rock star mom

Truth be told--I am not a rock star. Sure, I can sit in the same room with sparkle shirt (and even tell him later that I like his shirt), dancing lady, Harvey guy, big hair guy, Amanda and Mike, but that does not change the fact that on most days and nights of the week I am a Friday mother.

I change diapers. I wipe little bums. I listen to my baby chortle in his crib. I do laundry and more laundry. I grocery shop and price compare. I attempt to answer Aidan's questions: Who is baby Jesus' father and why wasn't there enough room at the inn? Where do angels live? And then I feel like a wolf in sheep's clothing, even though it seems like I should try for an answer. I pour milk and juice and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I go places. I smooth wrinkles. I give kisses. I worry. Hard to reduce being a Friday mother to a list.

What would the list look like for rock star? Do rock stars read? What would happen if Friday mother met Monday rock star?

I'd like to find out.