Yesterday was a very big day here in Casa Booski.

Jill scored some floor seats to see the Atlanta Dream play the Minnesota Lynx.

Even for a barely-counts-as-a-fan like myself, floor seats completely change the experience of the game. Our chairs were on a 6 inch riser directly behind the opposing team’s bench. The only thing between them and us was a sleepy looking security guard, a giant barrel of gatorade, and a small plastic container of candy and gum.

Incidentally, although none of the pictures I could find really do it justice, the Lynx Head Coach, Don Zierden, bears an almost inconceivable resemblance to awesome character actor Wallace Shawn.

Anyway, there we were, innocently watching the game a few minutes into the first quarter, when suddenly, a gigantic missile basketball flew straight at my head!

If you know me in real life, you probably know that I suffer from the malady known as “afraid of the ball.” When someone throws something at me, my instinctive reaction is not to catch it, but to duck. Or fling my arms in front of my face to avoid catching it with my eyes or nose.

I come by this malady honestly: In the 5th grade, I pitched a perfect kickball pitch to Shannon McNally, and she kicked that big red ball directly back into my face, breaking my glasses. That was the most dramatic time my fear has been proven right, but not the only one.

Naturally, as this missile basketball whipped towards my head, propelled by the speed and force of a professional athlete running in entirely too close proximity to me, I did the only rational thing: squealed and ducked into the empty chair on my left. (Ducking forward doesn’t work so well these days.)

Jill laughed as Olympic gold-medal winning basketball legend and now Lynx Assistant Coach Jennifer Gillom lifted her hands and caught the ball while it was still at least 6 feet from my head. Or where my head had been before I ducked.

Good thing she was sitting in front of me, and in case you were wondering, I do NOT want to sit in the row of courtside seats where there is no one and nothing between me and the ball.

The game itself was a blast, very exciting. The Dream almost won, even! But no, they now have an 0:4 record.

And we paid for all of our wild revelry. Noah spent the evening at our neighbors’ house. He woke up when we got there, and stayed awake for at least an hour, in meltdown mode for nearly the entire time. At least he was good while he was at the neighbors, and had fun playing baseball with Mr. Wes.

He was still exhausted and cranky in the morning. In a clear foreshadowing of his teenage years, when I went into his room this morning, stroked his hair, and said, “Good morning, Noah,” he rolled the other way and mumbled, “No, I still sleeping.”

It is now an hour past his bedtime, and he is still awake. He’s claimed 2 poopy diapers (one real) and thrown two toys out of his door and over the upstairs banister to the floor downstairs.

I’m thinking no more out-of-the-house babysitting until he’s older. And maybe no more Tuesday night games for me.

Yesterday was ALSO the day that my first post, On Being A Regular Family, Mostly, for the Deep South Moms Blog went live!

I can’t tell you how excited I am to be part of this blogging community — it started out with the Silicon Valley Moms Blog, and has expanded to include affiliated sister sites in Chicago, DC, New York, New Jersey, and 50-something moms, as well as now Deep South Moms. The writers are a diverse, professional, and eloquent group of mostly moms — and a few dads. If you don’t already read them us, you should!

The first person to correctly guess my favorite thing about this particular post, this one here that you’re reading right now, wins a fabulous prize.