The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Mr. Yoy and I have finally come to terms with the fact that we will probably be living in our house until the end of time.  The Atlanta housing market's abysmal performance is second only to Detroit.  Not great company to keep, I know. We are looking to spruce up the Yoy house after six years here.  I think Mr. Yoy is just sick of hearing me complain about things, but whatever gets the job done. Tonight I was in the shower.  The hot water was beating down on my shoulders.  I was unwinding from another day of Yoyser madness.  This was my daily moment of relaxation. My eyes scanned the bathroom.  I was dreaming of all the things I would rip out of my cheesy, builder grade bathroom.  My mind wandered. MOM! I jumped and let out a small scream. I turned around and there was Big E.  With his pants around his ankles.  Big E has mastered most things about potty training, he can name, by species, most trees in our front yard, but for whatever reason, he can't pull up his pan

Today I met a friend and the Yoys' former babysitter, for the sake of the story we will call her Ironwoman, for lunch at Zoe's.  The parking lot a little before 1pm was crazy busy.  I would have had better luck trying to find a parking spot on the street in NYC.  I ended up parking about two miles away. Fortunately for us, we picked up Ironwoman while snaking up and down the rows, so she assisted in getting the Yoys into the restaurant. We had a 40 minute time frame to eat, as Ironwoman had to get back to work for a meeting. Lunch was delicious and both boys were very good, even if they did smear their bodies with egg salad. As we left the restaurant, Ironwoman headed to her very close parking spot.  Internally, I was cursing her good luck. We parted ways. Big E was running down the sidewalk, which is fine as he knows not to run into the street.  Little E was having a moment of independence and was drunkenly walking alongside me.  He would take no help from me.  We we

I've been told by some of my childless readers that my blog has caused them to push back the timeline of having a baby. My response to this comment has and always will be: MY JOB HERE IS DONE. You see, before I became pregnant, all of my mommy friends would go on and on about how fabulous and amazing and fun and great being a mother is.  Yeah, you know who you are. I'm not going to lie, being a mother has its amazing moments.  Moments that make your heart leap out of your chest or make you cry with joy .  I can look at a picture of my sons seconds after I put them to bed and be brought to tears.  I love, love, love those little boogers. For the most part, I try to omit these moments from my blog.  No one wants to read about that.  They want the train-wreck stuff, which I happily provide. What all you childless people don't realize is that all the "motherhood is awesome" talk is a BIG, FAT, SCAM. Your friends are sabotaging you.  They realize their awes

Since the start of the whole Big E potty training process, I have tucked a pair of pull ups into his underwear at night. At first I thought I was fooling him.  But he's three now and knows everything, so he quickly caught on to my ruse. Big E gets up every night to use the bathroom.  This is evidenced by two things: 1) His little potty is always FULL of urine when I check on it in the morning and 2) We (mostly Mr. Yoy) hears Big E shuffling into our room in the middle of the night so one of us can pull up his pants and then tuck him back in.  He can work an iPhone, but can't pull up his pants.  AMAZING. Anyway, tonight we grabbed dinner with our cousin and then dropped him off at his hotel.  It was around 7:30 so the chance that I'd arrive home with two awake Yoys was iffy at best. Around the time we passed Mr. Yoy's office, the usual barrage of questions coming from the second row began to taper off.  By the time we reached the next stop light I knew I was

What's that?  What's that?  Mommy, what's that? This is typical Big E commentary coming from the back seat of the big red bus. It's a pretty straightforward question and I can usually answer honestly and to the best of my ability. But something has happened over the past few days. He has stopped asking me what everything is and moved on to the question dreaded by every parent out there. Why?  Why?  Why? Over and over again. I DON'T KNOW, GO ASK ANNIE LENNOX. I'm sure that answer wouldn't pacify him. Now, instead of rattling off things such as: TRAIN.  STOP LIGHT.  FOR SALE SIGN.  HOOKER. I have to say things such as: IT'S DELIVERING FOOD TO BOYS AND GIRLS ALL ACROSS THE COUNTRY. or IT'S SO ALL THE CARS DON'T CRASH INTO EACH OTHER AND BURN UP IN AN INFERNO. or THEY ARE MOVING BECAUSE THEY ARE LIVING OUTSIDE THEIR MEANS. or YOU PAY THEM FOR S*X.  (just kidding on that one) I am so close to rattling off the phra

