Dance Party

I don’t know if it’s a reaction to the intense structure of the new school year, but lately my six-year-old has been coming home with a bad case of the wiggles.

With loud whoops, she tries to leapfrog them out across our dorm-sized living room. Sometimes she collides with her equally wiggly toddler sister. Other times, she uses our armchair as a trampoline. And if you’re wondering why my big girl can’t get the wiggles out on the playground, in Austin it’s still 97 degrees at 3 p.m., for heaven’s sake.

So last night, I nearly wept with gratitude when the high-energy, Zimbabwe-style percussion group Rattletree Marimba was coincidentally giving a free outdoor concert at the site of her evening playdate.

Due to a blue-hour rain explosion, the tarp-covered music area at Central Market was steamy. A multi-aged swell of children hopped, twisted and rolled their way into a frenzy of bobbing balloons, as the lively percussionists pounded their ethereally metallic drums.

Soon, my kid was absorbed by the wave. She began staying alive like John Travolta, gesticulating heavenward with her index finger. Then, she was flapping her chicken wings, escaping through triangular tunnels of legs and exuberantly clapping her sister’s hands.

Occasionally, my daughter’s manic behavior has caused me agita. But on the dance floor, her extreme energy was a hit. One woman even told me that the girl in the purple shirt’s dancing was as much fun as the show itself.

Yes, I was proud. But mostly I was grateful that the wiggles were eradicated in time for bed.