What I call The Children’s Museum of Atlanta.

Those of you who live in Big Cities and travel in Such Circles might see this as nothing worth noting. But I have to say that it was a new scene to me – the first time I went to this place, 3 years ago, what struck me were the nannies with their charges – and this time…exact same thing. Oh, and how can I presume this? I dunno. Late middle-aged Latino and African-American women accompanying 3-year old Caucasian blonde tykes? Just a wild guess.

For some reason, NannySpotting is like a glimpse into an exotic, foreign country for me.  My mind imagines the big house in Buckhead and the thriving Midtown firm, and it’s just…not where I live. Nor do I care to. Most of the time.

Anyway, the Children’s Museum of Atlanta is not exactly a "museum" – it’s more of a big indoor playground – one that we’ve enjoyed in the past, and did this time, during our last morning in Atlanta, before we met Big Brother Chris, saw his new pad and went to the Cheyenne Grill for lunch, a place tucked away in a strip mall that was refreshingly good.

We were dropped at the corner of the Museum a half hour before it opened, so we wandered over to the plaza that spreads between the Aquarium and the Coke Museum (or whatever it is). The free breakfast pickings at the hotel had offered the same stuff all three mornings we were there, a spread which never seemed to include pancakes or even simple scrambled eggs, so some in the party were hungry.

There’s an outdoor coffee shop (the name escapes me) in that plaza – a really nice little place where birds clean up your crumbs. A major attraction for our group. The banana bread wasn’t bad either:

By the time we’d made our way up and back, the museum was opened. What followed was a couple of hours of entertainment, during which both spent most of their time in activities which are no surprise to anyone who knows them:

That look. It says: "Move me away from this at your eardrum’s peril…"

Portrait of the Artist. It’s an eagle. In case you were wondering.

With some shared activities:

I love photos of them together, absorbed, unaware that I’m watching. Even more, I love listening to them talk – which they can actually do almost normally now. It happens frequently in the morning, when they both wake up and are in their rooms before they burst out demanding pancakes. Right now, the conversations are composed mostly of Joseph talking incessantly, sharing his wisdom with Michael, with Michael interjecting his long, drawn-out "Yaaah," or adding something about Thomas and coaches. What delights me is to be able to spy on their relationship being rooted and nurtured – sometimes even in postive ways that don’t involve tackling – even now.

I think my favorite place in this place is the painting station. The adult in charge gives each child an apron, a little paint dish with three colors, and a brush, and sets them at a spot on the big plastic board. They feel so grown-up and artistic:

And almost look it, too.

In the end, I prefer The Children’s Museum of Indianapolis – it has all of the play stuff (except the paint area!) in one large area (funded in part by David Letterman, as I recall), but in the context of a real museum with changing and interesting exhibits. 

Again, the Atlanta place is one of thoses that seems pricey for a single visit (and is), but would be something for which a membership would get you your money’s worth for your toddler set. Especially those that can stand at a train set for an hour solid with that look in his eye.