Shopping for clothes with my Youngest is a normally a nightmare beyond belief. He hates shopping and, on a good day, I can only tolerate it so between us we are what you you might deem a reluctant pair. But we had to buy him some long pants for his birthday to trip to Chicago with his Dad so we dragged ourselves to the Gap. Neither one of us had any idea what size pants he wore so it took some random guesses to put him in the ball park. Done. Though my first t-shirt offerings were immediately dismissed with a quizzical "Mom? V-necks? Uh. No," I found a couple that he liked. All in all, it went remarkably well. He kept his impatience in check, I snuck a couple extra shirts into the pile and we headed to the register. As we waited in line, I barely noticed the quasi-rock-Gap-y music playing in the background until, out of nowhere, Youngest grabbed my hand and with a complete lack of self-consciousness quite unknown to his mother, pulled her into a dance.