We had an action packed and fun-filled weekend — excessively fun and action packed, actually.

On Saturday morning, we tried to go to the playground, but it was raining. So Noah and I went to the grocery store where he got to drive in a car cart, and firmly rejected the free balloon he was offered.

Then all three of us went to the museum, to a new exhibit about penguins and polar bears.

The exhibit had 3 awesome costume related areas, but this was the only one where we remembered that we had a cell phone camera. Fortunately, it was also the very best one.

Theoretically, you were supposed to hold a penguin egg on your feet and walk it from one basket-nest to the next, in the costume (complete with penguin feet). Noah just liked wearing the costume and playing with the eggs.

There were also polar bear paws, and a front-padded penguin suit for sliding down a penguin slide on your belly. Noah loved those too, but we don’t have any pictures of that. Yet. We’ll be back.

After a nice long Saturday afternoon nap, we went to a going away party for a family at church. Darn all those academic theologians, always getting jobs and moving away. It was at a huge park, and unfortunately, had to be moved from where it was originally supposed to take place. We walked a LOT looking for it.

Fortunately, we eventually found it. Noah and the other toddlers and preschoolers “played baseball” with a few of the parents. And I was struck anew by the large number of little blond boys. Noah is the youngest of them, but the others are only 4-8 months older than he is. And since he’s such a giant, they all look the same.

There *are* children who aren’t little blond boys. But there’s not a set of them who all look the same.

Home for pizza, bath, and bed, thank goodness. I crashed shortly after Noah, but Jill got caught up in a Degrassi: The Next Generation marathon and was up until something like 1:30 am.

Today’s big event was another WNBA game. Unfortunately, Noah refused to nap between church and game time, so he was Mr. Clingypants at the game. And he began begging to go home shortly before the end of the first half.

Even though we were at the game with friends, including this adorable little charmer:

I took him home, and once we got in the car at the subway station, I offered the choice between home and ice cream. “Ice cream! Ice cream!” Five minutes later, Noah was sound asleep in his car seat. I had ice cream myself, and then read in the car while Noah slept, until Jill got back from the game.

Apparently the second half was better, but the Dream has still now tied the “worst opening record in WNBA history” with an 0 - 13 record.

And like the Dream, I’m going to crash.

Remember when I won a sports trivia contest on the jumbo-tron at the WNBA game?

My prize package finally arrived!

I find it hilarious, and at least some of the items will be useful.

All of them are emblazoned with the logo for our local subway system. None of them have any reference to the sports team at whose game I won them. Or any other sports team.

From the top, we have: a smallish insulated lunch bag, suitable for Esmerelda Freugenspeigal’s eventual day care needs, a water bottle from a BPA free recycling category, a cup with no recycling information that will be tossed shortly, one of those recyclable grocery shopping bags, a coin purse, a desktop calendar/calculator/clock which Noah has claimed as a phone, a strangely flask shaped business card holder, something that looks like drug paraphernalia to me — mysteriously mounted on a blue plastic base, a 20-trip subway pass, and a small mirror.

And since my “check engine” light went on this evening, that 20 trip subway pass may come in very useful.

In other news, Noah got bitten at day care today. The school sent a complete report and we’re happy with how they handled it. Also, it seems like Noah might have provoked the biter by taking a toy. Not that biting is an ok response, but I can better understand it as a response to something else.

As is typically the case, the school has a confidentiality policy in which they don’t identify who bit Noah. But he can talk now, so when we asked, “Noah, did you get bitten at school today?” he answered, “E*** bite me!” We’ll try not to hold it against little E***, and hopefully it won’t happen again.

Seriously. I have no idea how single moms manage it. Or single dads. Single parents of any stripe.

Jill was only gone for 4 days, AND Noah was in day care for two of them. But I still was at the end of my rope by the time she got back.

Some of our time was a lot of fun: we went to the playground early on Saturday morning, leaving before it hit 90 degrees around 10 am. There was some quality snuggling and cuddle time, and some great story reading.

But there was also the meltdown in the dinosaur museum, the one in which I had to physically carry Noah from inside the museum to our car at the far end of the parking lot. And by then, it was over 90. It hit 97 by the end of the day.

