So how does one become a secret agent mom? It's quite simple, really. First, you harrass the most desparate-seeming local musician until he can't help but accept your repeated offers of free assistance - website maintenance, mailing list missives, street team coordination, etc.
Then you have a baby.
Then you get laid off from your comfy corporate telecommuting job, around which you tailored your entire parenting style.
You scramble for a few months doing everything from freelance writing to hawking hemp lip balm, until eventually, your years of loyalty pay off and you're offered a chance to get compensated for some of that musical labor. The only catch is that it's for doing the most thankless, stressful, soul-bruising job in the music industry: booking out-of-town shows. It's sort of like going to a strange town and doing door-to-door sales of magic invisible fairy dust, except with the demand that you get paid in free beer.
But the chance to help out some friends, combined with the draw of getting into shows for free (you know, if you can sneak out after your child's bedtime), is too much to pass up. You fire up the Excel spreadsheet and get to work. And then thirteen minutes later, hit Ctrl+S and go find out what that strange thumping/scraping sound coming from the living room is.