Today, I met Aunt Yoy at the Chastain playground.  After a day of rain, the Yoys were clawing at the door to get out and play. This was my first attempt at the playground with two mobile Yoys. Chaos.  Ultimate chaos. I may have seemed calm and collected on the outside, but my mommy radar was on high alert. Big E was attempting every apparatus like he was competing for the all-around in gymnastics. Every time I looked up he was somewhere else. Slide.  Swing.  Tunnel.  Good lord, take a breather! The only place he wasn't, was close enough to me so that I could help him if he got stuck on something or lost his balance.  He was on his own. Plus, I have this irrational fear that he'll be kidnapped .  I know he'd probably be returned after about 10 minutes of his nonstop chatter and questioning, but it still makes me anxious.  I repeatedly scanned the crowd for potential creepy people. Little E was busy exerting his own independence.  His main goal was to go dow

Today Big E had pajama day at school.  Sounds phenomenal, right?  What if I told you it was a pajama AND pancake day.  Now you want in, huh?  Yeah, me too. I WISH it was socially acceptable to wear pajamas all day long. Yes, I know some people do it, but those people end up embarrassed on What Not To Wear or the talk of the carpool line. DID YOU SEE SO AND SO WEARING THAT NIGHTIE AND MATCHING SILKY ROBE TO PICK UP HER KID? Well, maybe I'm not talking about THAT type of pajamas. I'm talking about the best fuzzy, flannel, goodness you can imagine.  With slippers. Oy, a girl can dream, can't she? On second thought, these suckers may hinder my ability to drive the big red bus.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.  The ultimate made-up holiday. Oh, I buy into it, don't get me wrong.  I sent cards to all of my family and Mr. Yoy bought fillets to cook for dinner tomorrow night.  Now that we have kids, we don't get to go anywhere fun, especially on a "holiday".  Think about that the next time you have the urge to start a family. This being my Valentine's post, I feel the need to profess my love.  Not to Mr. Yoy.  Not to the little Yoys.  Not even to the dog. Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of something big.  Not only is it Valentine's Day, but it is also the anniversary of when Mr. Yoy finally caved and bought me  my beloved minivan . I have to say, I love it more now than I did a year ago.   Yes, it has some love scratches and dents, most of them self inflicted (damn you Piedmont Hospital parking deck!), but I see none of that when I look at the big red bus.  I see love.   So I thought I'd give you the

Big E has a BIG mouth.  He is always saying odd and awkward things.  Sometimes to me.  Most of the time to complete strangers. I'm not pointing fingers here, but I think he takes after someone whose name rhymes with Blister Boy. During his bout with pink eye a few weeks back, he told the guy taking our order at the Figo counter that he had pink eye.  He was not contagious at this point, but I'm sure this guy was super jazzed to have the Yoys dining at his restaurant.  I imagine him bringing out the hazmat suits after we were finished eating and sterilizing the hell out of that place. Then, Big E called me a piece of plastic .  Up until a few hours ago, I just chalked it up to him missing a few marbles. What happened a few hours ago, you ask? We were watching Toy Story 3 for the 78th time (I make a chalk mark on the inside of our armoire every time it is viewed) and Lotso called another toy a PIECE OF PLASTIC.  I was so relieved.  Maybe Big E isn't the weirdest per

