy her own age, and I realize I'm among old friends -- old, SILLY friends -- and the music is great and all I have to do is move... I had a great time.

Evan isn't much of a dancer.  He danced with me at our wedding, but that was probably the last time.  I've learned, over the years, that I don't have to make him do things I love but he hates.  I can just go do them on my own and let him do his introvert thing somewhere away from the dance floor.

Marty, the au pair, loves to dance, though, and so does the bride and all her friends.  My brother's boyfriend loves to dance, too, and he throws himself into it with more energy and enthusiasm than I've ever seen.  He grabbed my hands and swung me around.  He wound me up and dipped me down.  He put his hands on my waist and warned me to hold on tight, then he lifted me over his head and promenaded me around like Baby in Dirty Dancing.  I told him, "Hub can fix my computer, but you can be my dance partner!"  We danced our hearts out until 9:45 -- which is well past my early-bird bedtime.

When I told Hub about Greg's impressive dance moves, especially the big lift, he responded,

"Wow!  Greg must be really REALLY strong!"

(Now is a good moment to remind you all that I am married to an engineer.  This is just how they are.)

Then Hub lifted me up in a piggy back and ran stadiums up some stairs while I bossed him around *ahem* gave him constructive athletic feedback.

"You're the Belichick to my Brady."  He huffed.

It was fun and exhausting and I spent all morning today giggling at the image of Tom Brady carrying Bill Belichick around on his back.

So worth it.