When Did You Dance, Mother?

Only once, did I see you jitterbugging in the kitchen. That’s when I realized there was another you inside the mix of you, hidden deep inside, resisting that urge to sing, dance and laugh out loud. The current you washes clothes until they turn to rags, cooks char-burned meat for dinner. I can't catch you, a Tasmanian devil, spinning from one room to another, one chore to the next. I try to grab you, but you wisp away like a fly in the kitchen. I just want to ask you how to do the Jitterbug. Is that so bad?