The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

On Tuesday, Big E's crayons, but not the box, went missing.  Things go missing all the time so this normally is no cause for concern.  Crayons are a whole other ballgame. If Big E finds his crayons without my knowledge and decides to draw an impromptu portrait on our wall, hardwoods, carpet, etc., I will be super mad. My other concern is that Big E recently has started eating them.  I'm all for school spirit, but when Big E housed half of his blue crayon during the Gator game on Saturday, things had gone too far for Mrs. Yoy.  Blue teeth are not that cool. I looked in all of the usual hiding places to no avail.  I snapped open the file cabinet drawer expecting to see a crayon rainbow staring back at me.  Nope. I keep asking him where they are and he looks at me like he knows, but won't give up the location.  I feel like I'm on an episode of 24.  Tick-tock, tick-tock.  I just have to find these crayons before Big E does.  The con...

I know it's been over two weeks since we sprung forward, but I have to say, the time change is still wrecking havoc on our schedule. It is almost 10 o'clock here in the ATL and Big E is still singing in his crib.  The part that really gets my gizzard is that he'll still wake up at 7:30. Who do I need to contact on behalf of all mothers about this whole daylight savings fiasco?

I took both Yoys in the double stroller with me today to get a haircut. Everyone did fine, but I kept waiting for a crying outburst that would leave me with an Edward Scissorhands inspired haircut. Oh yeah, I meant to get my haircut like that!

Why worry that you may not have a snack handy while you are looking out the window? This morning Big E seemed pleasantly surprised that there was a cup of blueberries waiting for him at the back window.  I guess he forgot he wedged his snack cup between two windows before he went to bed last night.

Big E woke up with an awesome rash all over his body.  It had all sorts of pretty designs. Little E sounds like he is a long time smoker.  His coughing is terrible. I try not to be the overreacting mother, but it was time to call the doctor and get an appointment. The office was really crowded.  Apparently, the plague is making its way around the ATL.  We had to wait about 20 minutes to get in even with an appointment.  Seating is limited and everyone is packed in there.  That is, unless your child looks like he is suffering from some sort of measles.  He has these red splotches all over his face.  No one wanted to come near us.  Mothers herded their children out of Big E's path.  I have to admit, he does looks scary.  He was diagnosed with viral hives from a cold and fever he had last week.  It is not contagious, although he did give his cold to Little E. Little E has RSV.  Poor baby.  He is still smiley thou...

For the second time this week, Big E awoke crying.  This time it was at 4 am.  I wasn't in denial this time.  I didn't take him into the bed with us.  I took him downstairs, popped on the tv, and tried to sleep on the couch while Big E looked at photo albums, had a snack, and sang to me. He then started asking for his Uncle Yoy.  Don't think it didn't cross my mind to call 351-1111 and have a taxi come and take this kid to D-Wood. After about an hour, I took him upstairs to the guest bedroom where he quietly rested with me.  I took a chance and scooped him up, explained to him that it was night night time, and dropped him in the crib.  Believe it or not, he went back to sleep. At this point it was approaching 6 am.  I finally fell back asleep but was awoken by a jumping and yelling Big E around 7:30.  Mr. Yoy and I laid in bed and discussed who was more tired and who should go and get him.  We also discussed different families we c...

I hate Winter for many reasons.  The main reason being that I grew up in the tropics of South Florida and even Atlanta's mild weather can drag on. Before I had kids, I didn't mind it so much.  I was able to buy lots of sweaters and coats that I never had the need for growing up.  I had good hair from the dry weather instead of having a South Florida perma-frizz. Then came the babies.  And the baby winter clothes. On the bone-chilling days where you don't want to spend an hour bundling everyone up (including time to undress, change diapers, and redress), you turn into a hibernating creature.  Days go by and you realize you haven't left the house, with the exception of the quick run to the mailbox.  Suddenly it is 5 pm and everyone is still in their jammies.  You look in the mirror and try to recall when your last shower was.  Showering requires you to get undressed, which requires you to be freezing for a period of time, so this becomes a les...

