Confessions of a Guitar Hero Rockin' Soccer Mom

June Cleaver by day, Jimi Hendrix-Wannabe by night. I know I'm not alone. Where are you, my minivan-driving, cookie-baking sisters who have mastered the dreaded orange button, who may have missed one or two PTA meetings because--admit it--you just had to earn five stars on "Carry On Wayward Son"? I can't really be the only mom in America whose ring finger grew a size after weeks of trying to beat Slipknot's "Before I Forget" on "hard," can I?

Every time I'm in Best Buy, I see teenagers and young men showing off on the Guitar Hero game displays. They are playing their favorite songs on "expert" difficulty, and, if they're lucky, they have attracted a small crowd of admirers. Just once, why can't I witness a grown woman--a mom like me--parked in front of that Xbox station, handling that guitar controller like a pro? (Perhaps you have witnessed this! I want to hear about it!)

Let me tell you, there are few things more satisfying--after a long day of splashing in the pool, cutting the crusts off PB&J sandwiches, reading The Cat in the Hat aloud for the millionth time, and building Lego time machines with your children--than strapping on that plastic wireless guitar controller and nailing a Metallica solo. Sometimes I play Guitar Hero before the kids go to bed. My six-year-old son and I make a good team: I push the colored fret buttons while he strums. We crank up the speakers and have a rock concert in our living room, complete with a crazy three-year-old headbanger. Both of my kids recognize Guitar Hero songs on the radio. Does this make me a terrible mother?

I used to believe I was too old to listen to Rage Against the Machine, too prim and proper to sing along with the Beastie Boys, too uncool to ever enjoy a popular video game. Guess what? I've embraced my inner rock-goddess. It's not too late to join me! If you feel the need to shut the blinds "so the neighbors don't see," go ahead. But remember--somewhere in a quiet Kansas City suburb, I am serenading my children to sleep with a killer performance of "Black Magic Woman." And I'm not one bit ashamed.