The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

I went to an event this evening for an organization Mr. Yoy is very active in. Many people approached me to say that they very much enjoyed reading the Mrs. Yoy Blog.  People I didn't even know were reading it. I have to say, this really made my day.  I write day in and day out, but I never know if people are: 1) actually reading it and 2) find it to be humorous (my intention). So, I just wanted to say thank you to my readers for their kind words and support. Good night, Yoysers! P.S. Check back tomorrow.  I am taking both Yoys to the Botanical Gardens with our neighbor and her two small children.  It should be an absolute bloodbath.

I just received a Costume Express catalog in the mail. I have two main comments. 1)  These things are flippin' expensive.  Forty-five dollars for a three-year-old's costume?  Seriously?  Maybe a good pair of shoes, but a costume that he'll wear for four hours once?  I'm having a hard time climbing aboard that ship. 2) Why are all the little girl models in their pirate/witch/ladybug costumes wearing a ton of makeup and posing provocatively?  I've heard people talking about how young girls are being pressured to act and dress older, but this is making me ill. Obviously, I'll consult with Big E about his choice for a costume this year, as he'll be nearing three and has many opinions, but it's looking like he'll be a ghost. A sheet and some scissors - the greatest and least expensive costume ever. Trick or treat!

Big E started preschool last August.  In the year that he has been attending, I have compiled quite a collection of his "artwork". I have only limited closet space in our house, thanks to the 10,000 Madame Alexander dolls my parents personally drove up when we moved in.  As luck would have it, I have two sons.  And on a side note, these dolls are big-time scary.  I had them displayed in my room as a child and sometimes at night, I swore they were moving. Anyway, I digress.  I've been keeping all of Big E's artwork in the playroom closet, but at some point, I am going to run out of space. When Big E proudly shows me his piece of white paper with two crayon marks on it, I praise him as a wonderful artist, and put in the closet.  I mean, how can I throw this away?  He seems so proud of himself. I need to draw the line, pun intended.  If I don't pare down his works, I'm going to have 18 years worth of this stuff taking over our house, one closet at a time.

There is no medical definition for this syndrome. Although, it is a distant cousin to Most Dangerous Occupation . Glaring examples of "SCS" (as I'm now calling it) are as follows: 1) By the time Big E turned one I had all but completed the most beautiful scrapbook detailing every event of his first year on Earth.  I spent countless Sundays scrapbooking away.  I pull this book out every few weeks to admire my craftsmanship.  I love it almost as much as I love him.  Some days maybe even more.  See The Life Cycle of an Epic Temper Tantrum . For Little E, I haven't even bought the scrapbook.  I keep saying I'm going to start, but it hasn't happened.  I am partially blaming Aunt Yoy as she hasn't started her scrapbook for Cousin Yoy either and we are scrapbooking partners in crime.  I just hope Little E doesn't grow up flipping through the pages of Big E's scrapbook and wistfully wonder what he did to make his mom not want to record all of his fir

Ruh-roh! A little background story.  Mr. Yoy and I are not "do-ers." Especially now that we have the Yoys.  I know this is incredibly shocking, especially because we are Jewish. We have on payroll a lawn guy (even though our lawn is like .001 acres), a cleaning lady, an exterminator, an electrician, a painter, and a plumber. We also have a great guy that installed all of the cabinet locks, baby gates, blind cleats, wall anchors, and every other baby proofing item you can think of. It was pricey, but well worth the money.  If anything breaks, he comes right out to fix it at no additional charge to us.  It's been almost two years since he installed everything and we've had him out a few times to undo some damage. Today it was the safety gate at the top of the stairs. After a few years of Big E shaking it like a gorilla at the zoo, he finally pulled the whole dang thing out of the wall. Mr. Fix-it came over this afternoon and I led him up to the gate.  He was

Big E's latest book is Cars-themed and has five mini-puzzles within the book.  It is a combo of all of his favorite things.  I gave it to him this afternoon because he was being a sweet boy. A weird thing happened. We completed the five puzzles. And when I say "we" I mean me.  For whatever reason, Big E likes to direct activities, not actually participate in them. He asked me to do them again.  I obliged, as he was sitting quietly and that rarely happens anymore. By round three I had hit my Cars puzzle limit.  I explained to him that I didn't want to play with the book anymore, but he was welcome to do the puzzles on his own. This was not a satisfactory explanation. He started shouting: DO MORE PUZZLES!  DO MORE PUZZLES!  DO IT!  DO IT! To be honest, he kind of scared me.  Where did he learn to channel John McEnroe? So I did what any mother would do.  I did the dang puzzles! While I'm puzzling away he keeps sternly reminding me to do the puzzles.