There are certain places kids just don't belong. Some people would say small children belong nowhere in public.  I may, or may not, have been one of those people before I birthed the E's. Included on this list I would put: 1) Fancy restaurants 2) My gyno visit 3) A bar 4) This place My latest addition to the list would be at the veterinarian's office. This morning I had to run Poodle Yoy over to the vet to drop her off for a teeth cleaning.  Big E was at school, but Little E was along for the ride.  I thought I could just do a hit and run.  Sort of like the parents that can drop their misbehaving kids off at fire stations all across Nebraska, even if they are 16, I thought I would just run in and be done with it. On a side note, I think Nebraska is really onto something, and if I lived there I would definitely incorporate that law into my daily discipline. YOU DO THAT ONE MORE TIME AND I'M DROPPING YOU OFF FOR GOOD! Anyway, my plans were thwarted

No, it isn't the urge to snack the night away.  Or even to stay up past 10. The absolute, hands down, worst thing I have to do every night is put Little E into his diaper and jammies. It sends me inches from the edge. Oy, the screaming. Oy, the wiggling. Oy, the twisting. Oy, the batting. From his piercing screams, you'd think I was dipping him in acid.  Which I'm not.  I'm trying to put him in warm, fuzzy pajamas and a clean diaper. I say yes, please, to both. Why is this such an excruciating process for him?  And, in turn, for me? Half the nights he ends up with both legs in the same pajama hole.  He then resembles a really angry mermaid. Almost laughable, if I wasn't being bludgeoned to death by my baby. Sigh. If I owned a pair of these, I'd be this excited, too.  

Bath time last night at the Yoys was going peachy. I was in a fantastic mood as Mr. Yoy was coming home "early" so that I could grab dinner with the girls. Both boys were playing nicely.  The bath was littered with hundreds of bath toys.  There was giggling, splashing, and just plain happiness. Big E picked up his walrus toy, looked at Little E with his evil eyes, and bashed him right along Little E's hairline. Ruh-roh. I'll give you the good news first.  Fortunately for Little E, the toy walrus's tusks do not stick out like they do in real life.  It would have been a whole different story.  Think the walrus as a can opener and Little E's giant skull as a can of delicious chicken noodle soup on a cold winter's day. The bad news is pretty obvious.  Little E went bananas. His forehead immediately turned a lovely purple-y red at the point of impact. And just like that, bath time was O-V-E-R. I know Big E is three and super impulsive, but I sti

Mr. Yoy joined the unmanned, almost always empty, high-end gym in the bottom of his work building. On Saturday, he suggested we go over there and get a work out in. There was only one problem.  Our children.  Where would we stash them? His solution: in between the free weights and the ab-machines. Yes, that's right folks, we took all the Yoys to the gym. As we pulled up to Mr. Yoy's building,  we prayed for an empty gym. Mr. Yoy went in first to scope out the situation.  We were in business. We turned the television to Curious George, handed them snack cups, and jumped onto neighboring treadmills. The irony is not lost on Mrs. Yoy. I brought my kids to a gym to get in a work out and I put them in front of a television and gave them goldfish crackers.  Diabetes, anyone? It went smoothly for the first 24 minutes, thank you timer on my treadmill. Big E figured out Little E's stroller wasn't locked.  He started pushing the baby around.  I could hear Li

I am stubborn as a mule.  This is a very important fact about Mrs. Yoy. I will ALWAYS win the battle of wills with my children, although they may be unaware of this fact. Today at lunch, Big E did not like his designated seat.  And by seat, I mean a highchair. But like I always say, containment is key and the Sushi place was pretty crowded today.  So he was going to sit in his highchair. Big E had other plans and began crying and screaming and making a scene. Like most mothers, when your child is screaming in a restaurant, it is amplified by 1000x.  You cringe to think your sweet baby is interrupting the meals of everyone within a five mile radius and in that moment, the screaming seems way louder than it is. Big E was very loud today.  I'm pretty sure he smuggled a megaphone in under his shirt. First I told him if he didn't sit in his highchair we were leaving. I finally got him in the highchair. Then he cried because he wanted to eat Little E's homemade