Pop music. At mealtimes. And other times. Okay, nearly all the time, when we are home, playing in the front room.
A typical scene: Archer's in his high chair. His interest in the slop-of-the-day is waning. He begins to pitch his butter beans onto the floor and screech. Quickly cut to...
The next scene: I stride over to the computer. I deftly click "Dance Playlist" on iTunes and crank the volume. A bass line drops. I strike my best approximation of a hip hop pose. Archer beams. He sits, frozen and enraptured, while I pop it and lock it and drop it like its hot all around the kitchen and living room. His head and chest begin to bob rhythmically as I adapt the lyrics, flirting and pointing and asking him "how he got that pretty little face on that pretty little frame." This homemade version of a music video continues until...
The final scene: Archer guffaws mightily, shakes his head in disbelief, picks up a butter bean and shoves it in his mouth with a sort of my-mom-is-so-crazy bemusement.
And for times like these, no one but Justin Timberlake will do. Yes, we loooooove J.T.