Some mornings. It pays to get up.

I went to bed quite frustrated. Angry that my experience is dismissed or, even worse, deemed as inappropriate and then dismissed. I’m just tired of being told how to feel, what I should do with those feelings (keep them silent!) and the reasons why they’re inappropriate, inferior or otherwise unwelcome emotions concerning others experiences. If I had a record of acting inappropriately with or toward my daughter in anything I discussed with her, I might understand such ignorant and judgmental statements. But instead I was just frustrated.

This morning? I was still peeved. Not good for my blood pressure!

I sat down to check e-mail, do some morning writing and other morning internet type processes. I opened this blog to write a scathing diatribe about what sent me to bed with my grumpy pants still on.

Well, it didn’t turn out that way. My son wandered into the office and asked me to put on his new shoes. (The light up fire truck sneakers have been replaced with light up bulldozers.) Then he followed me back into the office, talking about “songs.” I knew he wanted to dance. So I put on his favorite dance song. And we’ve been dancing to it for a good half hour. Nothing lifts my spirits like completely silly time with my children.

And so, I’m going to keep dancing it up. Dance the anger right out.  That said? Don’t ever tell me what I can and cannot feel. And I won’t tell you what to dance to on your gloomy days!