The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Greetings from Florida!  There have been many things to blog about, but I caught a case of the lazies and haven't been motivated to write.  Plus, my parents bought a computer with the new windows operating system and it might as well be DOS. Today, everything changed. My parents' neighborhood has a kiddie pool.  Said pool is riddled with my parents' neighbors' kids and grandchildren escaping the frozen tundra of Kansas City, Boston, and Long Island, just to name a few. Big E loves the kiddie pool.  We are usually the first ones to arrive and then Big E's "friends" begin to trickle in. I put friends in quotes because within minutes of meeting, Big E has made forever friends with the kids (and their parents). This morning we met a family from Boston.  Their son was almost two and very adventurous.  Let's just say this kid drank a ton of pool water, even with his dad shadowing his every move. Big E was immediately drawn to Boston Daddy.  And

We spent a significant amount of time in the van today. And we don't have the super duper fancy van with televisions in the headrests. We have the baseline van.  The one where you are forced to have conversations with your children. If you know Mr. Yoy, it will come as no surprise to you that there is a great deal of talking going on during our drives. Below are today's hot topics in no specific order: 1) My Barbie Collection.  I was way into Barbies.  I had the townhouse, the car, even Skipper.  Big E wanted to know if I played with toys even when I was ten. My memory is vague, but I think I played with my Barbies until then.  I mentioned that to Big E and he was immediately intrigued. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BARBIES? WHY DID YOU GIVE THEM AWAY? And finally, he cried.  Because he was sad that I gave all my Barbies away and he couldn't play with them. 2) Our Living Situation.  Big E is learning about the human life cycle in his pre-k class.  Baby, child, teen

Tomorrow, Big E will embark on his first hallucinogenic drug trip. And no, I'm not taking him to the Phish concert. Big E has a small cavity in between two of his back teeth.  It is the first, but certainly not the last, time that I feel like I failed as my son's care provider.  No amount of brushing, flossing, and quarterly fluoride treatments would stop this thing. Our dentist recommended that we go ahead and fill it.  And he uses laughing gas in the process.  His doomsday teeth predictions easily sold me on the procedure.  I have only one experience with laughing gas.  I was a child and needed some teeth pulled to progress on the six year adventure that was my braces.   A few deep breaths of the gas and my pediatric dentist amazingly transformed into a robot.  As he asked me harmless questions about my summer camp in his robot voice, I began to freak out.  I closed my eyes tightly.  I allowed myself to peek at my robot dentist.  But instead of a dentist he

Mr. Yoy has informed me that I've been doing a crap job of documenting the recent happenings of the Yoys.  He has put me on a performance improvement plan and if I don't meet his specified goals, I think I may be out of here. November 22nd was the date of my last blog entry, which Mr. Yoy was quick to point out was almost one month ago. So what have I been doing with all my free time, you wonder? 1) Removing 15,000 photos from my encumbered iMac to the cloud.  You think I post a plethora of pictures to Facebook and Instagram, you should see the sh*t going down on my computer.  It's a guarantee that the Yoysers will resent me when they are adults.  And yes.  You really do need hundreds of pictures of your kids in the tub.  It never gets old.  Ever. 2) Binge watching Homeland. The season finale is Sunday and I'll be damned if Yahoo News spoils things for me. 3) Reading.  Yes.  You read that correctly.  I read two books in the past month.  They were fantastic rea

Big E had a nightmare last night around 3:30.  He asked me to lay with him in his bed as he was very frightened.  Big E has a full-size bed, so there is plenty of room for Mrs. Yoy.  I had no out. You may envision us all snuggled together in our winter jammies, drinking hot chocolate, and reading books about loving families.  But that is not exactly how it went down. I spent 30 minutes bracing myself against Big E's leg and arm thrashings and heavy breathing.  I have a terrible insomnia problem and once I'm woken up it takes me about two hours to fall back asleep.  I certainly wasn't going to spend my time staring at the ceiling in Big E's room.  There was television to watch, Kindles to read, and most importantly my big, fluffy amazing bed calling my name. Big E finally went still around 4am.  It was time for my big break! Atom by atom I began to move myself closer to the edge of his bed.  The key here was to not make any movement.  I cursed myself for overcomm

Gravity is working against me. And gravity wants to bring me down.  - John Mayer On one of our previous airplane trips, I halfheartedly tried to explain to Big E how planes work.  I really know very little about how they work, except they have engines, they crash, and they no longer serve you free meals. At the time, it was keeping Big E quiet as a mouse so I went on and on as his eyes grew larger and larger.  I threw in gravity at some point, just trying to hammer home how smart I was.  But really I was just bullshitting. But the gravity thing stuck with Big E.  He brings it up periodically. Tonight it was while the Yoys were in the tub. MOM, IS THERE GRAVITY UNDERWATER? Simple enough question, I suppose. I tried to compose an answer.  I looked at my watch.  It was almost 8pm.  My brain was foggy.  I sat in silence before I threw out some physics catch phrases such as mass, volume, density, blah, blah, blah... WHAT IN THE HELL AM I TALKING ABOUT AND WHY IS BIG E LISTE

I realize this is an early weekend morning blog entry, but when you get a mayday call from the playroom at 6:45 because your naked three year old is clipped into this: it kind of decimates the sleep mood. So, I'm up.  Which leads me to my next topic:  Thanksgiving. A time to give thanks for all the amazing things in your life.  You may see people posting a daily list of things they are thankful for on Facebook. Here is Big E's paper copy that is hanging on the hallway bulletin board at school: Let's take a closer look, shall we? Big E is thankful for the following: 1) I AM THANKFUL FOR MY PETS. I am assuming here he is referring to Poodle Yoy.  In summary, Poodle Yoy> Mrs.Yoy (the one who grew him, feeds him, bathes him, wipes him, schleps him, etc.)  I lost out to an eleven year old dog who is basically decaying before our eyes.  Her rank breath could quell the Syrian conflict in mere minutes.  She popped into his head before his dear, old mom.

