The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Big E is snotty. IF IT ISN'T DESIGNER, I'M NOT WEARING IT! It would be way funnier if he was that kind of snotty. Unfortunately for almost everything he comes into contact with, it is the kind that comes out of his nose. Before I dive into my story, I'd like to add my professional mommy opinion about the current state of health in the ATL.  If you aren't suffering with some sort of runny nose, congestion, in my case, loss of voice , then I believe you are a robot.  The winter plague has arrived and it is in full force. This afternoon we were hanging out in the playroom.  Big E had a good one dripping out of his nose.  I offered him up a boogie wipe.  Never heard of it?  It is a wet kleenex made for kids that smells like grapes.  They are awesome. Big E refused.  Then he did this sketchy move where he tried to rub his nose on my sleeve.  Not HIS sleeve.  Mine. Where my arm is housed. I quickly pulled my arm away.  I offered him another boogie wipe.  Again h

BIG E, YOU BETTER STOP ( insert undesirable behavior here) ! I'M GOING TO COUNT TO THREE AND THEN YOU ARE ON A ONE-WAY TRIP TO TIMEOUT! I yell this in my big, booming, scary mommy voice multiple times a day.  I have made good on my promise enough times that Big E usually stops in his tracks and pulls it together. When did I turn into my mom, by the way? This morning, when I awoke to my Big E alarm clock, I discovered that my raspy voice last night had developed into full blown hoarseness. I was barely audible. I had lost my biggest weapon in the discipline war on my kids.   My big, booming, scary mommy voice.  I was rendered useless. All morning, I've tried to persuade Big E to stop assaulting Little E. Either Big E can't hear me or his isn't scared of my new, wimpy, whispering voice. It's going to be a long day here at the Yoys. Too bad Big E can't read.  I could grab a note pad and write him threatening notes all day.

I bet you thought I was going to say sh*t. I'm not.  I love that kid and I would never utter those words about him.  Unless he deserved it. YOU'RE A PIECE OF _______! That's his new catch phrase. Care to guess how the sentence ends? The first time he said it to me I had one hand on the soap in anticipation of our first mouth wash out.  But he went a totally different way with it. It's not very scandalous and really a tad weird. The answer is PLASTIC. YOU'RE A PIECE OF PLASTIC. I have no worldly idea where he picked that up.  I'm just grateful he didn't call me the word that rhymes with pit. There were  so many better answers than plastic.  Like pie, for example.

A few months back I purchased my first iPhone.  To say I was excited was an understatement. I immediately started downloading apps.  Mr. Yoy figured out that if I downloaded the Spotify app (a music streaming program) we could use it to play music through the blue tooth audio in the big red bus. This was going to be amazing for our trip down to Florida.  And it was. Right around the time we returned from Florida, my brother and sister in law came to visit and took Big E to see Chipwrecked.  Big E loved it. A few Saturdays back we were running some errands and Mr. Yoy pulled up the soundtrack to Chipwrecked through Spotify. And that's when I ceased enjoying my minivan. Every car ride now begins with Big E's demands of Alvin & the Two Chipmunks.  I don't want you to think that I let him control me, but it's hard to concentrate on driving with him in the back screaming. I WANT ALVIN! I WANT THE MUFFINS! (translates to the Muppets) We don't have a

At least I thought it was. I was on schedule to have everyone to bed by 7. I was going to cook dinner and blog.  Or maybe not blog, as nothing super interesting happened today.  Shocking, I know. I had both boys in Big E's room. Clothes were off. Diaper was off. Little E was playing with the police station currently housed in Big E's room.  He looked up at me and smiled. Then he did something so amazing it brought me to tears. He stood up.  For the first time.  On his own.  But that wasn't all. In all his naked, baby glory he took three or four steps towards me with the biggest, proudest grin on his face. I was so shocked.  Did that just happen? I scooped him up and hugged him.  He clapped. Mr. Yoy was going to be sad that he missed this. I pulled out my phone to get a good video of him walking.  And I did.  It was priceless. I sent it out to a few friends and family as I thought a nudie baby video on FB would be crossing the line.  I do want Lit

