I’m Just a Little Bit Rock ‘n Roll

I spent four hot, humid hours at the Pitchfork Music Festival on Friday with my two children, 5 and nearly 3.  Going to concerts–especially summer music festivals–was a huge part of my teenage and young adult life, and I knew, even as a 16 year old indie rock girl, that I’d be one of the handful of parents spreading a blanket on a water-bottle strewn lawn and watching my children dance to the music I loved.

There was a magical moment around 7 o’clock Friday evening as Robyn rocked the house and my girls spun gleefully in circles just to the left of the stage (we had VIP access). But the rest of the moments were less than magical. I probably missed half of Hannibal Buress hilarious bits while procuring Pirate Booty from the Whole Foods tent. And the jokes I didn’t miss? I spent those moments hoping the f-bombs and prostitute references would sail over my kids’ heads. (They did.)

And then there was the trip home. Four hours of rock in the hot, hot heat and a trip home after their bedtimes was just too much for my kids to bear. My youngest peed on the Ashland platform. They fought over the window on the El ride to Oak Park, and cried from the parking garage to our garage. But the torture wasn’t over yet. I still had to wash the dust, dirt, sweat and popsicle juice off them and get them off to bed. Solo, since my husband stayed on at the show. (He had an excuse, he’s a Pitchfork writer.)

I think you can understand why, on Saturday, I took the kids to the pool and hired a sitter so I could see the headliners sans kids.

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Category: Chicago, Environment, Mom Challenges