(Aside: It was 97. During the first full weekend of June. This is going to be a hideous summer. I’ve hit the giant and awkward stage of pregnancy and I have 3 more months of this to look forward to, in the worst weather of the year. And yes, I do feel whiny about it, thanks for asking.)

And there were the two bedtimes in which Noah got up every 5-10 minutes for an hour, variously claiming to have poopy diapers, a need for all of the puzzle pieces to be out of his room, for more water, for me to put his blanket over him and tuck in his feet, and to tell me what his trains were doing.

Go.To.Sleep!!!

I can also honestly say that I think this was the first time since Noah’s birth that I was able to follow the “sleep while the baby sleeps” advice you get when you have a newborn. He’s only 28 months old, so I’m not doing that badly, right?

Jill got home to find the house covered with toys. I tried to implement a bin-based storage system while she was gone, not realizing that to Noah, a bin full of toys was nothing more than an invitation to flip the bin over and spread the toys across the floor. Within 2 minutes of his getting up from his nap, 3 of the 5 bins had been flipped, and so had my lid. There was also a mysterious and unpleasant smell in the fridge, and I had not put away any of the clean laundry in the basket.

I promise, you couldn’t get a more sharp contrast between that and her parents’ house.

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.

Jill took Noah to a car club cruise-in on Saturday, giving me almost 6 glorious hours on my own.

After I got out of the shower, my phone rang. It was our friend Emily, calling to tell me that she was at a giant church rummage sale in the neighborhood, and that baby clothes were on sale 25 items for $1. Yes. Twenty-five items for a dollar, or $0.04 each. And that there were some good baby girl clothes in the gargantuan heap of children’s clothing.

Now, this baby wasn’t going to be naked. But since up until Saturday, I’d been avoiding buying clothes in the hopeful anticipation that Jen and Cait will have a boy, it was entirely possible that she was going to have little besides hand-me-down neutrals and gifts from grandparents.

But I’d been starting to worry. What if Jen and Cait have another girl? We won’t even know until September (knock wood) when their baby is born. But who has the money to spend on outfitting a whole baby, possibly unnecessarily? (Hint: Not us.)

At 25 items for a dollar, I could lay my fears to rest.

In the course of the next hour, I sat under a shady tree with Emily and her toddler daughter Laurel, picking through a pile of clothes that was roughly 8′x12′x1′ — yes, that’s 96 cubic feet of clothing.

I bought $5 worth of baby girl items, size newborn to 18 months: 125 items. It took 3 loads of laundry to clean everything. I overbought in the cotton sleepsacks, and somehow managed to get two identical pairs of 18 month footie pajamas that are yellow with pink and red flowers. I have both summer and winter items in the 12 month size.

But at a grand total of $5, who cares?

Then I went to the bookstore, where I treated myself to 3 new authors; two long books that I’ve been told stand up well to repeated readings.

And then on to the grocery store — we’ve been out of butter for almost a week.

I got everything home, and put away, and started the baby girl laundry, and finally settled down to “finish” my felt fried egg project.

Five minutes later, Jill and Noah got home. Sewing materials were quickly put away to be ignored until Noah was safely in bed.

Jill and Noah demonstrated his new mad baseball skillz.

Today was another whirlwind of activity. Our church began a special summer Sunday School series, in honor of the 150th anniversary, reflecting on the church’s role in the civil rights movement “then and now.”

But after we got home, ate lunch, and got Noah down for his nap, I finished my felt food swap contribution. I did give up on hand sewing the eggs after last night, and I wish now that I’d never even started it that way. The hand-sewn eggs are cuter, in my opinion, but I went from having 4 completely finished and 8 more cut, 7 with yolks sewn on, to having 24 ready to put in the mail tomorrow.

This is what two dozen felt fried eggs looks like:

I’m especially proud of my idea for stuffing the yolks — they’re filled with felt scraps left over from cutting the eggs.

Not only are no two alike, some differ substantially. There are 4 that are completely hand-sewn, 7 with hand-sewn yolks and machine-sewn edges, and because I didn’t realize I’d miscounted how much felt I needed until I’d cut 2 of my last 3 pieces, 3 are noticeably smaller than the rest, and 4 have 1-ply whites.