Andy Samberg plays a crazy, creepy roommate on SNL (opposite my favorite teen pop idol, Justin Bieber).  If you've never seen it, check it out on Hulu.  It is HIL-ARIOUS. I'm fairly positive I'm living with the real life roommate, Big E. Now that his crib has been converted to a bed, I can expect to see Big E in any location at any time in the house. It has put me on edge.   After I put the Yoys to bed, I usually take a shower.  I'll be showering away and turn around to see Big E standing in the doorway. HI MOMMY! Excuse me while I restart my heart. Tonight I was on the elliptical working off my Willy's dinner.  Big E had been in bed about 45 minutes.  I thought I was safe. MOMMY, I HAVE TO PEE! After I removed myself from the ceiling drywall, I look over to see Big E standing in the doorway with his tighty whities and jammies dropped around his ankles. I stifled a laugh. I don't know how much more of this my heart can

This afternoon, I was in the midst of a marathon laundry session. I have the ability to lock all the doors upstairs to keep the Yoys where I can see them.  They only had free roam of the bonus room and their bedrooms. I hadn't heard any whining from Little E in a few minutes, which is unusual.  I sat forward on our couch and peered down the hall. My heart stopped. All I could see was Little E's big head.  Not his body, just his head.  His body was hidden by the stair railing. It was like someone left a giant cantaloupe at the top of the stairs. I stifled a scream. Good lord, what is wrong with him?  Why is he trying to scare the sh*t out of me? I made a face at him to try and get a reaction.  Nothing. Radio silence. Is he dead? LITTLE E!  LITTLE E! All I received in response was his intense stare.  The one he gives to strangers in the grocery store or servers at restaurants. Um, sorry, he's not a smiley baby.  He's on his period.  Like always.

Today marks a huge milestone for the Mrs. Yoy Blog. It is the one year anniversary of when I started writing. To be honest, I didn't think I make it. When I first began, I was writing solely for myself.  I was hanging by a thread and found this to be a great stress reliever.  It was a vehicle for me to release the crazy things that were happening in my life. I wasn't too concerned that anyone was reading it, except of course, Mr. Yoy.  As I blame him for whatever horrible things our kids do.  I wanted him to fully understand what I went through on a daily basis raising the Yoys. And a funny thing happened.  Other people started reading it, too.  And actually liking it.  And providing comments and feedback.  I found myself connecting to people I hadn't really talked to in years.  In some cases strangers, too. I lost that feeling of isolation that I sometimes crept in while spending the majority of my time with two little kids.  It was wonderful. So I thought I&

I love math.  I love numbers.  I have ever since I was a child. It is tres nerdy, I know.  But it explains my career of choice, accounting. Really, it was either accounting or an actuary, and I went with accounting because you had to take less certifying exams. I love math, but I also love laziness. I love math so much I actually use algebra pretty regularly to solve problems. I love math so much I can't wait for my kids to bring their math homework to me so I can complete it, errr, I mean help them out. Which brings me to the point of today's blog. I picked up some Thomas the Train counting and numbers flashcards in the $1 bin at Target.  Big E loves anything Thomas, so I figured he'd enjoy all of the pictures. Over the past two days those cards haven't left his sight. He even brought them to gymnastics with him today. NO, TEACHER, I CAN'T DO A SOMERSAULT, BUT 2+2=4! This evening he wanted to sleep with them.  The idea of 50 flashcards crumpled

Two weeks from tomorrow I take Little E in for his 18 month check-up. It seems harmless enough, unless your child is Little E. My pediatrician has already fired the warning shot.  Little E must be walking when he comes back for his 18 month check-up.  If not, it is off to physical therapy we go. SURE, NO PROBLEM.  IT'LL HAPPEN.  BIG E DIDN'T WALK UNTIL WELL INTO HIS 17TH MONTH. So here we are.  Seventeen months and some change. Little E cruises.  Sometimes he lets go of whatever he is holding onto and stands unassisted for a few fleeting moments before he registers a look of panic and reaches out for the closest piece of furniture or wall. I spend hours pacing the carpeted halls upstairs with him. He self propels his little chubbers and he is so proud of himself.  He's just not THERE yet. Look, I have nothing against physical therapy.  I think it can be very helpful.  I do have something against monster medical bills and I'm SURE PT is not covered under ou

Only a mere six hours earlier, I blogged about how terrible my kids behaved in their music class. I had given up hope on the Yoys.  I was in it for eternity with two rotten eggs.  Too bad for me.  I was wallowing in my own pity. But that is the thing about your kids.  They will drive you to the edge of insanity.  You will wonder what you were thinking trying to be a parent.  You clearly do not have the skill set for this occupation. Then, they do something wonderful. Tonight it was bath time.  Usually this consists of a half hour of me yelling at Big E to stop trying to drown his brother, while Little E screams bloody murder.  I have actually looked at the bathroom window and thought to myself: WILL I FIT THROUGH THIS IF I TRY TO JUMP? The Yoys were splashing each other and cackling.  They were maniac laughing.  It was contagious.  I began laughing, too.  It was a definite party in this tub. Once their little T-Rex arms wore out, Little E started scooting towards Big E a