I was, once again, scarfing down my lunch before Little E awoke from his nap.  Like an annoying little nat, Big E was hovering around me, whining.  I gave him some pretzel chips in the hope that he would stop whining and let me finish my meal in peace.  He put a bunch of chips in his mouth and started chewing away.  He was also doing laps around the room.  He slipped and fell to the floor.  It was a good one, because he actually started crying. I scooped him up and started trying to console him.  He looked me right in the face and at a distance of about three inches took a deep breath and coughed his semi-eaten pretzel chips right into my face.  Ugh. I feel like I am on the parental version of the TV show Fear Factor.  The stuff I have endured in the past two years is unimaginable. The only thing left to do is eat some live bugs.  Bring it on, Joe Rogan!

I have started letting Big E pick out his jammies.  I'm not sure if I have opened Pandora's box.  The other night he chose his football jammies.  He wore those around until it was time to read his book and then he flipped out about wearing his monkey jammies instead. Seriously?  So we had a wardrobe change. Same thing tonight.  He went with his football jammies again.  Personally, he seems like he is in some sort of style rut.  We read a few books and I dropped him into his crib.  I offered to tuck him in and he stood up, starting jumping, and then screaming for monkey jammies. This time I held all the power because he was already in his jail, I mean his crib.  I said good night and ran out of there! This is what it must be like to have daughters.

I have mentioned before that Little E has a spitting up problem.  He is a very good baby. This is my only complaint about this little guy.  I have grown accustomed to the many outfit changes, on his part as well as mine. Today, I am lame.  Not in the I-drive-a-minivan way, but in the I-slammed-my knee-into-the-corner-of-the-booth-at-lunch-and-now-can't-bend-my-knee way.  I grabbed Little E out of the crib and hobbled over to a clean pile of baby laundry.  I needed to lean over and grab a bib.  I balanced Little E on my hip and went in for the awkward bend over to grab a bib.  As I was leaning over I heard the telltale sign that Little E was sending up a present for me.  A loud, juicy burp.  And there it was.  All over.  Little E threw up into the clean pile of laundry. I suppressed the urge to shout out a four letter word.  I guess I'll be rewashing that pile. DANG! (Not the initial word I wanted to shout out)

We had another early morning wake up call.  This time Big E awoke crying at 4:40 this morning.  I went rushing in there and rocked Big E for about 10 minutes.  He was very calm and then sweetly asked for Daddy.  So I brought Big E into the bed.  He remained still and calm, but not sleeping, for about an hour.  Then he started chatting about trains and downstairs. Mr. Yoy tried to rationalize with him using Big E's love of trains.  I find this very funny as rationalizing with a two year old is a myth.  I put this in the same category as walking on water and time travel.  I then made the executive decision to put him back in his crib so that we could get some sleep. Big E immediately starting jumping and crying as soon as I shut his door.  I let him cry for about two minutes, but I wanted to minimize any collateral damage (I figured Mr. Yoy needed sleep and I didn't want Little E to wake up). I took one for the team.  I took Big...

Even the mention of these words makes me quiver in my boots.  We are coming upon that time with Big E that we need to at least start thinking about it.  I was going to wait until after my brother's wedding in July, but Big E has been showing some interest in PT. In general, Big E lets me know when he has to go.  Sometimes he will even string together poopie with toilet.  The first time he said that to me, I scooped him up, pulled down his diaper and ran him to my bathroom.  I tried to sit him down on the toilet and he went ballistic. NO POOPIE TOILET! NO POOPIE TOILET! He had his hands and feet propped up on the walls.  I could have let go of him and he would have remained suspended about three feet above the toilet, Spiderman style. Today I went out and bought him a little toilet so we can start talking about Big E's toilet and maybe even get him to sit on it, even if he insists on keeping his pants on. Based on his earlier reaction, the toilet...

I love a good couch pillow.  We have a bunch on our big leather sofa.  Big E loves to play with them.  He launches them over the back, at me, at Doggie Yoy, and of course, at his most favorite target, poor, defenseless, Little E. For a few months now Mr. Yoy has been suggesting we get a pillow for Big E's crib.  Mr. Yoy can't understand why this kid doesn't have a pillow.  My theory on this is that he doesn't know any better and is sleeping just fine pillow free.  It's not like he sleeps like a normal person.  He usually has his booty in the air, his legs through the bars of the crib, and 27 stuffed animals covering his face.  A pillow will just complicate things. Alas, at BB&B yesterday, Mr. Yoy insisted we buy this kid a little pillow.   This morning I got Big E's new pillow all set up.  New pillowcase on and it was ready for use. Nap time rolled around and I put Big E in his crib.  His new pillow was in there just waiti...