Mr. Yoy picked up this children's classic on his trip to Boston a few years back. This is a favorite bedtime book for Big E.  I think mostly because it is lengthy and he has cornered the market on bed time procrastination. Tonight, as I read the book to Big E, I found myself getting angry. The Daddy Duck decides to go on vacation for a week, by himself I might add, like two weeks after the Mommy Duck hatches eight ducklings.  And she is just fine with it. She says some BS to Daddy Duck like: Don't worry about the kids, I know all about bringing up ducklings. On what planet would any mother find this acceptable? What kind of message am I conveying to my children as I read this book to them day in and day out? After I cooled down, I checked the copyright year - 1941. Well that explains it, I guess.  Even in the 1940s, I think my grandma would not have been super jazzed if my Grandpa went on vacation and left her with the four babies. My next thought was, Mr. Yoy BOU

These were Big E's first words out of his mouth this morning. And you know what?  His breath was bad.  How does a two year old develop such raging morning breath? Anyway, I feel like this was a major step in the perpetual little boy hygiene war.  I quickly explained that by brushing his teeth, his bad breath would go away. Wow, I just sounded like a commercial. He bought right into that.  Probably because he couldn't stand the taste in his mouth any longer.  Post brush, he ran into our bedroom to let Mr. Yoy smell his clean breath.  In return, Mr. Yoy blew his morning dragon breath right into Big E's face. I guess that was payback for yesterday's monstrous behavior. Take that, Big E!

For the most part, these guys drive like total crap.  So when I'm driving the Yoys around, they are practically begging me to run them over.  They weave like a bunch of Persian rug makers and continually cut me off.  I've already discussed this earlier in My Inner Rage , but I'm in a particularly bad mood this evening, so I have some additional thoughts on the subject. A few of my neighbors are motorcycle enthusiasts.  I do not know much about them, but I can with absolute certainty tell you what they are not.  Parents. I have spent the past hour trying to get Big E to settle down.  He has been singing on and off and occasionally crying for me.  Finally, and I mean finally, he quieted down. Then one of my "neighbors" (I put this in quotes because I don't consider their behavior very neighborly at all), just revved his stupid bike the entire way up my street.  I'm pretty sure my folks in Florida even heard it. But you already know who definitely hea

Exposition: As I have mentioned earlier, I am tinkering with Big E's schedule.  Yesterday, he did not nap, he stayed out late, and spent some time in the pool.  This was the perfect storm for today's daily epic temper tantrum. He slept in this morning and we had to rush to make it out the door on time for school.  This was the warning shot. I picked him up from school.  He was his usual sweaty, covered in food, stickers, and body stamps self. He wanted to go see Mr. Yoy and the fountains at his office. Mr. Yoy wasn't around but we decided to meet up for some fro-yo post nap.  Yes, Big E was definitely getting a nap today. He had that crazy tired look in his eyes. We pulled into the garage.  And there it began. Rising Action: He would not get out of the car.  It was only when I closed the door to the car, turned out the garage lights, and went inside the house for a minute, that he decided to come out of the car. Next up, the bath.  I told him he needed a bath

Mr. Yoy and hit the town tonight.  We went to a cornucopia of places and had a few adult beverages.  It was really great to get out and be a couple for the evening, instead of Yoy parents. We arrived home to our babysitter and a quiet household. Perfect!  The sitter went home and Mr. Yoy and I headed upstairs for the night. I noticed that Big E's blankie was on the floor next to my computer.  Red alert!  This kid is OBSESSED with his blankie.  We have to go and visit it in the laundry room when I wash and dry it.  It is that bad. Mr. Yoy and I discussed our strategy and planned our next move.  We decided to sneak into Big E's room and place blankie in his crib.  If he reached for it overnight and it wasn't there, it would be armageddon.  That's a risk we were not willing to take. This is not the first time I have encountered this dilemma.  See The Sound Machine . As we tiptoed over to the Yoys' rooms we realized while the sound machines were on, they were