This morning was Little E's weekly music class.  Big E tagged along as he did not have school today.  I was praying that the Yoys would behave.  PRAYING. We arrived at class and Big E seemed pleased to be there.  I had already threatened him during our drive over. Things were going well.  Even Little E, who is sometimes cranky for class, was engaged. Ok.  We are going to do this and I'm going to survive. Obviously, this would not be an interesting blog if that is how the class continued going. Fortunately for you, Big E was there, which means the class unraveled into the ultimate catastrophe. As we sang and danced and hopped around, Big E started getting that crazy twinkle in his eyes.  He was wound up. Here we go... First he took out a little boy around Little E's age.  I saw him running at him with his elbow out and knock him down.  Cheese and crackers!  Big E! I apologized to his mom and made Big E apologize to the poor sweet boy who was probably mistaken

I was attempting to get Big E to clean up his toy area upstairs.  In a period of 20 minutes he had dumped the majority of it on the floor. Big E, clean up all of your toys. READ TO ME! (nerd) Not until you put everything back. With ice cold blood running through his veins, he looked me right in the eyes, pulled his submarine out of the bin, and walked it over to the ottoman. He didn't blink once as he fired off two missiles from his submarine.  He just stared at me. Oh, how I wish those were real missiles and I could launch them at you.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ I am tired today. Big E came into our room around 3:30 to tell me his sound machine turned off.  Stupid electrical short! Yes, he still has a sound machine and I'm reluctant to stop using it.   We can fire off bombs, host a rave, or even a barking poodle and my kids don't hear a thing. I escort him back to his room, but not before a quick pit stop to the potty.  I tuck him back in and that is the end of him.  For now. For me, it is a different story.  I am not that person that can fall in and out of sleep.  It takes me a good half an hour to go back to sleep if I am awoken in the middle of the night. I finally find the sleep I desperately need. But I hear the footsteps again.  I play dead.  Maybe if I don't move, he'll go back to his room and leave me to my dreams.  I feel his hot breath on my face. MOMMY!  I'M SCARED IN MY ROOM! He climbs into bed with us.  He lays between his exhausted parents.  I l

MOMMY, I HAVE TO PEE! I roll over and look at the clock. 6:30. Not my most favorite time to wake-up, but given Big E was sleeping by 7 last night, I can't fault him for having to go to the bathroom. I drag myself out of bed and walk him to the bathroom. He does his business and then I tell him that it is still the middle of the night (slight exaggeration) and that Mommy is going to back to sleep.  He is welcome to go back to sleep or to play quietly in his room. Shockingly, he opts to stay up and play.  I turn on his bedroom light and close his door. I make my way back to my nice, warm bed.  I'm hoping to get another hour of quietness.  I doze in and out of sleep. I'm half listening for Big E. MOMMY, MY CRAYON IS BROKEN! MOMMY, THERE IS A DOG UNDER MY BED! MOMMY, I NEED NEW PAPER! MOMMY, I'M HUNGRY. MOMMY, THE STOCK MARKET FUTURES ARE DOWN (I made this up, I just figured if he was going to be reporting news, it may as well be useful). Like cloc

This phrase makes me cringe. Today's entry isn't about something specific the Yoys did, except maybe ruin my body. I was on People.com today getting my daily dose of brain rot, and I came across a picture of actress Keri Russell. She was ten days post baby delivery and out on the street looking carefree and happy. Good for her.  Maybe she just ingested 27 gallons of caffeine and was able to put herself together, shower, and take a walk. But the little news blurb wasn't about her being out and about.  It was about her "slender post-baby bod." I hate this sh*t.  I know I shouldn't read it, but it just infuriates me that it is out there.  That people actually are writing about how this woman looks flipping fantastic less than two weeks after she gave birth. I wish I looked this good before I ever had kids and was in the best shape of my life.  But, I didn't. But she's an actress.  And she probably has a chef.  And a trainer.  And a nanny.

