I cannot believe tomorrow is his last day.

Almost exactly 3 years ago, I realized that I was a month from going back to work, and began to panic. I had no idea how to find or pick a day care provider, no one to ask for references -- nothing. Fortunately, our local government provides a certification program, and a database of certified in-home day care providers on their website. I printed the list, highlighted the ones that looked plausible by location and a few other characteristics, and began making calls.

I eliminated a lot of options right away. Some people you just know are too nutty to take care of your heart child by talking to them on the phone. I made interview appointments with most of the rest of them, and went to meet them. A few, you could eliminate just by walking into the house. Finally, I settled on a woman who struck me as, well, just fine. She'd do. Nice enough, clean house, didn't have a basement full of toys that she clearly sent the kids into each day while she watched television, agreed with me about not having the kids watch TV all day -- I didn't love her, but she'd do, at least for the initial period of time. I asked her to hold me a spot; I'd come over the next week to sign the paperwork. She was going out of town that weekend -- I should call on about Tuesday.

The next week, and this is now the Tuesday before I go back to work on Monday, I called her. When could I come over to sign the contract? Oh, goodness -- someone else who had interviewed with her had come over during the weekend and signed a contract, and she didn't have space available now. What? She was supposed to be out of town until Tuesday! She was holding a spot for me! Well, you know, something happened and she didn't go, and she couldn't say no to a booked spot....

This happened while I was in the customer service area of Kohl's, breastfeeding after having spent the last hour trying on pants that would fit my postpartum body, and blouses that would allow me to pump at the office. It was all I could do not to just sit there and cry.

Resolute, I bought my new breastfeeding-mother-work-clothes and went home, and back to my list. No, I'd talked to EVERYONE on the list. I sighed heavily. I went back to the computer, ran the search again on the daycare provider database, and printed the results. I took Noah to the bedroom to try to get him to nap while I looked for something, SOMETHING that I'd missed.

Two new names. Two names I hadn't called. I checked. They hadn't been on the list before. I called them and made appointments for the next evening.

The first was nice, very organized -- I'd have loved her as a coworker. She was, though, I thought a little too HARD for my purposes. I wanted someone who would love and cuddle my little boy, and I just couldn't see it.

I went to the second one. My last option befor breaking into Big! Commercial! Daycare! I walked into her house, sat down -- I think on the floor with her -- and knew. We talked, she looked at Noah and cooed (but in a very professional way) about what a cutie he was. Yes, she hadn't had an opening, but there had been a mom who had reserved early in her pregnancy and there had been complications.... So sad, the thought of having gone through this far in advance, only to have something go so terribly wrong. But lo! an OPENING! She handed me a stack of papers; her contract, some information, an emergency contact sheet... I saw her hand. Her ring. I recognized it immediately: Hebrew, reading "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine..."

"Are you Jewish?"

"No," she laughed, "but my husband gave it to me...." We talked for a moment about religion, about her church, and about her philosophy about her day care kids. No, I didn't need to worry about Noah coming home singing "Yes Jesus Loves Me."

I told her that I'd call her the next day. By the time I got home, about a short 6 blocks, I was sure. I told my husband, who was really leaving the decision to me.

The first working day of October of 2004, I trundled my little boy into clothes, his "bucket," and into the car, and took him to "Car-Car's" house. And he has gone there, except for holidays and her occasional vacations, every day that I've gone to work, ever since.

To Be Continued....

Just entirely too funny....

Utterly unrelated to my child.

My brother just made me aware of LOLCATS. So far, this one...
...is my favorite. And someday I'll unleash my inner death cat at him for introducing me to this vicious time-suck.

Noah says "NO!"

It's been an interesting week here at the spherical home, because Noah's day care provider has been on a well-deserved vacation from her charges, and we had to play tag-team to handle the little guy during his week off.

I spent the whole day Monday with him, Daddy got Tuesday and Wednesday, we split Thursday, and I got today. It was mostly a lot of fun.

