Daddy Daughter Dance 2017

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Saturday was the yearly Daddy Daughter Dance, and this time I took both the girls with me. MC had been looking forward to it for months. She was ecstatic at the thought of getting dressed up like a princess and going dancing. It was fun to see her and DC talk about it ahead of time, with DC filling in her little sister about everything that was going to happen. This was my fifth year going, if that can be believed. (Here’s my report back on my first time, if you want a stroll down memory lane.)

As we have in years past, we went out to dinner with a group before hand. Having two daughters to keep track of made things a bit trickier, mainly because they both wanted a different experience out of the meal. DC was having fun being in a nice restaurant. MC wanted to run around and play. Splitting my attention made it so neither got exactly what they wanted, though I think they still had fun. DC graduated to ordering pizza this time instead of chicken fingers. MC was all chicken fingers all the way. They both had dessert: lava cake for DC, and a scoop of ice cream for MC, who only had a bit and then decided she didn’t want more.

On the way to the actual dance, MC started complaining that her stomach was hurting. Probably from all the fries, bread, chicken fingers, lemonade, water, and ice cream she’d downed before running around the private room our group had reserved. DC sagely suggested this might be the case, and MC was much more ready to listen to her wise words of experience. MC did say it was a “long day” to get to the dance. (Anytime she gets impatient for something, she says it’s a long day. I’m not sure why.)

It was way cold and windy, which the girls were not fond of. But the dance itself was great. We took pictures, the girls got glow sticks, and then there was dancing and cake and grapes and punch. I tried dancing some with MC, but she really just wanted to dance by herself, twirling around in place, recreating princess moves in her head. DC was much more up for dancing with me, as she had much more experience with it.

Around 8:30, MC tapped my leg. I had to get down on my knees to hear her (because for some reason there’s this unspoken rule that dances have to be about 3,000 decibels too loud.) “I’m done with this dance,” she said. DC agreed, so we headed home, another successful outing in the record books.

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