The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

This week my brother and his wife are visiting us from NYC.  They have an affinity for fires in fireplaces as most NYC apartments do not have them.  Who knew? Mr. Yoy put a fire on and my sister in law and I sat fireside and warmed ourselves.  It was awesome.  Mr. Yoy decided to run to Publix to get all the goodies for us to make s'mores. Before he left, we asked him to stoke the fire. He slide open the screen and used our grilling tools (cause that's how us Floridians stoke fires) to increase the burn. Right before he left, our smoke detectors went off.  All four of them.  Loud. Deafening. This is good when we have an actual fire. This is bad when we don't have a fire, but have two sleeping Yoys. One of the smoke detectors is conveniently located outside their bedrooms. Oh please, don't let them wake up. Who was I kidding?  I'm pretty sure our neighbors down the street heard them. I fanned the detector with a pillow and it turned off. Phew!

I had one goal for today. Restock this house.  We had no fresh fruit or veggies after 10 days in Florida.  I was too tired to attempt a food shopping trip yesterday, so today was it. My brother and sister in law are coming to visit and I'm pretty sure goldfish and puffs aren't part of their diet. Of course, today it is cold and windy.  Perfect weather for loading and unloading my kids not once, but twice. We hit up Costco first.  Normally, I'm all about Costco shopping carts.  The first two I grabbed had jacked up safety belts.  They were tangled and stuck and pretty much unusable. COME ON! I actually yelled this out in the parking lot as the wind whipped my hair into my face.  My fingers were freezing and I all I could think about were the shorts I was wearing two days ago.  Why in the hell did I come back here? Take two.  We head to Publix for a quick trip to finish off our shopping list.  I intentionally parked by the cart return so I could throw the Yoys

Yesterday was quite possibly the longest day of my life. It's been a good 18 hours since we made it home, so I feel like I can finally talk about it. I awoke at 8:30 at the Hard Rock in Ft. Lauderdale.  The Yoys were with my parents and I was able to sleep in for the first time since March.  It's not that I keep a calendar of days I sleep past 7:30, but March was the last time I escaped my children, I mean vacationed. Ft. Lauderdale to Palm Beach Gardens: 62 miles driven Mr. Yoy and I jumped in the car and drove up to Gardens to retrieve our kids, load up the big red bus, and hit the road for Orlando.  I was under the assumption we were staying the night in Orlando with Mr. Yoy's folks, but you know what they say about assuming things. Palm Beach Gardens to Orlando: 173 miles driven Five minutes after we leave my parents, Big E is out cold. He sleeps the majority of the way to Orlando.  This is great as I was not in the mood to spend the next three hours playing I

I know I've joked in recent months that the only way us Yoys will ever move from our 'hood would be if our house magically burned down while we and all of our valuables were elsewhere. I almost made my dreams come true.  Sort of. Tonight is the seventh night of Chanukah.  Most Jews have tuckered out by now and gotten lazy on the menorah front. Not the Yoys.  I live with the chief of the menorah police, Big E. LIGHT THE MENORAH!  LIGHT THE MENORAH! He still thinks he is receiving presents every night.  Oh, to be so naive!   I pulled out the big guns to light the menorah, the giant matches we receive from Bones as a Christmas present every year. I am terrible at lighting matches.  I would make for a horrible smoker.  I would never ever ever look cool while lighting up.  It would take me 200 strikes before I could light a match. But these Bones matches are different.  They are the bomb, literally. As I struck the match a giant flame erupted.  It shocked me.  I yelled out

For about an hour this afternoon I lost my damn mind and agreed to meet my dad up at the mall food court for a fast dinner. There is no need to go into detail regarding the madness that I witnessed at the Gardens mall.  I would like to give a shout out to the age inappropriate lady carrying her Maltese in a Louis Vuitton dog carrier/purse.  Very Paris Hilton and she almost pulled it off. Anyway, as we were escaping, I mean leaving, Saks, we encountered one of my favorite types of South Floridians. I will affectionately call her by her scientific name. ONE TOO MANY TRIPS TO THE PLASTIC SURGEON. As my mom and I tried navigating the Saks doors, her holding the door with one hand and grasping Big E's hand with the other, me trying to steer our cheap umbrella stroller holding Little E through the door, I heard this loud, obnoxious cell phone lady and she was hot on my heels. She was detailing out her upcoming facelift and what sorts of meds she would be on post-op. Becau

