The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Yesterday, I met my old college roommate and her husband for lunch at The Flying Biscuit. I arrived first with the Yoys and proceeded to set them up for lunch.  This is a major process and can take upwards of five minutes before you actually sit down. My kids immediately zeroed in on the bowl with the pats of butter.  They each needed a pat of butter. The sugar packets would have been a better choice, in my opinion.  I tried reasoning with them, but as their volume ramped up to a rock concert level, I threw them each a pat of butter. I can barely type that without gagging.  I watched in horror as they unwrapped and began eating butter.  Plain.  No bread.  No corn.  No nothing. I could see the customers at the tables next to us looking in disbelief.  I could feel their judging. TRUST ME!  I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU, TOO! I wanted to yell at them.  I didn't. About halfway through their butter appetizers, they both decided that butter was gross. Sweet.  They finally ca

Tomorrow is picture day at school. Normally, I would spend the evening obsessing over such gut-wrenching decisions as what color polo shirt should they wear and skinny jeans vs. khaki pants.  Oy, such choices. But Little E has thrown me a curve ball. You know that he has horrible, horrible skin.  I had almost forgotten, as the moist, warm summer months were good to Little E's skin. Yesterday morning he awoke with a full body rash that included an unfortunate cluster on the tip of his nose. Can I just say it? SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! Cause that is how I felt. He's been Cover Girl flawless for months. I'd hoped by this morning it would be better.  It wasn't. I took him to the doctor this afternoon to see if it was just his standard crappy skin flaring up and also to see if she had a instant magic cure for red splotches.  She didn't, by the way. So now I'm desperate. I'm not saying I'm GOING to do this.  But I'm also n

The Halloween excitement has boiled over at the Yoys. The kids are BEYOND excited about trick-or-treating tomorrow night. I see this as a perfect opportunity to bribe the boys. If you don't INSERT DESIRED ACTION HERE , you are not going trick-or-treating on Wednesday. Another Halloween side effect, a steady supply of candy in the house, which is highly unusual.  This has also been helpful in the bribery department. On Saturday evening, we used the lure of candy to get Big E to load up in the car.  While he normally passes out on the drive home from Aunt and Uncle Yoy's house, the idea of a giant bowl of candy corn awaiting him at home kept him very alert. When we arrived home, I unloaded the Yoys while Mr. Yoy pulled the car in. I then gave Big E his "candy" bribe. Why is candy in quotes you ask?  Because I gave him two pieces of dried banana and passed it off as candy. MUUUUAAAAAAAHHHHHH (The evil Mrs. Yoy laugh). Big E quickly scarfed down the ba

Until it isn't. Which happened a few hours ago. I had won the Atlanta Gator Club SEC ticket lottery earlier this year and purchased two SEC tickets. I knew the Gators were a long shot based on our prior season, but I never rule anything out. See our own wedding scheduling conflict with the Gators' 2006 appearance in the Final Four. WHOOPS! Just last week, I had reserved our sitter for the good part of the December Saturday that the game was to fall on. I allowed myself to hope. Yes, it is awesome and exciting to cheer on your team in the SEC championship game, but for me, it was far deeper than that. It was a throwback to when I was fun and carefree.  I remember spending all day tailgating down at the Georgia Dome.  Drinking my fair share of cheap wine and mimosas.   Stuffing my face with all sorts of diet-killing food.  Taking tons of inappropriate photos that, thankfully, didn't end up all over Facebook. Spending the day with friends that I didn't get to

My kids have cornered the market on the bedtime stall. I've heard everything. I'M THIRSTY! I HAVE TO PEE! WHERE DO WORMS LIVE? But tonight, I heard a new one. I'M HUNGRY!  I WANT A SNACK TO EAT IN BED! A few points to note: 1) I COOKED for them tonight.  Like actually created something instead of using the microwave.  They chose to pick at it like baby birds. 2) There is only one reason I can justify keeping a stash of food on my nightstand.  I will admit that while I was nursing the Yoys, I would wake up in the middle of the night and be starving, like fat chick right before sundown on Yom Kippur starving.  I would lean over my nightstand (I'm anti bed crumbs), turn on my vacuum mouth and go to town on whatever goodies I had brought up a few hours earlier at bedtime. 3) This may be my final point, but it is the most impressive.  Big E already knew I wasn't going to let him eat just any snack.  It was going to be on my terms.  He ASKED for the st

This evening, I shuttled the Yoys over to have dinner with Mr. Yoy. We opted for the deli in the bottom of the building.  It was a beautiful evening and we wanted to sit outside. On one of the many trips I took rushing in and out of the patio door for things like multiple bathroom runs, trash dumps,  and drink refills, I slammed my ring finger in the door. The door closed squarely on my fingernail. I rushed out to the patio and begin half crying/half hyperventilating. I'm not sure I've ever slammed my finger in a door and if I have, it's been like 25 years. The pain was gut wrenching.  I wanted to barf. Mr. Yoy ran into the place to get me some ice. The Yoys did one better.  They both ran up to me and kissed my finger. Big E even asked how many kisses I needed to make my finger feel better. ONE MILLION. The enormity of the number startled him, as I don't think he was looking for a long-term commitment. The point is, both my sweet boys came over t

