The woman across the street runs a daycare in her living room. As parents drop their kids off, she keeps the kids from crying by marching around the living room band-leader style. The toddlers clap enthusiastically from their shared playpen.
When the song is nearing its end, the little blonde boy always bends over, sticking his bum up in the air and touching his nose to his knees. He waits for it, waits for it, then leaps up and throws his hands above his head for the crescendo.
We can never move.