What mother doesn't love when a complete stranger walks up to her and puts in their two cents about her parenting skills? I absolutely love it.  In fact, I wear a shirt around that says something like: PLEASE TEACH ME HOW TO PARENT MY CHILDREN MORE EFFECTIVELY.  I CLEARLY AM AN INCOMPETENT MOTHER. Today I tagged along with my mom to her bowling league.  It is a bunch of Boca Jewish ladies, and the people watching is epic. Little E was crawling around on the floor eating out of his snack cup.  Really he was dumping about half of it on the floor and I was trailing him picking up all the wayward pieces.  He was not actually eating off the floor. Over the speaker system they announced the Hanukkah party was beginning and 50 women went running towards the spread of chicken, egg, and tuna salads.  I stayed behind with the Yoys. As she walked by, a woman my mom was bowling against said very clearly, but not directly to me: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU LET THAT BABY EAT THAT SH*T

For the first four hours of our drive down to Florida, Big E had only one question. WHERE WE AT? Atlanta. WHERE WE AT? Still Atlanta. WHERE WE AT? Atlanta suburbs, this is a big city. I was instantly regretting not springing for the DVD entertainment system.  I wasn't going to survive this first leg of our drive with the inquisition sitting behind me. Mr. Yoy thought this would be the perfect time to correct Big E's English and give him a grammar lesson. As soon as the words "prepositional phrase" came out of his mouth, I went into a coma. I looked over at an Accord in the lane next to me.  It was just a lady driving by herself.  Maybe she'd let me hitch a ride so I could escape the barrage of questions.  I'd even chip in for gas. Around hour four of our drive, Big E's focus went from where we were to where we were going. WHERE WE GOING? Florida. WHERE WE GOING? Florida. WHERE WE GOING? Hell, but I'm pretty sure we'

Yesterday, the Yoys spent the day at Disney. This was our second trip to Disney with Big E.  We took him around the same time last year and while he seemed to enjoy himself, I knew this year he would be way more interested.  You see, he discovered a little thing called MOVIES this year. Each afternoon, in lieu of his nap, we lay in bed and watch either Toy Story or "2 Toy Story".  Big E loves Buzz Lightyear.  He loves Woody.  He loves Jessie.  He even loves Stinky Pete. He shouts out Toy Story nuggets in all sorts of public venues: TO INFINITY AND BEYOND! As we crisscrossed Tomorrowland in the people mover, Big E looked down and saw Buzz Lightyear.  In person.  Taking pictures. It was a meet and greet and Big E was losing his marbles. Once we exited what might possibly be the lamest ride in the park, we made our way over to Buzz and claimed our spot in line to meet him, grab a picture, and fulfill Big E's life-long dream of meeting Buzz. This was torture f

Mr. Yoy is driving us down to Florida so that I can thaw out with the old people. He'll fly back to the ATL to work all week, while I take advantage of some extra hands. We are also squeezing in a day at Disney. I'll try to update you on the bloodbath that is an extended car ride with two small children. Wish us luck, readers!

I was reading Big E a train book before bed this evening. It usually is a very endearing exercise. I'll say: What's that coming down the railroad track? Big E will say: A TRAIN! Tonight when I prompted him, he pointed to the back of the train car and told me of how he fell off , had a boo-boo on his forehead, and had to go to the Trackside Grill for ice. He remembered everything that happened.  And it was four months ago. The only thing he left out was the trip to the CHOA emergency room and the astronomical medical bill. At least we know his memory was not impacted by the head trauma. Scene of the crime

These would be the children of the Stepford Wives. I encountered a gaggle of them at the botanical gardens today. We met some friends there to peruse the train exhibit.  The kids were enthralled by the trains.  They were laughing and running alongside the trains.  It was unseasonably warm.  It was awesome. My friend and I chatted about the merits of public versus private school and if public school hurt your chances getting into Harvard, for example.  I'm not saying my kids are going to Harvard, I'm just saying they are applying. I paused mid-thought as a trio of beautiful little blond children entered the train exhibit.  They were wearing matching dresses in different colors with coordinating bows as big as their heads. Why don't my kids ever look that nice?  I mean, I know I have boys so I should automatically deduct points for dirt, but even when Big E was a ring bearer in my brother's wedding, he didn't look this good. And these kids were just out at