There is a homeless shelter that we drive pass on the way to school. We have driven by there approximately one million times since Big E was born in 2008. Today it peaked his interest as we drove home from school. WHAT IS THAT? I always struggle with questions such as these.  Do I give him the hard facts?  Do I say apartments? He is almost four, but I'm not sure how much information he can process. I opt for the truth. IT'S A HOMELESS SHELTER. Silently, I plead that that will end this line of questioning.  Next topic, please. WHAT IS THAT? Again, I debate launching into the definition of homeless. IT'S FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO LIVE.  WITHOUT THE SHELTER, THEY'D HAVE TO SLEEP IN THE STREET. He thought for a few seconds.  I could hear his brain cranking from the back seat. BUT SLEEPING IN THE STREET WOULD BE SO HARD. He's speaking literally, of course, but his words have such deeper meaning. MAYBE IF THEY HAD PILLOWS THE STREET W

I hope you are reading these in order.  If not, go back and read the last one.  Then you can truly appreciate my mental state at the exact moment our cab pulled up to the airport. I pay the cab, swing open my door and take the mounds of crap I am carrying out of the car.  I have only one possession left in the cab. My son.  And his plan is to stay in the backseat and hitch a return ride to my brother's apartment. I reach in for him and he scoots towards the far side. At this moment I decide to leave him in the cab.  And one moment I later I remember that Mr. Yoy would be super pissed if we were down one kid.  Especially if that one kid was Big E. I drag his reluctant self out of the cab. He begins chanting his mantra. I WANT TO STAY IN NY! I MISS UNCLE D AND AUNT J SO, SO MUCH! I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER. The airport was busy.  I drag Big E to the kiosk to check in.  Then to the baggage drop off. Everyone we pass is thinking the same damn thing. PLEASE DON&

The plan was to leave my brother's apartment around one on Sunday.  That would give us enough time to catch a cab and make the trek to La Guardia. As our departure time quickly approached, I mentioned to Big E that he needed to use the potty as we were about to leave. I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE NY! I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE THE APARTMENT! I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER! I WANT UNCLE D AND AUNT J TO BE MY NEW DADDY AND MOMMY!  (ouch) It became evident to me, that the process of removing Big E from their apartment was going to require force.  Big E was not going to leave willingly. Uncle D carried Big E out into the hallway so we could catch an elevator.  Not even the lure of pressing the elevator button could calm Big E down. He was screaming in their quiet, swank, NYC apartment hallway. For the record, my brother is visiting in like two weeks.  Big E will see him in two weeks.  We tried explaining that to him.  The concept of time is not a good life lesson to teach to

This past weekend, Big E and I had a mommy and me adventure up in NYC. We honored/inconvenienced Uncle D and Aunt J with our presence for two days. Friday evening, they took us to a delicious pizza joint in the basement of an old building. It was close quarters down in that basement.  We were next to a table of students/waitresses/struggling actresses (my guess by their very loud and child inappropriate conversation). Big E finished his meal first. I'M DONE! First of all, this wasn't an eating contest.  I asked Big E to wait while the rest of us finished up. I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE APARTMENT! I, again, asked Big E to wait while we finished up. This was not acceptable to him. JUST DRAW ME A MAP! All who heard his comment busted into giggles.  Even one of the very dramatic actress/student/waitresses couldn't resist Big E's charms. You'll be happy to know that while I entertained the thought of allowing Big E to go all Home Alone in NYC, I deci

Tonight, I threw away two, perfectly edible, wonderfully delicious Publix cupcakes. I can almost see the shock and awe in your eyes. WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO SACRILEGIOUS? I am a lover of all things Publix.  Publix bakery goods are on a whole other level for me.  But I was driven mad, you see.  I had no other choice. I'm sure you can guess the culprit. His name rhymes with Jiggy. After an open-handed, Real Housewives kind of slap, to the side of Little E's cherub face, Big E scored himself three fat minutes in timeout at the bottom of our stairs. He sat down and immediately began his negotiating. MAKE SURE YOU START THE TIMER! DO I HAVE TO STAY HERE? DON'T LET LITTLE E TOUCH MY TOYS! I reminded him of the timeout rules.  No talking.  No moving.  He broke both in world record time. I asked him numerous times to sit back down and be quiet. Every time he spoke I added another minute to his sentence.  At last count, Big E was due to s

