The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

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.

Big E is turning three this week.  He is losing his baby-ness and turning into a little boy.  It is bittersweet for me. There are some positives of him being older.  He UNDERSTANDS everything I say to him so communication has moved far beyond crying, grunting, and pointing. On the flip side, while he understands what I am asking him to do/not do, etc, I'd say he listens to about 10% of what I'm saying. Frustration doesn't even begin to describe my daily interactions (or maybe more appropriately named, battles) with Big E.  He saves his absolute worst behavior for me, like it is a special gift or something (where can I return it?). I look at his sweet face and remember what a good baby he was.  Seriously, he was insanely good.  Don't worry, I'm getting it back in spades with the one-two combo of his current behavior and Little E constantly being on his period. I feel like I'm always yelling at him or telling him no or being a mean mommy.  I hate it.  I

Have you heard of the BeDazzler?  You may remember it from the onslaught of infomercials.  This little miracle machine attached rhinestones to all sorts of fun stuff like shirts, socks, and jeans. This machine has probably seen its time.  But, back in the 1980s, these things were in high demand. This past week, Big E made an art project which included the adhesion of rhinestones to a plastic cup.  His new cup was proudly on display in his room. This morning, we were rushing to get ready to leave for a book fair.  The Yoys were in Big E's room reading books and playing. I looked at Little E and he had that look I know so well. He was storing something in his mouth. With the help of Grandma Yoy, we pried his jaws open and there on his tongue were two little rhinestones, sparkling away, begging to be eaten. Good-ness! I reached in there and fished them both out.  Little E put up a good fight.  At one point, I thought I had lost part of my finger. I always comment on h

If you are looking for a feel good story, here it is readers! This is dedicated to everyone who read about our dental trip this morning and was fooled into thinking Big E was an angel.  Or maybe I should dedicate it to anyone ever frustrated by the lack of good customer service.  In any case, enjoy! Tonight I took my mom and the Yoys up to the mall to walk around and grab an early dinner.  Post dinner we passed by my ex-most favorite clothing store in the world. We are exes because their store manager was a r oyal b* tch to me about 8 months ago after I had been a loyal customer of theirs going on 15 years. For those of you that know me, you are aware of my giant stature.  My ex-favorite store was the first to offer tall sizes in their pants and jeans.  I no longer had to custom order my 36 inch inseam khakis from the overpriced J-Crew catalog. But my ex's coupons kept on coming in the mail and as I walked by the store windows day after day, I longed to try on pants that

Today was Big E's first trip to the dentist.  I was sweating it.  There were so many variables and so many things that could set him off. 1) The moving chair 2) The blinding light 3) The noisy toothbrush 4) The strange people looking inside his mouth So, it is with great pride that this blog is not about how big of a disaster Big E was at the dentist, but how he was the greatest little guy ever. It was eerie.  Tooth Doctor Yoy kept commenting on how great he was doing for not yet being three.  I felt like I was dreaming. I kept waiting for him to bite the dentist or give his famous line: NO I'M NOT! I almost stuck my hand down the backside of his shirt to check for an on/off button.  I was convinced someone had taken the human Big E and replaced him with a robot named WORLD'S BEST DENTAL PATIENT. They asked us to book our next appointment, so I guess we are invited back.   Great Success! (Think Borat)

I just tucked Big E in for the night. On my way out of his room he wished me sweet dreams. What a lovable little nugget! It ALMOST persuaded me to let him stay up past his bedtime. ALMOST.

This was definitely a top five mom phrase heard throughout my childhood. Other greatest hits included: 1) I'M GONNA FIX YOUR WAGON! (still unsure of the meaning but implicated Grade A trouble) 2) IF YOU HAVE TO KNOW NOW, THE ANSWER IS NO! (good one!) 3) PIGS GET FAT, HOGS GET SLAUGHTERED (wait-we are Jewish) 4) SO BUTTONS (her response to whenever I said SO) You would think I was being raised by sailors (one of them actually was) based on the frequency of my mouth washing.  I, apparently, had A LOT to cuss about as a young child.  I blame HBO.   I think this threat will be nothing but idle for Big E.   During our outside escapades this afternoon, Big E was attempting to blow bubbles.  I watched him ingest half a bottle of bubbles in the process.  The directions for bubble blowing do not include drinking the liquid, at least I don't think they do. I checked the bottle and the bubbles are non-toxic.  So that was a positive. Big E clearly did not mind the taste as he began

