The secret lives of dads

Yesterday morning, I was doing laundry, folding bibs and tiny items of clothing as per my job description requires. Several hours later, though, I found myself in a very different atmosphere. I was here, gettin' my rock on and crackin' skulls.

Actually, my good friend Matt, who I've known for more than ten years I think, called me on Sunday to tell me that his band was going to be in my neck of the woods and that I should come out and hang. I don't get to see Matt (that's him in the center of the picture, airborne, legs splayed) very often so I jumped at the chance...once I secured a babysitter, since Tuesday nights are Stacey's late nights and I couldn't have made the show in time otherwise. Although I do like Matt's band, it was more about connecting with an old friend than going to a concert.

Five years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about heading out to see a show. No commitments, no babies, no problem. Now, though, it feels like I've gotta work like a hyperactive badger in order to get all my ducks in a row to leave the house without Connor for more than a run to the trash dump. I'm not complaining, just noticing how different life is with several key commitments. (For the record, my Home Ec teacher in high school was totally wrong...parenting is nothing like carrying an egg around. I'm just sayin'.)

For a night, at least, I was back in my old life — loitering at a smelly rock club with friends, being out of the house past 10 p.m. (the horror!) and debating the worth of every band on the planet. It was fun, but I wasn't exactly ready to trade in my "new" life.

Once I got home, and after attempting to throw together a coherent blog entry, I slid into bed at 2:15 a.m., tired from a long day, but glad that I had made the time to meet up with Matt. I think our next great father-son musical experiment will be with Matt's band. With cover art like this, how could Connor not like it?