I Like to Move It, Move It

Goodness knows, I am a classic Type A personality. I can plan the heck and the fun out of anything.

Sometimes, that works in my favor, actually. It's a relief to pull that granola bar and water bottle from my well-stocked bag moments before the meltdown ensues. Not a bad thing to have a good system for laundry so that the clean undies are always available and in the correct location. My days are carefully ordered and planned to ensure maximum smoothness, efficiency, balance. Who can argue with that?

But Goodness also knows that there's more to life than smooth.

When I was a kid, each summer, my dad took my brother and I on a week-long camping trip. He'd rent a little RV, pack some guide books and maps and a few groceries, and off we'd go. My brother and I chose a direction, searched the guide books until we found a campground that looked like it had good fishing or tubing, and we'd make our way there. If we liked it, we'd stay a couple of days, and if we didn't we'd keep our stay short-- and then it was on to the next part of our journey.

Oh, the things we learned as we helped Dad follow the map...but, blissfully oblivious to all that inadvertent education, we were just on the road together. A particular Barbara Streisand cassette tape always accompanied our trips through the gorgeous Virginia Mountains, Babs belting out "Memories" as we rattled around the camper, seat-belt-less and eager for what was around the next bend. The point of these summer rambles? Point? There was no destination or goal other than to be together, to be just like that famed bear that went over the mountain to see what he could see. That's what we saw...what we could see. We did laugh a lot, we certainly lived those moments which have become the timeless family stories and quotes that never cease to amuse us, and only us, as we retell them today. You had to be there. We just...were. Together.

About a year ago, a beloved aunt gave the kind of Christmas present to a mom of three young kids whose husband worked a lot of nights that communicated that she "got" my life. A McDonald's gift certificate. Enough for several meals out. Several cold winter nights in which I could sit and watch my cabin-fevered children run out their energy under the fluorescent lights of the play area, fueled by Happy Meals, while I sat quietly and watched. This gift communicated love in a big way, and I planned carefully how to make the best use of it.

One of these cold winter nights, ballet pick-up was complete, and it was dinner time and we were all weary and restless, but mama had a plan! Home for a lonelyDdaddy-less dinner tonight? No, kids, we are off to that awesome and not-too-far-away McDonald's with the big indoor playland. It was a good night to use the gift certificate. It made sense. It was a good plan.

Twenty minutes later, we weren't quite where I thought we would be. The McDonald's wasn't where I thought it was either. In this unfamiliar part of town, rush hour was in full swing, it was getting dark, and I was looking, looking, for that great playland to end our day on just the right note. A jogger pointed us in a direction...but that road stretched endlessly to what was definitely not the right place. Driving in circles, darkness fell, and the little people in the back seat were getting hungry.

Finally, we saw it, shimmering ahead! The Golden Arches, in all their glory. But wait, what's that gas station doing in the same parking lot? My heart sunk. This was not my destination. It was one of those joint gas-station-fast-food joints. No playland. No running off energy before bed. No mom sitting in quiet for a few moments at the end of the long day. No perfect plan.

Now it was late, and we just needed to eat. So we tumbled out of the minivan, mom inwardly regretting the whole endeavor, still wishing the plan had gone as scripted, secretly grumpy about this long drive only to end here at the gas station.

There, in the fluorescent light of the gas-station-McDonald's-combination, occurred one of the sweetest, funniest dinners I have enjoyed with my children.

The Happy Meal toy bestowed upon my children was this ridiculous plastic figure that played a jazzy little snippet of a hip-hop song; "I like to move it, move it" he sang/rapped over and over and over. It just struck our fancy. We laughed, silly and hilarious. We danced right there in our seats, all of us, not even aware of what the other patrons might have thought. And we were just...together, enjoying the ridiculous place we ended up and the people we were with. Plan A would have been fine, good, and maybe even better on paper. But plan B possessed the element of surprise and delight in the unexpected and isn't it nice sometimes not to be responsible for all the fun?

A year later, just say that phrase, "I like to move it, move it" and it's likely that all four of us will break into dance. That ridiculous plastic character is still around, the only Happy Meal toy we've ever owned who has lasted more than a day before finding its way to the trash. It gives me a lot of joy to push the button and dance again. "I like to move it, move it."