Today the Yoys went on an adventure to another country, Alpharetta, GA. Mr. Yoy was participating in a charity softball tournament in the 'burbs.  We don't venture there often so we packed no fewer than three suitcases, food, milk, an outlet adapter (hey, you never know when you might need to blow dry your hair), and our Garmin. After Mr. Yoy's team gave up a close one in round one, I decided it was time to take the little Yoys home.  Mr. Yoy would catch a ride home with one of his teammates. Mr. Yoy walked me out to help me load up the bus.  And that's when he came upon it. A pee-wee football game.  Those little boys in their football helmets, it was cuteness overload. I have always maintained that my boys are playing baseball, not football.  I don't want to deal with the injuries that come along with contact sports.  This was swaying even my iron-clad decision of no Yoy football. The outfits and the cheering fans were intoxicating. Along with the fall

Today I took Little E for his first official haircut.  Sure, Mr. Yoy and I have done some trimming here and there, but his hair was getting out of control.  Mrs. Yoy knows when she is defeated. We went to Pigtails and Crewcuts which caters to the younger crowd.  Little E sat in a firetruck chair for his haircut. As soon as the lady spritzed his hair, Little E erupted.  He spun his head like the exorcist.  The lady was remarkably calm.  I tried to hold his head still so that she didn't pull a Van Gogh and take his ear off. All of the other customers, moms and children alike, stared at my screaming baby. I gave him animal crackers.  Maybe this would soothe him.  He jammed them all in his mouth simultaneously and then continued on his crying (and a little bit choking) rampage. The lady kept asking me how much should she take off. SHAVE HIS HEAD SO WE NEVER HAVE TO COME BACK HERE! That is what I wanted to say. Trim up his bangs, the hairs that are hanging over his ears,

Tonight we picked Mr. Yoy up from work for a family dinner.  I wasn't aware of the incoming monsoon, so we were limited to places with covered parking.  Hello, Cumberland Mall.  More specifically, hello Jason's Deli (yum!). After dinner we walked back through Macy's to the parking deck.  Mr. Yoy was browsing the men's section and was debating on buying some new Lacoste shirts. This man cannot get enough Lacoste shirts. I should take a picture of the Yoy closet.  It is amazing. Our initial strategy had been to push Little E in the umbrella stroller and let Big E walk.  Once we hit the clothes racks in Macy's I was regretting this decision. I could hear Big E giggling and running, but I could not see that little guy.  My mother alarm was on red alert.  Most likely, no one wants this kid, but what if there is some child predator shopping for cologne tonight? Mr. Yoy was paying for his shirts and Big E came shooting out of a rack of clothes.  In the middle of hi

I could clean this thing out once a day.  I don't. I usually clean it out every few weeks.  When it becomes overrun with receipts, dirty wipes, and wild cheerios, I know it is time. Tonight I am looking for a receipt so I can make some returns tomorrow. I started digging around.  Then I decided to put on my hazmat suit and really get in there. Why can't this stupid bag stay clean and organized? There is some nasty sh*t happening in the far off corners of this bag and I just cleaned it out a few weeks ago.  It is so frustrating to me. Half the time I've got it slung to my back and I'm frantically ripping open packets of craisins and dried fruit while simultaneously wiping Big E's dirty hands and talking on my cell phone. Hmm...maybe THAT'S why! The one thing I rarely find in there: 1) my wallet 2) my keys 3) diapers of the appropriate size 4) wipes 5) bags for dirty diapers 6) bibs Noticing a common theme?  These are the items that should b

***WARNING:  Blog may contain judgy-judgy mother statements*** Today was Little E's 15 month check-up. Let me start by saying I love our pediatrician.  We share a first name and she went to Harvard and John Hopkins. How can you go wrong? The office is in Buckhead with seven total doctors.  I'm not going to lie.  On most visits, that place is a total madhouse.  A few years back they remodeled the office and expanded.  It was after Big E was born, so it wasn't that long ago. They broke the waiting rooms up into two rooms, by doctor, NOT by sick vs well visits.  My obgyn sends his kids there as well.  When I mentioned my gripe to him, he explained that they have done studies that have shown it doesn't make a difference if the kids are kept separate or mingled while waiting. Which leads me to today. We had an early appointment and for once it was pretty quiet.  There was one little boy in the Dr. K waiting area with me. I wasn't around in the 14th century,

And he's still wearing diapers, sucking his thumb, and sleeping in a crib. I know that eventually, Big E will outgrow the above afflictions.  He will not be an adult still wearing Costco diapers, at least I hope not.  That would make him one very small adult. But still, these milestones are always present in my mind. Sometimes they mock me. I frequently commit the deadly sin of comparing Big E to other kids his age.  Some are potty trained.  Some are in beds.  Some have pacifiers. The potty training thing we tried back over Labor Day weekend.  See  To train or not to train.   It was an epic fail. He started crying the second I showed him his big boy underpants.  Not even unlimited candy could convince him to give it a try. Even now, if I mention sitting on the toilet he always replies: I NOT A BIG BOY! Sigh. The crib thing is mostly my doing.  I just need to order him the safety rail and we can convert the crib to a toddler bed.  It's just the thought of Big E r