In spite of all that, I’m pleased with how they turned out, and how easy making felt food is. Plus I’ve finally test-driven the sewing machine I got for Christmas, and it was super-easy to set up and use. I even mended a pair of pants for Jill.

There will be more felt food projects in my future. Easy, cute, cheap, non-toxic toddler toys — what more could you ask for? I also anticipate more sewing craft activities.

Don’t forget: Monday is Blog for LGBT Families Day!

Yesterday was Noah’s first day at the church day care.

It started off a little chaotic — the director had forgotten to leave our file with the curriculum manager, who is also the early morning administrative person. And the early morning teacher in Noah’s classroom was sick, so they were waiting on a sub. But really, all that meant was no paperwork and me hanging out for 30 minutes, playing with Noah in his new classroom.

The nice thing about that is that although I was generally familiar with the room, since Noah was there for Sunday school for almost a year, now I feel like I know it. And I got to meet a couple of the other children and their parents.

I have to admit, I was worried when I left.

Not about Noah, but about traffic. NPR told me that it was 8:19 when I got into my car, and I needed to traverse approximately 90% of the downtown/business district of Atlanta to get to work. My goal was to start that journey before 8 am, in the hopes of missing the worst of the worst traffic.

Either miraculously or luckily, it took less than 15 minutes.

Later in the morning, the director called to apologize for the early morning chaos, which I appreciated. She also told me that Noah seemed to be doing fine, although he was more observing the activities than participating in them.

I told her that I expected it would take him a few days to warm up, and that until then, I thought he would probably be on the quiet side, and mostly play independently.

Turns out, I overestimated.

When I picked Noah up, his primary teacher in this classroom gushed about how wonderful Noah had been — the best adjustment she’d seen in her 25 years of teaching. Noah didn’t run over to hug me, he ran over to show me a truck with big blue wheels. And to announce proudly, “Mommy, I been talking!”

The other children, all around Noah’s age or a little bit younger, wandered over to look at me curiously. While I was trying to persuade Noah to hug me, a little girl volunteered for the hug — which Noah didn’t like one bit.

We were sent on our way with a sippy cup of milk and a handful of goldfish crackers, plus a chorus of “See you tomorrow, Noah!”

Traffic wasn’t great, either from work to day care, or from day care home. But it wasn’t as bad as I feared. I left work about 5:10, and it took just under 20 minutes.

The worst traffic was getting away from downtown, towards home. This week’s to-do list includes emailing the parents I know from church, who also have their kids at the church day care, to ask how they get home. (Well, at least the ones who live in our direction!)

Plus did I mention that they gave us both an activity report — including songs sung and books read — AND a schedule for the transition of Noah and his classmates into the 2-3 year old room? Over the course of 1.5 weeks, beginning after Memorial Day, they’ll be gradually spending more and more time in the new classroom. June 9, Noah and all of his new classmates will be there full time.

I feel like we made the right choice.

Dear Noah,

On Saturday, you turned 2 years and 3 months old.

You sing your ABCs almost every day. If we sing along, you make it through the entire song with pretty good accuracy. If we watch you sing, you generally skip from about G to W, belting out the “next time won’t you sing with me?” And then you yell “Yay!” and clap enthusiatically.

You love identifying letters, especially when they’re written in bright colors. “That a D! That a red B!”

Even more than letters, you seem to love counting. You can reliably count objects, in real life or books, to about 6. And you can reliably count to 10 if you are counting for it’s own sake, not concrete items.

You love testing your independence, wanting to brush your teeth, cut your food, turn on and off the lights, and put on your shoes yourself. “I do it! I do it! I try! I try!”

But when you hit a wall — too many new people or experiences, or too tired — you hit it hard. Then all you want is for me to carry you, your face buried in my shoulder.

I think you’re at your best balance of loving and independent when we’re out in public in a place that’s new to you. You’re willing to hold Mommy’s hand, and even Grandma’s. But you gleefully pull us along to see the next exciting thing, whether that’s crossing the street or seeing another animal at the zoo.

Incidentally, speaking of the zoo, it would be totally ok with me if you quit talking about seeing the elephant pooping.

Your mommies love you.

love,

That Mommy