Yesterday and today, I'll admit, I used the TV as more of a babysitter than I'd usually be okay with, in order to get some work done, as I was on a deadline. But once that was past us this morning, we hopped in the car, went to the grocery store, got a bundle of balloons and a gift for a colleague who's having a baby next month, and then tried to entertain ourselves for the weekend.

After a week of rain and cold temperatures, suddenly today it was 95 degrees and 210% humidity and just as miserable out as you can imagine. Oh, plus bugs. Never forget the mosquitos.

At 2:00, we tried the playground, but the equipment was simply too hot to play on. Noah ended up inside the tube in the only cool spot, requesting that his claustrophobic mama climb in there with him. "Nothing doing, kid." We went home, and I began making a case to go to the pool. "nope, I don't want to," he told me. "I want to go outside." "Nope, I don't want to," I replied, "because it's too hot outside, unless we go to the pool." He picks up a Mickey Mouse plushy, and in a funny voice says "Mickey says no." I took the debate to Mickey. "Wouldn't it be nice? In the pool and the water? Where it's not so hot? We could go get in the pool, and swim, and be cool and outside at the same time!" "No," Mickey replied, "Mickey says no." This debate went on for some time. Finally a very serious voice announced his bottom line: "Noah says NO!" Oh my. I hardly knew how to respond, except to tickle him.

Spherical Hubby arrived home around 4:30, and I explained the predicament. "C'mon, let's go to the pool," Hubby announced. Somehow this made it okay. We went, and for 2 hours, Noah splashed and played and had a complete blast. "You realize we could have been here all afternoon," I pointed out to no avail. We had to drag him out of the pool at 6:45 to go home to dinner. He's too tired to eat, even -- lying on the sofa beside me, watching a Tivo-ed Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episode, and fighting sleep.

The end of a long and wonderful week.

Day 5 and counting....

Noah has not had wet pants in 5 days. Well, except at night. He still occasionally doesn't wake up at night -- and I'm very very not worried about that.

But when he came home from day care last Friday he was dry, and he stayed dry all weekend, and then with our daycare provider on vacation this week, one of us has been with him the entire time, and he has not had a single accident.

In fact, this morning he joined me when I went to the bathroom, and suddenly I realized he was WAITING HIS TURN, and successfully held it until it was his turn and everything turned out just fine.

He starts preschool in a week. Much like his mother, my boy makes his deadlines -- sometimes at the last possible moment, but he makes them.

In other news, he's gaining shocking control over his farts, and shares them with us with relish. He also informed me that I "smelled like an elephant's butt" on Monday. But he still loves me, and tells me he loves me, even if I DO smell like an elephant's butt. And Monday, with a very sincere face he told me that he was "soaking happy."

Motherhood rocks.

He's so soaking cute!

My grammatically brilliant boy.... He has concluded from context that "soaking" is simply an indication of extremeness. Soaking wet is, after all, just REALLY wet.

I learned about his new vocabulary word one morning when I was asking him to go to the potty.

Me: "Noah, do you need to go potty?"

Him: "No, Mom -- I'm soaking dry."

It is to laugh...

But now it's expanded to beyond the underpants. Last weekend, it became "soaking dark" outside at night. Monday morning, his bagel was "soaking delicious."

That boy is soaking hysterical!

Flying solo....

Two weeks ago, I returned from vacation, having spent nearly 24 hours a day for 2 weeks straight with my little boy. Tomorrow morning, I do something I have never done -- I leave him behind for a two-day trip. I'm surprised at how hard it is to do this. It's the trip of a lifetime, though -- and something I'll share with him when he gets older, that will hopefully make him think that just perhaps, his Mama is one of the coolest Mamas on earth.

In the meantime, we're in the final month count-down to preschool, and not QUITE potty trained, but making tremendous progress. Backsliding was bad in Scotland, but he's back to nearly completely dry all day when prompted to go by his day care provider, and often into the evening. And today? Successful peeing standing up. Some resistance -- but overcome by floating Captain Crunch Crunchberries in the toilet for target practice.

This morning he informed me that Superman can't fly because he doesn't have feathers. Smart kid.