We had almost made it upstairs for the night.  I had cleaned up the kitchen and straightened up the playroom so I wouldn't have to come downstairs in the morning and look at the Yoy destruction.  The alarm was activated and the Yoys were on lock down. Little E had wandered into his playroom and was not playing with one of the tens of thousands of toys in there, but instead, he was playing with the door.  He had removed the door stop and was just opening and closing the door.  Boy was that funny. (insert dash of sarcasm) Big E was in the middle of feverishly creating a new drawing on his art easel.  I was snapping pictures with my phone to send to Mr. Yoy. Little E shrieked in excitement and slammed the door to the playroom.  Hard. It triggered our sensitive glass breaking sensor in that room.  Instantly, the alarm went off.  This thing is deafening.  I jumped up, and ran to turn the alarm off. I ran back to the playroom and opened the door.  Little E sat on the floor scre

This afternoon Big E earned himself a timeout for pushing Little E over one heartbeat after I asked him not to. In the past, I have bear hugged him and sat at the bottom of the steps with him.  Today I decided to try something new. I placed him on the bottom step and told him he was in timeout and to stay put.  I then walked away. I expected him to pop right up and follow me, which he did. I do not expect him to cry out: I WANT MOMMY IN TIMEOUT WITH ME!  I WANT MOMMY IN TIMEOUT WITH ME! First of all, time out isn't some sort of bonding time for us, pal.  It means you are in big time trouble.  You may feel like we are cuddling, but we are not.  I'm putting the death hold on you so you don't run off. Second of all, why should I have to suffer through time out?  I listen to myself just fine.  In fact, I'm the only one in this house listening to me.  I'll cut Little E some slack since he is only one, but that won't last forever. We spent approximatel

Before you get all judgy-judgy on me, I would like to say that I pretty much solo parented this whole weekend. We did have a babysitter last night to watch the Yoys while we attended a swank Buckhead holiday party and a boxing match.  Weird combo, I know, but that's how us Yoys roll. I bathed my kids on Friday evening before we went to Tot Shabbat (or as Mr. Yoy called it this week, Tater-tot Shabbat). Saturday we stayed around the house and I pretty much lost my damn mind.  By the time our sitter arrived to relieve me of parenting for the day, I had zero left in the tank.  Plus, I had run out of caffeine beverages, so I was a mother on the edge. This led to the decision not to give the Yoys a bath last night.  I didn't feel too bad about it, as it's not like it is 80 degrees outside and they smell.  Plus, they are both suffering from dry skin, so skipping a bath is probably good for their skin.  At least this is how I justified my decision at the time. This afterno

Even though these words didn't actually escape his lips, I know deep down, he truly wanted to say them and completely mean them. I'M SORRY I THREW THAT GOLF BALL IN YOUR FACE FROM POINT BLANK RANGE. I'M SORRY I THEN CRIED ABOUT IT FOR 30 MINUTES AFTERWARDS INSTEAD OF APOLOGIZING IMMEDIATELY AND POSSIBLY OFFERING UP AN ICEPACK. I HOPE YOU STILL LOVE ME. Signed, Big E Big E's weapon of mass destruction.

Q:  The amount of time I left one of the Yoys outside. Before you freak out and call child protective services, let me explain. I was unloading the Yoys this afternoon.  It is like herding cattle to get Big E, Little E (not so much), and Poodle Yoy into the house. Big E wanted to bring some leaves in from the garage (really?) so I just shut the big garage door and walked in the house.  When he was ready to come in and dirty up my clean house, he would. I dropped Little E in his highchair to feed him.  As he was stuffing food into his mouth at a world record pace, I took the opportunity to safely unload the dishwasher. Unloading the dishwasher when Little E is on the loose is very dangerous.  He has an affinity for all sharp objects and will immediately try and "help" me unload the knives. Big E finally came in the house and brought a handful of leaves over to Little E's tray of food.  As I defused the highchair situation, I noticed someone was missing from thi

