I have hopes of attending many, many good concerts this year. I’ve got tickets to one music festival, and Woodstock’s lineup is dropping tomorrow, so we’ll see where that leads me.
In the meantime, I’ve had my eye on Muddfest, featuring a few rock artists from the early 2000’s. It’s here in town, reasonable ticket price.
Then the flyer for the mother/son dance appeared in Chases backpack.
I glanced at the flyer early Saturday morning, dismissed it because obviously I’m taking him to it.
It didn’t occur to me until I was driving home this evening from work that the date of the concert and the dance were the same evening, beginning at the same time.
“Well, fuck.” I muttered to myself as I navigated dinner time traffic.
It’s still a no brainer. I’m taking my kid to the dance.
But it’s also okay that I’m slightly disappointed.
It is okay that my inner irresponsible rocker adult is clashing just a little bit with the responsible mid thirties mom.
But I also recognize that I will never be able to dance with my six year old again in a gymnasium full of screaming children to the horrible slow pop song of the year. Screaming six year olds and horrible pop music aside, there’s nothing like seeing my little one happy because his mom is there with him. And all too soon he won’t want anything to do with a mother/son dance. I’ll take it while I can get it. Even though he’s going to desert me at a table with other mom’s while he does weird dance moves with his buddies, that’s where I’ll be when he comes to find me eventually. I’ll get to go see these bands another day. But my six year old isn’t going to be six forever.
I can never say it enough. You never get these times back. Enjoy them as much as you can.