Big E is 27 months old.  Before he could speak we were working on manners using sign language for please and thank you.  He mastered those and to this day still does the sign for please when he says it. Now that he is a talking machine I prompt him every time he asks for something with what do you say? PLEASE! After I give him the object of his desire (most likely food) I prompt him again with what do you say? THANK YOU! This morning he asked for something and before I could even prompt him he said it. Thank you, mommy! I plotzed.  Finally, my relentless good manners beatdown sunk into his stubborn toddler brain.  I was so proud.

I can be having the best day ever with my boys.  We do a fun morning activity.  Nobody cries, poops, or misbehaves in public.  We get home and everyone, including Mrs. Yoy, takes a refreshing two hour nap.  We even all wake up from said naps in pretty decent moods. Then the day begins to get long in the tooth.  Four thirty rolls around and from then onward it is like someone flipped the switch and nothing goes my way. My evening goal is to get both boys fed, bathed, booked and to bed by 7:15 at the latest . This is quite a feat considering most nights I do this solo.  My patience is all tapped out. Both baby Yoys are cranky.  It just seems like a cruel joke that the most trying part of every day is at the end. Things that I found adorable a mere 6 hours earlier are making me want to ram my head against the wall.  I feel like I am just spewing the word "no" over and over again.  I am so sick of hearing myself say that. If I was at an o...

For me, it was around 1pm this afternoon. I had an armful of laundry and I was walking towards the washing machine.  Big E intercepted my delivery by grabbing onto my legs and shouting MOMMY!  He has recently turned into a Stage 5 clinger, so I was trying to wriggle myself free of his little, but surprisingly strong, T-Rex arms. Coupled with the fact that today I have on an old pair of maternity sweats, it was the perfect storm.  Down came my pants.  It couldn't have happened in a more revealing place in our house.  I was standing right in front of the only uncovered window we have.  Awesome. We both laughed.  I dropped the laundry and pulled up my pants.  That little stinker! So, the lesson learned today was that all of my maternity clothes need to be retired, ASAP. Mr. Yoy will be so happy to hear that.

I love watching Big E's little brain develop.  He has recently started using the word "other" and he uses it correctly.  I am fascinated that a two year old can conceptualize this. During meal time in our home, I present Big E with a barrage of food choices.  After he finishes picking out the parts he wants to eat, we have what I like to call the "special request" portion of his meal where he shouts out to me what he wants next. In general, this kid eats a ton of cheerios.  Which is good and I think hereditary.  On the shelf next to the Cheerios is a box of Fruit Loops that Mr. Yoy bought as comfort food when he was "sick".  They are round like Cheerios and also classified as cereal.  Therefore, Big E calls them the Other Cheerios.  The real difference is the extra eight grams of sugar, which I prefer he not eat. This is currently the number one coveted food in our house.  It is always the first food asked for during special reques...

It was a glorious Spring-like day today.  Aunt Yoy and I took all of the Yoy clan out for a walk on the Silver Comet Trail.  We had great weather, our matching City-Mini strollers, and miles and miles of flat, open pavement. We started out strong.  Big E had a full snack cup.  Little E was content sucking on his stroller straps.  Cousin Yoy was watching the trees go by.  Aunt Yoy and I got in some good adult conversation time.  We hit the 1.2 mile marker and everyone was still pretty content so we pushed on.   Maybe it's my super sensitive mother's instinct, but I just had a feeling that something bad was abrew.  It was like Lassie knowing to look for Timmy in the well.  I just knew.  I told Aunt Yoy, we should probably turn around. And then it was game over.  Cousin Yoy started yelling.  Big E ran out of snacks.  Little E still continued to suck on his stroller straps.  I pulled out my next trick from my di...

I have the ability to track which countries my blog readers are located in.  For some reason, I am super popular in Japan.  I know, I know I sound a little like David Hasselhoff. This got me thinking.  Is my blog so interesting that the good people of Japan spend their evenings pouring over my stories translating every word?  Personally, I would like to think that is the reason. Realistically, the term YOY, besides being my husband's nickname, also stands for Year Over Year, which is used in financial data reporting, especially in Japan.  Mystery solved. There is nothing left to do but give a shout out to my accidental Japanese readers! On a side note, I'm sure they were pleased to learn that the Yoy household is the proud new owner of a Toyota Sienna.