I just started Big E in a gymnastics class at a gym right by our house.  There is a homeless shelter nearby, so there are all sorts of creepies loitering around. With two gymnastic classes under our belt, I can safely say Big E will NOT be competing for the U.S. national team.  There are many things he excels at, gymnastics is not on that list. After class today, I was loading up the Yoys into the Sienna.  Big E was arguing with me about going out to lunch.  Our usual lunch date was booked and the thought of going out to eat with the two Yoys was not very appealing to me. I WANT WILLYS! Ugh, I knew I ate too much of that stuff when I was pregnant with Big E. WE ARE GOING HOME!  GET IN YOUR CAR SEAT SO I CAN BUCKLE YOU IN! In the midst of our heated discussion, I noticed out of the corner of my eye what I would call a "sketchy" person walking towards us. I have always maintained that I hate loading the kids in the car because I feel like a sitting duck.  Please,

Yesterday, I socked Big E away in my bedroom while our cleaning people finished up.  Big E always ends up bothering and disrupting them. He was laying in our bed drinking water from his sippy cup and watching Toy Story 2 for the 9th consecutive day.  We have a ways to go, but we are definitely aiming for the world record. When the movie was over he informed me he had spilled water on our freshly made, clean sheeted bed.  I ran my hand over most of the bed but didn't feel anything. I brushed him off. That's ok, Big E. Fast forward to my bedtime.  It was Siberia cold in our house.  I couldn't wait to jump into our bed and hunker down for the night.  As I stretched out my weary legs, I felt it. A patch of ice. Right where my feet would go. What in the world? Ah, the spilled water!  Dang! I quickly snapped my legs back up and curled into ball. Which is how I remained until this morning, when the sheets and comforter were finally dry. I know I could have g

At lunch today, Mr. Yoy and I concluded that Big E definitely has his personality. I was frightened of my shadow as a child, but Mr. Yoy was a friendly little guy. Big E stopped a bus boy (more of a man) who was on a mission to set up some tables. HI! MY NAME IS BIG E! THE IS MY BROTHER, LITTLE E! THAT IS MY MOMMY! AND MY DADDY, MR. YOY! I AM THREE! (as he holds up 5 fingers) I HAD A THOMAS BIRTHDAY CAKE! I PEED THROUGH MY DIAPER! (a few days ago) The man graciously engaged in polite conversation with Big E, but I'm sure he was thinking: THIS KID IS WEIRD AND WHY WON'T HE STOP TALKING TO ME? Finally, the bus boy was able to breakaway from his conversation with Big E and get back to work. Remind me to never tell Big E the following: 1) Social security numbers 2) Alarm code 3) Credit Card numbers 4) I.Q. score 5) My weight 6) Any deep, dark secrets or gossip Because, clearly, he is just waiting for the opportunity to drop all of this good

Yes, I'm aware that I have a three old. Yes, I'm aware he's a dude. But that doesn't stop Big E's endless, annoying curiosity. At Costco today I bought a giant box of tampons.  I'm hoping these last until I hit menopause because there are A LOT of them. Once we got home I unloaded the car of fruit, diapers, Yoys, and tampons. Big E either thought the box was a new toy or food, but in any case, he was going in.  He carried it off to the dining room and went to work. After dinner, we were Skyping with my folks and Big E walked up to the camera holding the tampon instruction pamphlet for my parents to read. Uh, Big E, I'm pretty sure neither Poppy nor Grandma has a need for tampons, so maybe you can fold that up and we can talk about school or something? WHAT IS THIS? WHAT ARE THEY FOR? PONS? I take a deep breath. OY FREAKING VEY! I ended the topic with a jumbled explanation about how mommy sometimes uses them in the bathroom and he

It started with a declaration.  Big E told me he had to poop. I asked him if he wanted to try to sit on the potty.  I dangled some marshmallows in front of him and he was sold.  He tore off his diaper and sat on the potty. He sat and sat and sat and sat.  He was also giving me a play by play. I passed gas.  Can I have a marshmallow? The rules are that something has to come out of his body, gas does not count. After 45 minutes of both of us sitting in the guest bathroom, I started getting claustrophobic.  I moved his toilet out into the family room, so I could at least watch Georgia get murdered by LSU. Nothing ever came out, but I did give him a few marshmallows for his good faith effort. I asked him if he wanted to put his diaper back on and he refused.  I asked him if he wanted to put on his underwear and for the first time ever he said YES!  This is a really big deal.  Usually he loses his marbles at the sheer mention of underwear. I bound up and down the stairs and

