Mrs. Yoy: Acting like I'm 27, feeling like I'm 60
On Saturday night I went out for my good friend's 30th birthday party. We had the limo, the Buckhead hotel room, Taverna Plaka for dinner and Clermont Lounge for a seedy, Atlanta good time.
When I returned home on Sunday morning, Mr. Yoy asked me what I drank during my evening of debauchery. I rattled off three glasses of champagne, half a bottle of wine, a Jim Jones (even though I didn't understand the historical significance at the time), a vodka tonic, topped off with another glass of champagne. The amazing part was, I was tired, but not hungover.
Sunday we did some family stuff and I didn't even nap when the boys went down in the afternoon, I cleaned the house instead. I thought to myself - I can still hang!
Then, this morning happened. At 6:23, well before I had anticipated waking up this morning, Big E woke up yelling for me. Any other morning, it would have been fine. Sometimes, I even wake up that early on my own.
This morning, it felt like the end of the world. Dang, I was ti-red. I could feel the late night and the 8+ drinks I consumed in every step I took towards Big E's room. I brought him into the Yoy bed and we gave him strict instructions to just lay there quietly. We then turned on cartoons which seemed to pacify Big E for a bit. I think I fell back asleep.
Big E climbed out of the bed and started wandering around the upstairs yelling for a gogurt. I tuned him out. Ugh, why did I drink so much and not take a nap yesterday? I knew I should get up and parent. What if he was drinking household cleaning products or chewing through wires? Wait, he's not a dog...
Eventually, he climbed back into our bed and proceeded to pull back our comforter. Then the sheet. I ignored him.
GOGURT! GOGURT! GOGURT!
He climbed on me and breathed his Big E morning breath in my face. Well, I am up now.
Back in my 20s, I could party with the best of them. I could stay out until 3 am and be ready to go the next night again. Today, I am feeling my age. I am also feeling my children. They don't care if I am tired, or sick, or in a bad mood. They don't care that I drank a blue-tinted Jim Jones on Saturday night. I am Mrs. Yoy and I have to be on and ready to serve.
Now, excuse me while I go chug a Coke Zero and count down to nap time.
When I returned home on Sunday morning, Mr. Yoy asked me what I drank during my evening of debauchery. I rattled off three glasses of champagne, half a bottle of wine, a Jim Jones (even though I didn't understand the historical significance at the time), a vodka tonic, topped off with another glass of champagne. The amazing part was, I was tired, but not hungover.
Sunday we did some family stuff and I didn't even nap when the boys went down in the afternoon, I cleaned the house instead. I thought to myself - I can still hang!
Then, this morning happened. At 6:23, well before I had anticipated waking up this morning, Big E woke up yelling for me. Any other morning, it would have been fine. Sometimes, I even wake up that early on my own.
This morning, it felt like the end of the world. Dang, I was ti-red. I could feel the late night and the 8+ drinks I consumed in every step I took towards Big E's room. I brought him into the Yoy bed and we gave him strict instructions to just lay there quietly. We then turned on cartoons which seemed to pacify Big E for a bit. I think I fell back asleep.
Big E climbed out of the bed and started wandering around the upstairs yelling for a gogurt. I tuned him out. Ugh, why did I drink so much and not take a nap yesterday? I knew I should get up and parent. What if he was drinking household cleaning products or chewing through wires? Wait, he's not a dog...
Eventually, he climbed back into our bed and proceeded to pull back our comforter. Then the sheet. I ignored him.
GOGURT! GOGURT! GOGURT!
He climbed on me and breathed his Big E morning breath in my face. Well, I am up now.
Back in my 20s, I could party with the best of them. I could stay out until 3 am and be ready to go the next night again. Today, I am feeling my age. I am also feeling my children. They don't care if I am tired, or sick, or in a bad mood. They don't care that I drank a blue-tinted Jim Jones on Saturday night. I am Mrs. Yoy and I have to be on and ready to serve.
Now, excuse me while I go chug a Coke Zero and count down to nap time.
Keep me away from these, please.
I have Robyn to thank/blame, she did a great job planning!
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