The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Last night was a late night for the Yoys.  We hit up the Atlanta Food Truck Park for some mac n cheese deliciousness, cupcakes, and playground time. We arrived home around nine.  The boys were pretty wound up.  Like a rancher, I tried to herd the cattle, I mean my kids, inside to begin bath time. Little E was cooperative as usual, but Big E had other plans. First he went and hid dangerously close to the rose bushes.  He'd rather get attacked by thorns than take a bath. As I strode over there to pick him up, he leaped up, and ran for it. Down the hill he went. He veered off the sidewalk and was headed up the next street. I was shocked.  Is he for realsy running away from me? Do I run after him and leave Little E sitting in our driveway? Ugh, it was too hot and too late and this was all too ridiculous for me.  This is why people started leashing their kids! What to do?  What to do? I quickly scanned my resources.  I was desperate.  I did something really mean.

Shortly after making his appearance on Earth, Little E inflated to the size of a Smart Car. There were rolls, creases, folds, and my favorite, the rubber bands, all over his body.   I had to fend off total strangers who wanted to poke and prod him like he was the Pillsbury Dough Baby. I know you are growing tired of me blogging about Little E's girth, but what I'm going to tell you right now will BLOW...YOUR...MIND. As I was diapering Little E this evening post-bath, he was wiggling around quite a bit and did a full body stretch and that's when I saw them. HIS RIBS! They were protruding from his trunk like he was some high-paid b*tchy super model. YOU HAVE RIBS!  (I actually joyfully exclaimed this to no one, except maybe the dog). I thought Little E's ribs were only a myth.   So this is what it must have felt like the first time some one caught sight of the Loch Ness monster.   In honor of this shocking discovery, I've decided

Tonight was a pretty smooth night. We were scheduled for an on-time departure.  And by departure, I mean when the Yoys departed me and went into their respective beds. As I pulled the Yoys out of the tub, I glanced at my watch. 7:10!  I will have all night to read some magazines, catch up on Teen Mom, and not blog since my kids were pretty decent human beings today. Big E must have sensed my upbeat mood.  He must have known my readers were clamoring for an entry. And so it began... I had just taken both Yoys out of the tub.  I was diapering and dressing Little E.  Big E had climbed up on his bathroom step stool and was clamoring to brush his teeth.  He yelled for my help. I ran into their bathroom and told Big E to wait five minutes, I was putting Little E down and then we could go gang busters on the teeth brushing. I finished up with Little E, read him a few books, and tossed him in the crib. One down and one to go. Time: 7:20.  I was floating as I entered the bathr

I'm going to say it.  I pretty much hate to cook.   Don't get me wrong, I enjoy eating home cooked meals.  I can control what is going into the food we are eating. And I LOVE control. My fatal flaw is that dinner is at the end of the day.   By the time dinner rolls around I am exhausted.  I am on empty.  All I want to do is sit the boys down at the table and throw whatever food I happen to have in my fridge at that moment on the table, toss them a couple of forks, and yell out GO TO TOWN!  Plates are optional. The crock pot has been my window back into cooking.  I prepare things in the morning, before my patience wears out.  I cook it all day and by dinner time my house smells delish and we have something real to eat. This weekend I found a recipe for homemade mac n cheese in the crockpot.  Whole grain pasta, all organic cheese, milk, eggs -- it sounded like such a wonderful and loving thing to make the Yoys. I made it today. I actually shredded chees

I've mentioned one or two or four hundred times that fitting shoes for Little E is challenging. It's not just that his feet are wide, but they have about an inch of fat padding on top of them. For the record, I wear an 11N, so you just know this wonderful genetic trait is courtesy of the Mr. Yoy gene pool. Right before summer, I ordered Little E a pair of Stride Rite sandals.  They aren't wides or even extra wides. They are extra, extra wides and guess what, they are too dang tight. They leave imprints across the tops of Little E's feet when he wears them for extended periods of time. I give him the choice of which shoes he wants to wear each morning, the XXW sandals or his sneakers.  He always chooses the sneakers.  Even when it was 100+ degrees here in the ATL and everyone was fixin' (see, I'm almost native) to burst into flames. He'd rather wrap his little sausage feet in blankets and then shove them into unventilated shoes then wear his XXW s

I am not a superstitious person. I do not freak out if I walk under a ladder or have a black cat cross my path. I have enough real things to worry about like will Big E ever be tall enough to ride Space Mountain or will Little E stop eating tooth brushes. This afternoon we were packing up to head out to a play date.  I finished stocking up the diaper bag, grabbed the Yoys, and headed out to the car. I noticed as I was buckling Little E into his seat, he had smuggled some plastic colored number magnets out to the car. I tried to pry them out of his hands.  He put the death grip on them.  I relented.  It was only a five minute car drive, hopeful he wouldn't chew on them and swallow magnets. Once we arrived, I again tried to pull the three magnets out of Little E's pudgy hands. I wrestled them free, for a brief moment.  When I looked down at them, I noticed something odd and bone chilling. My sweet Little E had pulled three number six magnets off the fridge.  Little