Big E has succumbed to the lure of the Christmas lights. How could he not?  They ARE so pretty! Tonight, as a special treat, we went for a drive to look at the lights. We had the Sirius XM holiday channel blasting in the car (with the exception of the drive by our Rabbi's place) and we were basking in the holiday spirit. Ooooooo.  Look at those! Sorry, Big E, those are actually the lights for I-75. We weaved our way through the North Buckhead and Vinings neighborhoods.  Surprisingly, some of the mansions did not have any lights, just a wreath or two.  I guess they are too classy for crazy decorations. We found a house that had these giant, inflatable holiday M&M characters decorating the entrance to their driveway.  The word "amazeballs" slipped from Mr. Yoy's mouth.  I didn't know if I should take a picture or attempt to eat them. My brain went into overdrive.  How could I work these giant M&Ms into Big E's potty training ?  Blow one up

The Elf on the Shelf is a fabulous idea.  I wish I would have thought of it.  It is blatant bribery, which I totally support. The problem for us, is that the elf doesn't really tie into Hanukkah. So how can we, the Yoys, play mind games with Big E for the entire month of December? Mr. Yoy took Big E to the toy store on Sunday and let him pick out his Hanukkah present.  They returned home with a giant GeoTrax train table.  We brought it in the house and it has been residing on the floor in the dining room since. Everyday Big E asks to open it.  Everyday we tell Big E he has to be on his best, best behavior and he can have it. Everyday Big E is a total train wreck (pun intended) and the sun sets with the table still in the box. Mr. Yoy and I were talking about it and we decided THIS was our Elf on the Shelf.  Except we are going to call it the Train Table on the Counter, mostly because this table isn't going to fit on any shelf in this house. So far I've only see

I received my first holiday card in the mail today. I love getting holiday cards (hint, hint to all that are thinking of sending one to the Yoys). We have never sent one out in the past, but I've been feeling the pressure to conform. I was motivated enough this afternoon to dress the Yoys up all matchy-matchy (my favorite!) and attempt a photo session in Little E's bedroom. I literally said these words to Big E: IF YOU SMILE FOR THE CAMERA I WILL GIVE YOU CANDY, CAKE, MONEY, AND THE UNOPENED TRAIN TABLE IN THE DINING ROOM! My kids are what I like to call non-cooperating participants when it comes to picture time . I took 126 pictures this afternoon over a period of about 10 minutes. I also took about 12 years off my life. I didn't get one usable picture.  I swear.  I'm going to go back over them later, but I glanced at them earlier and wanted to cry. Big E kissed, smothered, bit, and kicked Little E in the oversized chair in Little E's room. M

Mr. Yoy woke up this morning feeling a tad under the weather. As I dressed Big E, I told him to go into our room and say good morning to Mr. Yoy, as he was not feeling great. Big E ran into our room and asked Mr. Yoy how he was feeling.  Nurse E concluded that all Mr. Yoy needed was some lotion. You see, Little E has been having major skin problems as of late and we have been using antibiotic and steroid creams, as well as tons of lotion on him. Big E, being a human sponge, now believes that lotion is the cure-all for what ails you. Maybe he is on to something. He bolted out of our bedroom and returned to Mr. Yoy with a tube of Aveeno lavender baby lotion. It was sweet that he was trying to help, but clearly he got his medical training in the Bahamas. Cures dry skin as well as every other thing that could possibly go wrong with you.  And also tastes like sweet potato .

Last night we met Mr. Yoy for dinner in an attempt to lift his spirits. When I told Big E that we were going to pick daddy up at work, he confidently rattled off the directions to Mr. Yoy's work. Get on the highway, get off at Northside , turn left. He sort of had it right, but I think he was just giving me the directions for Goldberg's, which is, unfortunately, closed for dinner. I won't be getting rid of my Garmin anytime soon. RECALCULATING!  RECALCULATING!

