T.G.I.F., Party Girl!

It’s Friday night.  In my house, Friday nights are all about easy dinners, comfy sweats and ignoring the disastrous mess of toys underfoot.  My kids go to sleep pretty easily, as they are, like me, completely exhausted from five straight days of school, activities, playdates and Mom’s errands.   We all breathe a sigh of relief, as if to say, “Made another one.”  Even though the weekend is sometimes even more busy or stressful than the workweek, we take Friday night as a welcome excuse to let off steam or be a couch potato.

Not that I’d trade this night for anything, but it’s hilarious to think of my Friday night activities as such, now that I’m a mom.   Boy have things changed in five years!   Back in my formerly hip, urban, childless days, Friday night marked the end of the workweek, and an excuse to join the thousands of other black suit-wearing, golf-umbrella carrying, monthly T-pass holding financial district stiffs at one or five area Irish bars.  Occasionally, after a particularly stressful week of deadlines, meetings and grunt work, happy hour would go from a casual and friendly drink with a few friends to a late-night party.  Often times, one couldn’t see it coming.  The co-workers who joined you at 6 p.m. would be suddenly joined by significant others, friends, roommates, etc. and before long, a friend-of-a-friend was making requests of the D.J. and leading the crowd in a round of shots.

Of course, any good friend would tell you it’s never a good idea to mix hip-hop music, alcohol and co-workers.  But it was sort of the norm for a few years, and it was nearly forgotten until this evening while washing dishes.

You see, I estimate I spend at least 60% of my day in my kitchen dealing with food and dishes.  It gets old, fast.   Tonight, desperately wishing I could just leave it all and hit the sofa with my laptop, I knew I needed a pick-me-up to help me get through the post-dinner clean up routine fast.   So, I popped my iPhone into the speaker dock, and tuned into my workout playlist.  Much like their everyday task of keeping me running, I needed those songs to help kick my exhausted self into gear.

As the beat filled my kitchen and my hips followed suit,  I got that same rush from soaping up the sauce pan as I normally do pounding the pavement.  I frequently think of my sister, who always had a funny name for me when music came on and set my dancing shoes ablaze: Party Girl.  I was feeling it tonight, realizing that this Party Girl, although an expert at dishes, is a lot more fun when she just lets everything else go and connects with her true self.

You see, Party Girl has always loved to dance.  Ever since I was three or four, when I turned an ordinary shirt into a strapless number by tying the long sleeves around my back, under my arms, to my elementary school days of dancing for fun in my bedroom (my sister and I scoring one another, like an Olympic gymnastics or ice skating competition) and watching Solid Gold religiously (on Friday night, I believe!).   In junior high, I was all about the challenge of getting my 8th grade crush to slow-dance, just once, and in high school, I won a horrible R&B cassette (I”ll never forget it, Keith Sweat!) at a dance when the D.J. simply walked up and handed it to me, mid-song.  At weddings, I’ve probably embarrassed myself and my family countless times, in true Elaine Benes-style, but I didn’t care.  It was all preparation for my late twenties, and my nights in dives like Jose McIntyre’s, where the music helped mask the fear of having to show up for work on Monday and face my dancing partners in a team meeting.

For as much has changed in my life since those days of happy hour and bar-hopping in Beantown, my love of music and dancing is still there, although difficult to remember most days.  As a parent, we’re always watchful of every move, for fear our kids might pick up on our bad habits or another parent will judge us.  But what does it matter, really?  Shouldn’t my kids see me for who I truly am?   Many times during bad weather, the three of us will turn our living room into a dance floor.  They love to move the furniture out of the way and just let loose to upbeat tunes.   No surprise admission here — I love it too!

Tonight, while doing dishes twice as fast as normal with the help of Beyonce and Janet, I was reintroduced to Party Girl.   She is like an old girlfriend you don’t see very often, but when reunited, it’s as if you just pick up right where you left off, even if it’s been several years since your last visit.     I told her, as long as she doesn’t mind sweatpants, she is welcome to hang out with me until last call.

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