Big E has babies on the brain.  He has just spent the last nine months watching Aunt Yoy grow his new cousin.  He was very intrigued with the baby in Aunt Yoy's belly. Fast forward to this afternoon.  We were cuddling on the couch.  Big E was laying on me and watching  his new, must see show, Little Einsteins.  His ear was aligned with my stomach. WHAT'S THAT SOUND? He sat up and looked at my belly with interest. I smiled at Big E. I'M DIGESTING MY LUNCH.  WHAT YOU HEAR IS MY STOMACH WORKING THROUGH MY SANDWICH AND BAKED LAYS. That answer was not satisfactory for him. NO IT'S NOT!  IT'S YOUR BABY! Now, I busted out laughing.  I quickly pointed out that there was no baby in my belly. WELL, THEN WHAT IS THAT ROUND THING? Oy.  Kill me now. IT IS CALLED FAT AND SOME STRETCHED OUT SKIN THAT IS PERMANENTLY DESTROYED FROM GROWING AND BIRTHING YOU AND LITTLE E! That should have been the end of our painful discussion. NO, IT'S A BABY!  IT'S

STRIKE ONE We promised Big E that tonight, we would take him to Jim-n-Nicks for dinner.  He is obsessed with the cheese biscuits.  During a previous parenting lapse, we allowed him to eat unlimited biscuits.  He housed seven or eight before he gave up.  I was pretty impressed as he is a little squirt. We arrived at the restaurant and were seated almost immediately.  Mr. Yoy and I scanned the menu and planned what we were going to order the boys.  We have streamlined the dining out experience, as we know we are in possession of two ticking time bombs. Five minutes passed and we had not been greeted by our server. I'M HUNGRY!  I'M HUNGRY! I pop the top to a fresh canister of Puffs.  Big E grabs for them, not realizing the top is off.  He made it rain Puffs in the middle of JNN.  Normally, I would have been mortified, but I was hoping his spectacle would grab the attention of a server. Ten minutes and nothing.  No one has approached us.  I tried to flag down the host t

Earlier, we went to a birthday party in our neighborhood. Birthday parties, in general, are a source of severe stress for me. I always feel like my kids behave like wild animals.  Way worse than they ever would at home.  I don't know if it is because they have an audience or they are being pumped full of juice boxes and cake, but most parties end with me sweating and embarrassed. Today was no different.  The kids were all partaking in cupcakes on the back patio. At one table sat two little girls eating their cupcakes.  It's not like they were cutting up their cupcakes and eating them with knives and forks, but they were definitely managing the situation just fine. My eyes scanned over to the table next to them.  Location of the Yoys. It's like fangs had grown out of their mouths, and they were murdering these cupcakes.  I'm pretty sure they were making sound effects. Little E was the absolute worst. He managed to grow a full cupcake beard, not just a fiv

At 6:30, I decided it was time to take the Yoys up to do bath and bedtime.  Big E had been washed earlier, but Little E was a giant ball of avocado paste. As I walked out of their playroom, I noticed the couch was covered in what appeared to be water.  I leaned over and smelled it to be sure. Unfortunately, it was Poodle Yoy's urine.  In puddles on my beautiful leather couch.  Sweet.  Just what I wanted to do at this exact moment in time: a leather intervention.  I got to work cleaning up the mess. Little E was walking around with a plastic fireman's hat on.  This hat has been in our possession for close to a year.  Neither one of my children has shown any interest in it.  Until tonight. Big E shadowed Little E and repeatedly knocked it off his head.  Little E would cry until I put it back on him.  Then Big E would knock it off again.  Wow, this game sucks. Bad. I asked Big E to leave Little E alone.  He ramped up the stakes and moved the hat to the middle of

Little E was one, fata** baby.  I can say that now. At the time, I was oblivious to his weight issue.   Well, sort of. Sure, people made crazy comments every time I ventured out in public. WHAT ARE YOU FEEDING THAT BABY? HE SURE DOESN'T MISS A MEAL! LOOK AT THOSE PULKES! But I just saw my sweet little boy, when I looked at him. He began walking in January (FINALLY) and pretty much stopped eating around the same time.  I even heard that some of the other kids were gossiping about his babyrexia. Personally, I believe Little E heard and understood every back handed comment that had been casually thrown his way and had finally had enough of it. For lunch today, I made him mini tortellinis, carrots, and a tangerine. He excitedly ran to his little table, sat down, and proceeded to house the tangerine. And then he was done.  He ran off before I could even wipe the citrus juice off of him. Frustration pulsed through my veins.  Why won't this kid eat his meals?