Mr. Yoy and I are raising a sushi monster.  Big E loves it.  He'll eat all of my dinner if I'm not careful. Friday nights, Mr. Yoy brings sushi in and then we usually watch a movie.  It is our old, married person routine. Last night Big E was wide awake because I let him take an almost 2 hour nap after school.  My bad, I know. We were all up in our bedroom watching the Braves game and Big E made it clear he wasn't tired.  I wasn't in the fighting mood, but I was super starving. Mr. Yoy told Big E to stay on the bed and don't move. We snuck downstairs to eat our sushi in peace.  I didn't need his grubby little hands touching my dinner. We only heard him jump down off the bed once (because our house was built in like 7 hours and is a total shack) and then he quickly climbed back up into bed. We finished dinner and made our way back upstairs.  I walked into our bedroom and Big E said with such enthusiasm: Watch baseball with me, mommy? I know he was just

What did you do at school today? - Mrs. Yoy on both Wednesday and Friday I eat lunch. -  Big E on both Wednesday and Friday For the record, he is there for 4 hours, so I'm pretty sure they are doing something else besides eating the longest meal ever.  If not, this is one expensive meal. Additional clues: he is covered with sweat, food (validates the lunch thing), and mulch. I'm pretty sure he is killing it on the playground as well. Good news - Teacher Yoy is there to answer all of my questions. Although it is kind of funny (and insane) to try and recreate the day through Big E's eyes.

After preschool, I ushered the Yoys home for afternoon naps.  Although I've been weaning Big E from his nap, I figured his first day back at school warranted one. The cleaning crew, a mother and son, was still at the house finishing up on the upstairs area.   Side note: don't judge - I realize I don't work and have cleaning people.  Mr. Yoy either hasn't noticed or does not want to have that argument with me. The mother, a sweet, older lady who speaks hardly any English, was working on Little Es nursery.  Big E immediately went in there and started peppering her with questions. What are you doing? What's going on? Over and over and over again. She smiled at Big E and asked him how he was. He repeated his questioning assault on her.  I'm sure she wanted to run the vacuum right over him.  I know I did.  But she was kind to him and I certainly appreciate that. She said good bye to him and headed downstairs to clean. Big E couldn't let it go.

I was filling out some forms Big E's preschool teacher sent home with us today. Hebrew name - check Emergency contacts - check Birth date - check But then came the question about one important thing you want the teacher to know about your child. I stared at the paper like I was blanking on one of my accounting finals. How does that Cash Flow Statement work again? Anyway, I asked Mr. Yoy if he had any ideas. We came up with the following: 1) He likes to shout out at random times: MY P*NIS HURTS! 2) He picks his nose and may or may not eat it depending on when his last meal occurred. 3) He sings show tunes like it's his job. 4) He has an insane memory. 5) He is a tough lover.  Just ask Little E. 6) He is very friendly and will walk off with whoever is offering up a free hand. See Most Likely to Be Kidnapped . 7) He is Skype proficient. 8) He likes to carry Mr. Yoy's briefcase up and down the stairs for a good workout. We decided #6 was probab

I've been feeling some pressure lately to get Big E toilet trained.  It was only compounded today when we went for school orientation and he was the only one in his class that brought in a bag of diapers. I bought Big E a little toilet a few months back to get him comfortable with the idea of using it.  See  Potty Training . He sometimes sits on it with a diaper.  Sometimes without.  But he never actually uses it.  I knew that if I didn't push (bribe) him, nothing would change and he would be going on dates in his pull-ups. My mom used M&Ms to train me.  It seemed to work considering I, too, use the toilet. Today I bought some Pretzel M&Ms.  Partially to encourage Big E, partially to reward me for attempting to toilet train this little Yoy. I stripped Big E down to his t-shirt and let him run around naked.  Finally, he sat down on his little toilet.  After about 30 minutes, which included pulling all off the toilet paper off the roll and clogging up the big pe

This morning we went to Zoo Atlanta.  After pushing the Yoys around in the double stroller all morning, I was one tired Mrs. Yoy. Little E fell asleep on the way home and transferred well into his crib.  Big E, not so much. I put Cars on the TV and informed Big E that mommy was going to take a quick nap.  I don't, in general, advocate using the TV as a babysitter, but the heat and my exhaustion were affecting my state of mind. Here come my eyelids... Anyway, I dozed off for a few minutes when suddenly there was a flurry of activity going on right inside the curve of my body lying on the couch.  I peeked open one eye to see what was up. Big E had brought a puzzle and dumped all of the pieces on me. He then proceeded to put the puzzle together right there.  He kept asking me if I was awake but I played dead.  He caught me peeking one time and it was game over. Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? It only stopped when I responded to him. Yes? Uh-huh? What?!