I have a confession to make. At 15 years old, I flunked the driver's permit written test.  Twice. In one day. There I said it.  Either I'm a really bad driver or just a terrible test taker. In my 20+ years of driving, I will say I've never been in a car on car accident, although I've hit lots of stuff like parking deck posts, a parking meter or two, and possibly driven through the front of my garage wall like the giant Kool-Aid Pitcher (although I still proclaim my innocence on this one). So I'm going to go with the whole terrible test taker theory. Big E's new obsession is road signs. I almost hate pulling onto 285 (besides the obvious hell-on-earth reasons).  Every sign, every mile marker, every exit sign.  Add in the current construction signs, and the boy's head is about to explode. MOMMY, WHAT DOES THAT SIGN MEAN? Some of them I know. But I have to admit, it has been a few years since I studied up on my road signs, so I make a lot of s

Yesterday, we took the Yoys to get flu shots at their pediatrician's office. Of course, we waited until the last hour of the last day of the doctor's weekend flu shot clinic. I knew it was going to be bad.  I was just delaying the pain. Earlier in the day, Big E had thrown a passionate and intense temper tantrum.  I timed it at 40 minutes. That is the average time of my elliptical workouts.  I can barely breathe at the end of 40 minutes.  How is it that Big E can scream and cry and kick for that long and then turn it off like a faucet and be normal?  I find this fascinating and a little disconcerting.  Especially because he is just shy of four, and everyone said that age two was the worst for tantrums. LIARS.  ALL OF YOU. Anyway, after his little fit, any sympathy I had for him and the impending flu shot evaporated.  He was on his own. As we pulled into the doctor's parking deck, I could hear the panic in Big E's voice. WHY ARE WE AT THE DOCTOR'S? In

This post is mildly graphic. For those of you raising little boys, you won't bat an eyelash. To the rest of you, you've been warned. Little E had a very nice BM right before bath time.  I'm not sure what he ate for lunch today, but whatever it was, it did the trick. I cleaned him up and tossed him in the tub with Big E. The boys were playing nicely.  For once.  It was a pretty uneventful bath. Cue ominous music. Little E rapidly drilled out about ten of the loudest, most powerful underwater farts I have ever seen/heard.  This is a very strong statement, as I've been giving these two guys baths for coming up on four years. We all laughed, because they are two and three, and I'm just immature. Little E immediately claimed it. ME! Yeah, no kidding. I noticed that the water had became a little hazy. I can neither confirm nor deny that anything besides air was emitted during Little E's bombing of the tub.  The tub is full of toys and I wasn&

First off, sorry I have been a lazy blogger. I suck.  I know.  Please don't lose faith.  I promise to be better about writing. Now onto the story. Mr. Yoy and I were feeling invincible.  We started Sunday afternoon by taking BOTH YOYS to see Hotel Transylvania (very cute, by the way). Yes, we took Little E to a full length film.  He ate movie theatre popcorn for a record 90 minutes straight.  But he was quiet.  And to all the people sitting by us, that was all that mattered.  So what if his sodium levels reached record highs. After the successful trip to the movies, we were on top of the world. OUR KIDS ARE THE GREATEST KIDS ON THE PLANET.  SO WELL BEHAVED AND AMAZING! We decided to take them on the little train that snakes around Atlantic Station. When we arrived at the "station" most of the cars were full.  I wasn't about to let them ride without us, so the four of us crammed into a car that was already occupied by a brother/sister combo.  I would gu

The time now reads 9:10. Not exceptionally late as far as putting young kids to bed, but for me, it might as well be midnight.  I try to put the Yoys to bed by 7:30, so this whole 9 PM thing is greatly eating into my Mrs. Yoy time.  Jersey Shore comes back tonight, and I'm pretty sure that show is not rated G. As usual, I'm gassed.  I had a very ambitious day. I took Big E to gymnastics and sushi. We played outside. I worked out. I bathed the Yoys early and had an experimental holiday card photo shoot.  I realize it has just turned fall, but I need to know what I'm up against.  Will I wave the white flag and surrender to a professional photo shoot this year?  The jury is still out. Somewhere in this crazy day, BOTH my kids napped.  Hard. Bed time was going to be hairy. Little E went down without a fight.  He's still in a crib, so there's not much he can do unless he can use his tiny T-Rex arms to pull himself out. Big E was going to be an epic ba

Big E has been feeling under the weather the past few days.  This morning he awoke with a wheezing that wasn't sitting well with me. I called his doctor's office and when I described the wheezing they told me to bring him in ASAP. I threw the Yoys in the car.  No drinks.  No snacks.  Nothing. They ushered us into Dr. Yoy at record speed. After a thorough inspection, Dr. Yoy diagnosed Big E with croup . Big E has never had the pleasure of experiencing croup, but Little E and croup are best friends forever. In fact, I expect Little E and croup to make their reacquaintance in the next 3-5 days.  It will be epic. Anyway, Dr. Yoy decided to give Big E some oral steroids to help with the wheezing.  After thinking about it for a minute, she decided to give him a steroid shot to speed up the absorption. This is when things went from sick kid to scary-as-sh*t-sick kid. The nurse had him lay down and gave him the shot in his thigh.  Like any other kid, Big E is not a fan