My husband, or “Daddy,” as he is known in this house, has always been, in my mind, the “fun one.”

Consider the evidence:

I ask if the kids want to swim, they say no. I ask why. They say, “You don’t like us to swim on your back if you go underwater.” I am a buzzkill, certainly.

When Daddy gets home, they want to play. When I get home, they want something to eat.

Today, as we drove home from grocery shopping, we listened to music, like we always do. Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know” came on.

Those two kids of mine, (who mostly, probably, through no fault of their own, see me as their cook, their nurse, their laundress, their drill sergeant, their tech support) sang along, loudly, on key, with me. They know every word (hadn’t heard the song in months and months). Their timing is excellent.

They may learn how to catch wildlife with their dad, but from me, they learn how powerful their voices are, how good it feels to just belt it out and connect with another.

I forgot until just a few days ago that the kids and I used to have dance parties. I have video evidence. Hilarious video evidence. They watched Jimmy Fallon’s and Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” performance the other day with me. They can’t even help themselves, they just start dancing. Dancing well. I mean, it’s no Elaine Benes situation over here, these kids can move. Our six-year-old son, especially.

They may have learned how to fly a kite with their Dad… but with me, they know there’s never, ever, any shame in moving your body when a beat inspires you.

There’s no fun “one” in this house.

This happy post was brought to you by the letter U.

For fun Us.