Today Mr. Yoy's brother passed away.  It was not unexpected, but it hurts all the same. I mourn for the loss of Uncle M.  He was a quiet, but sweet and kind man. I mourn for my husband and his brothers. I mourn for my in-laws. I mourn for my children who will never know their Uncle. Uncle M loved the boys.  He was always the first to look at the thousands of pictures I sent out and email me back a funny comment.  He was an avid reader and fan of the Mrs. Yoy Blog.  He loved the daily updates of the doings of his nephews.  I am saddened that someone who took such interest in their lives won't be around to see how the Yoys turn out. So I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell a story about Uncle M. When Mr. Yoy and I first moved into our house 5+ years ago we had builder-grade landscaping in our front yard. It wasn't ugly, it was just nothing special.  Uncle M had a landscaping company and he offered to come up to Atlanta and help us out. He sketched out a plan

I was performing my usual post-Yoy bedtime cleanup effort. Tonight, I was especially diligent because in a few, short days we have an olympic gold medalist staying at our house (for blogging purposes, I'll refer to him as Mr. Gold). I'm not sure what I think will happen, but I'm petrified Mr. Gold will show up with white gloves and do a dust check on my baseboards. I was organizing this sweet wooden fire/police station my brother and SIL sent to Big E for his birthday.  This thing is amazing.  It came from this catalog, One Step Ahead . It is like crack for moms.  Don't deny it, ladies! The station came with a ton of furniture, including a toilet which I find fascinating.  Big E does, too.  In fact, it's his favorite piece of toy furniture, even though he refuses to use a real life one.  Irony at its finest. It also came with two policeman and two fireman.  As I was lining up all the tough guys in front of the toy flat screen TV, I noticed we were down one f

I am a modest person.  As a child during P.E. class, I mastered the "changing your clothes without showing an inch of skin" move.  I was amazing at it. When I became pregnant with Big E, I did not realize that my modesty would soon fly out the window. Fast forward to Piedmont Hospital. Big E was almost a month early, so Dr. Yoy decided to have a special team of nurses in the room when I delivered.  When she mentioned this initially, I thought it sounded like a fantastic idea. So there I am, delivering a baby.  I'm not going to go into too much detail, but you are definitely in a compromising position.  In walks the preemie team, all seven of them. For an instant I was embarrassed.  I wanted them to leave.  But it was weird, my modesty took a back seat to Big E's well being.  So what, now there were ten people in the room just staring at my parts. It definitely didn't end there.  Post delivery all sorts of nurses, doctors, etc. are rummaging around your b

When do kids have the ability to learn to whisper? The Yoys' bedroom doors are very close together.  When Little E is napping, Big E and I are often in his room or the bonus room. In a whisper, I'll say to Big E: Please whisper, Little E is napping. Big E responds in full, if not extra amped-up-on-purpose, volume: OK, MOMMY! No-whisper, like mommy is doing right now. OK, MOMMY! Ugh, I give up.  Is it really hard to teach this concept?  I'm being honest,  I really don't know when toddlers can learn to control the volume of their voice. Til then I'll be praying I finally discover the mute button somewhere on Big E's body. Or maybe earplugs for Little E. Where is it?

This came to me today on my drive home from lunch. I was bogged down in thick Atlanta Thanksgiving traffic. Yes, here in Atlanta, Thanksgiving traffic starts Wednesday morning. We were on the verge of Little E's nap time.  He was starting to get edgy. The slower I drove, the louder Little E's cries became until it evolved into full-on screaming.  Oy. LIGHT BULB MOMENT! I wish I had lights and a siren like an ambulance or fire truck that I could flip on in crying emergencies that would allow me to zip home.  I promise I would use it sparingly and only when the Yoys had a true meltdown emergency. For a moment, I congratulated myself on such a good idea, but then was brought back to reality by Little E's hysteria. Poor little guy.  He just wants his bed. I reached back with my crazy long monkey arms and tried to soothe him.  It was no use.  He had crossed over to the dark side. I spent 45 minutes in the car with a screaming Little E. Now excuse me while I go