Today I ran to Costco without the Yoys. Oh, the freedom to just aimlessly roam the aisles without the Yoys barking orders (or in Little E's case, screaming). I picked up some shampoo as we were running dangerously low. When I got home, Big E came out to the garage to help me unload my car.  He loves to help out, although most of the items are too heavy for him.  I appreciate the effort, nonetheless. Not to be excluded from any activity, Little E parked himself at the entrance to the house and screamed bloody murder the entire time Big E and I unloaded the big red bus.  It was unnerving. I handed Big E the shampoo and told him to place it on the kitchen counter. I ran back out to the garage and brought in the remaining groceries, 47 pounds of berries. Fast forward to Mrs. Yoy shower time.  Both Yoys are sleeping (I hope) and I'm ready to have a peaceful few minutes to myself. I'm going to pop open my new bottle of shampoo and take a great shower. Speaking o

This afternoon I took Big E to his pediatrician for his three year check-up. This is a place I loathe entering during the winter months. It is an incubator for some of the nastiest stuff I've ever seen/heard.  If it were socially acceptable to put my children in hazmat suits for the occasion, I would. I'm not saying my kids aren't ever nasty ill, because they are.  It is just exponentially worse when it is some stranger's nasty ill kid coughing in your face . We had the first appointment after lunch, so the waiting room was deserted.  I felt pretty good about that, although I could almost see the virus and cold germs crawling over everything I touched. MUST. WASH. HANDS. Big E was parked in front of the fish tank.  He was counting the fish and rattling off the colors and acting like an overall smarty pants.  Now would be a GREAT time for the waiting room to be full of people so they could all see how intelligent my kid was. In walks a sweet little girl wit

I promise, I do not intentionally put myself into situations that I think will produce juicy blog material. Tonight, we thought it would be a keen idea to head to Jim-n-Nick's for an early dinner.  So far so good.  It's the details that always bury me. We had six adults and four kids (all in highchairs). Except they were one highchair short, so Big E was relegated to a booster seat.  (Key ominous music). What's that nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach? Oh, it's just the unshakable feeling that dinner was going to be a world-class disaster. And. It. Was. The key to an enjoyable time with Big E is containment. Whether it be in a shopping cart, highchair, or stroller, as long as he is locked and loaded, I have the upper hand. This is my only weapon.  Without containment, I'm dead. I placed Big E in his booster seat.  He eyes the delicious muffins the server placed in front of him.  I tell him to go ahead.  He begins his muffin bender.  He is quiet an

Always on the lookout for a sale, I located a rack of sleepers at Babiesrus for $6.99.  It's like they were practically GIVING them away. For those of you that have never been in the market for baby pajamas, you will be disgusted to hear that such stores as Gymboree has the balls to sell them for $20 and up.  Out of principle, I refuse to purchase pajamas there.  I think it is highway robbery. So there I am, face to face with a giant rack of sale jammies.  My heart rate began accelerating.  I've hit the mother lode.  Big E is pretty set on jammies.  Little E is a different story.  The fleece sleepers that were handed down from Big E haven't been working for Little E.  They make his skin break out, shocking, I know. I'm always on the hunt for a fuller fitting jammie.  Most of them are cut "skinny", which is discriminating to the larger boned toddlers, like Little E. Oooooh, look at these cute dinosaur themed pajamas! They even say ENORMO

When I was home a few weeks ago, I grabbed some of my old children's books to bring back to Atlanta. They brought back great bedtime memories for me with my folks and grandparents. One of the books, Alexander , is about a misbehaving horse. I opened the book up and saw my name written neatly in the corner (by my mom, of course).  Not to be outdone, I had taken crayons and pencil and scribbled all inside the front and back covers.  Now I know where Big E gets THAT from. As Big E snuggled up next to me, I began to read. I was shocked to see that in the story, the little boy's father smokes a smelly pipe for the duration of the story.  In every illustration, he's got a tight grip on that thing. As was the case in Make Way for Ducklings , I immediately checked the publishing date. 1964. Ah, that explains it. I have no problem reading the book to Big E.  My parents read it to me and I certainly don't walk around smoking a pipe all day. Although, I'd b

You are aware of my trifecta of Big E to-dos that have been hanging over my head for months: 1) Transitioning him from the crib 2) Toilet training 3) Thumb sucking Toilet training is going really well. I feel like, if he can now go sit on his potty when he feels the urge, he needs to be able to get out of his crib to do so. So I bought a safety rail that hooks onto his crib.  It is a baby step between the crib and a real bed. When Big E saw the box, he was much more interested in assembling this, than his train table.  Which, by the way, we were officially going to open this afternoon after a month of torture . As I pulled out the screws attaching the front of his crib many thoughts went through my mind. AM I FLIPPING CRAZY? Screw #1 gone THIS KID IS GOING TO BE CLIMBING IN AND OUT OF BED UNTIL THE SUN COMES UP. Screw #2 gone BEDTIME WILL GO FROM 20 MINUTES TO 2 HOURS AND I'LL NEED SUPERNANNY TO COME AND FIX THE MESS I'VE MADE. Screw #3 gone AM I TR