Yesterday was a really bad day for me.  I stood by and watched Big E fall about 5 feet off a caboose. See Oy Yoy Yoy . After a brief hospital stint we went over to Uncle and Aunt Yoy's for some decompressing.  We had a lovely time and I even enjoyed a much needed daiquiri. We were driving home on 285.  We were singing the round version of Row, Row, Row Your Boat, because we are just freaking awesome like that. Big E seemed to be back to normal and I was so relieved.  Then my phone rang. It was neighbor Yoy asking us if we were home.  I let her know we were on our way home and asked if everything on the home front was ok.  She informed us Poodle Yoy was sitting by our front door. I checked the time: 8:19.  We left the house for the hospital around 2:15. My guilty mother feelings that I had been suppressing all day bubbled to the surface. Am I the worst person on earth? First, I let my kid fall off a train. Second, the dog must have slipped out unknowingly when we w

Big E has been alive approximately 1,000 days.  He had a real hot streak going, until yesterday when we had our first trip to the emergency room. During our trip to the train museum, Big E fell off a train caboose.  Not a toy one.  A real, life size, red caboose that is parked outside the train museum.  The only thing that broke his fall was his big noggin. It sounded like a watermelon hitting the concrete, except it was his head.  I will never forget the sound for as long as I live.  I had nightmares last night that I was at some bad Gallagher show from the 1970s. He was just out of my reach and I lunged for him, but it was too late. I ran him into the train museum to see if anyone had a bag of ice.  No luck there, but a gentleman inside informed me I should take him to the hospital ASAP because he had heard the impact of the fall inside of the building.  Thanks, guy! I had an Incredible Hulk moment, lifted Big E into my arms and ran his crying self across a parking lot, und

This week I am doing a science experiment on Big E.  Don't worry, it is nothing scary or illegal.  I am cutting out his nap to see if I can get him to fall asleep before 10pm.  The late bedtime was killing me. Monday, Wednesday, and today he went nap free.  Tuesday he napped at 11am because he was acting like a total terrorist. I am noticing that while he goes to bed blissfully between 7 and 7:30 without his nap, his behavior from about 4 until we start bedtime would best be described as, hmm...how should I put this nicely, HELL ON EARTH. This leads me to today's example. I heated up the leftover chicken quesadillas he barely touched at lunch for his dinner.  He picked through them for about 10 minutes and then declared he was all done. Fine by me, I released him from his booster seat and he jumped on one of his cars and started doing NASCAR laps around the house. At this point, I chucked the quesadillas.  Clearly, he's not going to eat them. After a few laps, h

Today we were lunching at CPK. Big E needed a diaper change, so I grabbed him and rushed off to the ladies restroom. There were two stalls.  We made a beeline for the changing table within the handicap stall. Big E was narrating everything as usual. Clean diaper! Wipes! Changing table! I heard the door swing open and someone walk into the stall next to us.  Great, now Big E has an audience.  Hopefully, he won't notice we are not alone. Yeah, right. He heard the lady moving around in the stall and he yelled out: You need help? He asked her three times. She started to laugh. I'm thinking to myself, hey Big E, why don't you learn how to use the big boy potty before you start administering advice in public restrooms? And, by the way, there is public restroom etiquette.  At the top of the list of things that are not socially acceptable is talking to unknowns in the stall next to you.   See Atlanta Airport Restrooms for further proof. What sort o

We were on our way back to Mr. Yoy's office after a Yoy family lunch.  Mr. Yoy's phone rang right when we were settling into the car.  It was the managing partner from his office. Mr. Yoy told everyone to be quiet. About a minute into their conversation, I honked at a lady who ran the four way stop I had pulled up to.  (Side note: I honk way more now than I ever had.  I feel like I have to let everyone know what bad drivers they are now that I have kids in the car.) Big E let out an enthusiastic "OH MY GOD!" I guess I say this during my fits of road rage.  Mr. Yoy swung around, gave him a dirty look, and shushed him.  Mr. Yoy was trying his best to keep the car quiet and have a conversation with the managing partner. OH MY GOD!  OH MY GOD!  OH MY GOD! Mr. Yoy is clearly stressing out.  He's one OMG from losing his job. Then we swung by the elementary school. SCHOOL BUS!  SCHOOL BUS! SCHOOL BUS! I'm trying to keep Big E quiet.  Clearly, he's not c