Today I met Aunt Yoy at Jason's Deli for a pre-Thanksgiving feast. Aunt Yoy arrived first and pulled three highchairs over to the table.  I was impressed given her wounded state. I walked in barely holding onto my kids and the diaper bag.  I was a frenzied mad woman. Little E was reaching over my shoulder and grabbing snacks out of my bag while yelling at me to open them. He doesn't actually talk yet, but I assume he's trying to say: OPEN THESE DANG APPLE CRISPS, MOMMY! I throw Little E into one highchair and Aunt Yoy throws Big E into another. We both order and sit down to wait for our food. Right over Aunt Yoy's shoulder, directly in Big E's line of fire, is the frozen yogurt machine that dispenses free yogurt for all.  I pray he doesn't notice the thousands of people walking up and pouring themselves giant swirly cones. The food arrives, Big E eats about three bites and then zeros in on his target. I WANT YOGURT!  I WANT YOGURT!  I WANT YOGU

Santa. Now that Big E is three he is very aware of the upcoming holiday season. The lights! The music! The decorated trees! The fat, old guy in a red suit that brings you lots of presents (sounds way  better in theory than on paper)! It is the rite of passage for any Jewish child.  And no, it is not a bar mitzvah. It is the moment he learns he is different. Christmas IS the most wonderful time of the year.  As a 35 year old, I still suffer miserably with Christmas envy each December.  I peer out my front window and look at all the lights and the glittering trees peeking through my neighbors' front windows.  Oy.  If only. Big E has already mentioned Santa to me.  I ignored him. I don't know if I am ready to go into it.  I feel like this conversation may be even harder than the birds and the bees. WHY DOESN'T SANTA COME TO MY HOUSE? Yes, we are the Chosen People, etc, etc, but no child wants to be different.  I guess it is a blessing that he is at a Je

Big E is forever claiming he's hungry.  Every time I open the refrigerator or the pantry (even if it is to just throw out trash) he declares his starvation. I have no idea if he is, in fact, experiencing the signs of hunger or if he is just conditioned to say this. Instead of just endless snacking all day, I have come up with a genius way of telling if the little guy is truly hungry. Always on hand here at the Yoys is a giant tub of steamed carrots.  Not what you had in mind for a snack? But what if you were so hungry you'd eat just about anything, including steamed carrots. So this is my trick. Today I was putting away groceries and Big E was whining that he was hungry. I offered him steamed carrots.  He countered with goldfish.  Just like the guy on Pawn Stars, I gave him a worse offer.  That is what you get for trying to bargain with Mrs. Yoy. Steamed carrots or nothing.  End of story. I WANT CARROTS! Either he is really hungry or he is just desperate, but

Bath time around here usually starts with an ill-timed game of hide and seek.  As soon as I turn the water faucet on, Big E heads for the hills. Maybe I've seen one too many suspense movies.  Or maybe I'm just on edge from the recent crime wave in our 'hood, but for whatever reason, when I go searching for Big E, I get a little jumpy. I cleared our walk-in closet, the laundry room, and under my computer desk.  These are all Big E hiding spot favorites, and tonight he was not in any of them. Where is that little booger? I walked into his bedroom.  His closet door was cracked. BUSTED!  I had him now. As I crept up to the door (imagine creepy music playing) my heart began to race.  I am not sure why.  Who did I expect in the closet?   Martin Burney ?  Maybe.  I took a deep breath and flung the door open. Nothing. Right at that moment Big E popped out from behind his rocking chair and yelled: HI MOM! I jumped out of my skin.  Seriously, my vertical was very

We went to the aquarium this morning.  While I think the kids enjoy looking at the fish, I get the feeling they could take them or leave them. I took they Yoys to a less populated upstairs area to eat lunch.  Big E ran wild with his friend, Lady P, while Little E crawled around. Then it dawned on me.  Why bother taking them to the art museum, zoo, aquarium, etc? I need to buy a giant warehouse.  Carpet it, add some lights, a water fountain, comfortable seating for the moms, and a bathroom and we are in business. The kids don't really care where we take them, as long as there is a giant carpeted space for them to run around. Forget Kangazoom, Monkey Joe's, or any other of those bouncy house, climby places.  They are teeming with germs, anyway. Come to my giant carpeted warehouse and let your kid run until they drop. How did I not think of this sooner? Just add carpet and watch the magic happen.