Big E started back at school this morning. I was crazy nervous for him.  His teacher was in the loop on his progress and I felt very confident in her ability to lead him through the day. I sent two extra pairs of underwear and pants with him. As he left for school in his skinny jeans, I prayed he'd still be wearing them the next time I saw him. I tried to keep my mind off what was going on at school. Was he walking around pants-less, peeing wherever he deemed fit? MOST LIKELY, NOT. Was he crying because he was afraid of the real, although miniature, toilet? THAT MIGHT HAPPEN. Are his classmates teasing him about it? DOUBT IT. But, still, the anticipation was killing me. I was so anxious as I navigated the hills and curves of Peachtree Battle.  I pulled into school, hopped out of my car and went to retrieve Big E. I saw him running towards me. MOMMY! It was like a scene from a movie, slow-mo and all.  And, he was wearing his skinny jeans.  I was ecstati

Day three of self-imposed potty training quarantine. I was delighted that the weather was awful.  I was not the least bit tempted to run errands.  The thought of bundling up the Yoys and taking them in and out of the car was completely unappealing, especially after last week's grocery fiasco . Instead, we cranked the heat and prepared for day three of non-stop Toy Story 3 and a butt load of candy. Big E continued to kick some toilet training a**.  He had no accidents and was regularly using his potty. Our neighbors even dropped by to say hello and I was able to interrogate her about all things concerning the process. My shining, proud mommy moment of the day came after dinner. I was skyping with my parents and I had the computer over by Little E while he was semi-eating some pretzel M&Ms. Big E was over by his art easel drawing. I MADE A PEE, MOMMY! What? I panicked.  He was doing so well today.  Ugh, come on Big E!  I ran over to him prepared to assess the

Big E received a copy of Toy Story 3 for Chanukah this year.  He didn't actually gain possession of it until Friday night when we had dinner with Aunt and Uncle Yoy. Since that time, he has watched the movie approximately 12 times.  I find this amazing that he can watch the same thing over and over and over again. I wonder if this is how my parents felt towards my affinity for the Grease and Grease 2 (yes, I said Grease 2) movies as a child.  I, too, would watch them on repeat. Today's Toy Story 3 final count was 4 showings.  Normally, I'd be abhorred at myself for allowing Big E to watch this much television. But he loves to sit on his potty and watch the movie.  Mr. Yoy dubbed the movie "Toy"let Story. I am happy to report that Big E made on the potty all day.  I was so proud of him, I could hardly contain myself. I gave him a ton of candy and other crap, that again, I normally don't have in the house.  All rules fly out the window when it comes

This is the amount that Mr. Yoy and I feel comfortable paying a specialist to come and toilet train our son. Today was brutal.  We surrender.  Can't you see us waving our white flag? Anyway, both boys are finally asleep.  I am decompressing in the beautiful sound of silence. Some highlights of the day include not leaving the house. I was allotted a whole 12 minutes of alone time, including bathroom breaks. My shower time was interrupted by a flustered Mr. Yoy. He was waving what I like to call his "panic hands" as he stormed into the shower and briskly told me to hurry up. For the record, I hadn't washed my hair in two days. Can't a girl get some good hair conditioning time? Apparently, the answer is NO. Little E had a bomb in his diaper and Big E had tinkled all over Mr. Yoy's office.  I guess Mr. Yoy tried to carry him to the toilet so there was a trail of urine from his office to the potty. Oy.  Disaster.  Also, mildly funny. Especially af

Big E is not back at school until Wednesday, January 4th. As much as I'm dreading the process, I decided to try potty training again. We are in lock down mode.  Big E is wearing his undies. Let me correct myself.  Big E is wearing his 4th pair of undies since I took him out of his crib around 8 this morning. In case you don't have a clock nearby, it is 11:45.  And in case you don't have a calculator nearby, that is an average of about a pair of undies an hour. I have cleaned up three giant floods so far. Big E has made a few drips in his little potty, but for the most part he still hasn't grasped the concept of using the toilet. I WANT MY DIAPER!  I WANT MY DIAPER!  I WANT MY DIAPER! Currently, he is sitting on his potty in front of the TV, like every man's dream. I am pumping him full of juice tinted water. What I need to be doing is pumping myself full of chardonnay.  That'll be later, I'm sure of it. I just checked his potty and it was