Well, it's over. That's a positive. I haven't seen the proofs yet, but based on the behavior of both Yoys, there will be nothing salvageable. Frustration doesn't even begin to describe what I was feeling during the photo shoot. I'm about 99% sure I was clenching my teeth during our family picture. Big E would not smile, sit still, etc.  Not stickers.  Not "raisin snacks."  Not Thomas the Train himself could get this kid to cooperate. Little E was not much better.  Although he is too young to really follow directions, I couldn't even get him to crack a smile.  Not once.  ( Am I raising a serial killer?  No, seriously, am I?) Mr. Yoy and I were jumping around like monkeys.  We made crazy alien noises.  Nothing.  No reaction whatsoever. So, we called it a day. Once we mentioned we were leaving, Big E started crying that he wanted to stay and he went and planted himself on the very spot the photographer had asked him to sit like 100x.  H

Yeah, I said switches, not the other word that rhymes with it. It finally happened.  This one event is going to change many things around the Yoy house, but most of all, our power bill.  I thought it was high with the soaring temperatures and the constantly running air conditioners.  Now this... Big E figured out he is tall enough to reach the light switches and turn them on.  Honestly, I thought he'd never get there, he is such a little guy. The problem is, he is not tall enough to flick them back down and turn them off. As I wander from room to room in our house, every single light and fan is going. I have flashbacks to when I was younger and my parents would leave me to babysit my younger brother.  I was still a little nervous about being left alone, so I'd turn every single light on in our house.  My parents would come home and my dad would say - WE DON'T OWN THE ELECTRIC COMPANY!  TURN OFF SOME OF THESE LIGHTS! I feel these wise words bubbling up in my thr

Saturday morning we are making the trek up to Acworth to have updated Yoy family pictures taken. Major planning and strategy go into this event, in addition to the major buildup of anxiety Big E causes me whenever I need him to sit for pictures.  See Most Likely to be Kidnapped . First of all, we have to color coordinate.  Especially because we are having a few pictures taken of my Yoys with Cousin Yoy.  I'm not an everyone-must-wear-a-matching-polo-shirt and khakis kind of girl, but I want us to blend well.  There will be no clashing in the Yoy family picture. My second point of contention is Little E's face.  I find myself talking to his skin. Please don't have an acne flare-up between now and Saturday.  Seriously, don't do it. I'm also worried he may scratch his face during his sleep.  See Clip it! Clip it good! . Then there is Big E's hair.  It is borderline hair-cut time.  I'm just worried he'll get a Dumb and Dumber cut and then the

Today Big E told a lady in the mall that he threw up in his crib. She gave him an odd look and asked him to repeat himself. No need for repeating, I knew exactly what he said. Why he is still talking about this, I'm not sure.  It was three months ago.  It hasn't happened since, I'm pretty sure Mr. Yoy and I cleaned up the entire mess. Move on, Big E.  Next topic, please.

The past two weekends I have taken the kids to the Southern Museum of Civil War and Locomotive History.  Big E has a mild obsession with trains.  Each morning when he awakes, he asks if we are going to the museum that day. Inside the museum there is an awesome, almost always empty, playroom for the kids.  Big E settles into a seat at the train table and Little E army crawls his way around the room.  He has a wide smile on his face the whole time. Cumulatively, we have spent hours in this room.  I could leave them there in the morning and come back hours later and they'd still be playing quietly.  It is quite amazing. There is one negative aspect of this room.  For the past two weekends, Little E has made not one, but two poonamis in the time we are hanging out.  This is a Mrs. Yoy no-no.  I always tell them not to go in public.   (See the Yoy Plane Etiquette ) Changing poo diapers in public is the worst.  Little E is impossible.  I quickly pull out my changing pad and do a

Sorry I have been lax on my blogs.  I, like every other 16 year old, got sucked into the Hunger Games Trilogy.  I'm almost done with book two and have pulled myself away to update my readers on the goings-on of the Yoys. Today we are taking Little E to the doctor for his one year check up.  This will include putting him on the scale. I find much satisfaction in finding out how much he weighs. That way, when I'm in public and someone says for the ten millionth time, "HOW MUCH DOES THAT BABY WEIGH??", I will be able to say with much certainty, Little E weighs 27 lbs (which is my guess). I'll check back in later with his actual weight. Anyone else want to enter the Yoy weight pool?  Any guesses?