Dear Big E, How do I get my children to easily transition from one activity  to another? On the school playground this afternoon, I watched from afar as Big E approached a mother while she was trying to calm down her crying daughter. My stomach crept into my throat as Big E began to animatedly speak, hand gestures and all.  I could only imagine what Big E was saying to her.  My guess was loads of inappropriate information including, but not limited to, directions to our house, the lazy breakfasts I sometimes feed him, and my social security number. A few minutes later the same mom approached me.  Uh-oh.  This was it.  She was going to yell at me about my mouthy kid. Instead she smiled and told me what great advice Big E had given her earlier. She was trying to get her kids to leave the playground, but her daughter didn't want to go. JUST TELL YOUR DAUGHTER SHE HAS ONE MINUTE AND THEN IT'S TIME TO GO. AND YOUR DAUGHTER NEEDS A NAP BECAUSE SHE IS CRYING TOO MUCH.

The Yoys need you to pull out your guitar and sing the Chanukah song, ASAP. Yesterday we took Big E to Toys R Us to pick out his 5th birthday present, a bicycle. I've been delaying buying him a bike, as we live on the midpoint of a giant hill that would be classified as a mountain in Florida.  I have visions of him racing uncontrollably down our street and crash landing into the stop sign that my neighbors pretend is not there. Big E hopped onto a Spiderman Huffy bike and it was love at first pedal.  Mr. Yoy and I know nothing about selecting a bike, so we frantically paged for some help.  Our goal was to spend the least amount of time in Toys R Us because things tend to degenerate very quickly within its walls. While we waited for help, Big E happened upon the Disney Christmas Storybook Collection.  It was a beautiful book with glossy pictures on each foil-lined page. He was enamored. CAN WE BUY THIS? I glanced down at the book. NO. My answer was not the correct an

For those of you that have been blessed to meet Big E, you recognize him as many things, but shy is definitely not one of them. At our neighborhood park yesterday, Big E ran into not one, but two of his pre-K classmates. I watched in amusement as they greeted each other like it was their twenty year high school reunion.  In truth, they had been together a mere 48 hours before.  I guess in little kid world that equates to eternity. But Big E grew tiresome of the little girls and moved onto bigger and better targets, their dads. Big E began chatting up these poor, unsuspecting men.  After a few minutes, I went over to rescue these patient souls from my son. MOM, CAN SO-AND-SO'S DAD COME OVER AND DO LEARNING BOOKS WITH US? A-W-K-W-A-R-D! Luckily, dad-turned-victim #1 had to take his daughter to soccer practice. Phew!  I quickly brushed off Big E's suggestion claiming they already had plans. Next up, dad-turned-victim #2.  Big E used the same line about coming bac

Little old ladies are drawn to Little E.  It must be his innocent eyes and chubby cheeks. We were in the checkout line at Publix and the woman in front of us struck up a conversation with Little E. It began innocently with her asking Little E about his favorite yogurt flavor.  She laughed at Little E's responses to her questions.  I was glowing with mommy pride as I clearly had the cutest kid in this store. DO YOU LIKE RASPBERRY YOGURT? And then the music suddenly stopped.  The lights went on and the dear, old lady saw the real Little E. I HATE RASPBERRIES! In Little E's defense, I've been reluctant to feed him raspberries because Mr. Yoy is allergic to them. The old lady was shocked by Little E's use of the word hate. HATE IS A VERY STRONG WORD, MAYBE YOU JUST DON'T LIKE THEM? I sheepishly smiled and tried to change the topic. I HATE, HATE, HATE RASPBERRIES. Little E felt the need to hammer home his point.  Job well done. I could see her qui

Bedtime for Big E is a battle approximately one out of every three nights. Tonight I felt confident going into bedtime.  Dare I say cocky?  I had the ace in the hole.   Halloween , the most sacred holiday for a soon to be five year old.  And I was going to use it to my full advantage. I CAN'T SLEEP. I HAVE NIGHTMARES. LET ME DO SOMETHING FUN. The typical excuses rolled easily off Big E's tongue.  They are empty and meaningless to me now, as I hear them on a regular basis. I wasted no time pulling out the big guns. BIG E, GO TO BED RIGHT NOW OR WE ARE NOT GOING TRICK OR TREATING TOMORROW! He looked at me with his soulless eyes and declared that he didn't want to go trick or treating. I'm raising a robot child.

I'm harboring a criminal. Sunday's family outing included a torturous (for Big and Little E) swing through a bulk candy store. Unlimited, accessible candy all at eye level.   MOM, IS THIS HEAVEN? I wanted to answer yes, but I brushed off the suggestion.  Everyone knows that heaven has unlimited white wine and pizza and no one ever gets fat. I left the store with the Yoys in tow while Mr. Yoy lingered behind eyeballing the life-sized gummy bears.   I looked down at Big E.  Why was he chewing the cud?  I grabbed his face and took a look inside his sweet smelling mouth.  It was candy corn city in there. BIG E!  WHERE DID YOU GET THAT CANDY CORN?  DID YOU STEAL IT FROM THE STORE? Big E went on the defensive.  He swore to both Mr. Yoy and I that he didn't steal anything. A LADY PUT IT IN MY MOUTH! This is your strategy?  Pretend there is some creepy lady in the candy store force feeding candy corn to all the children? (After telling this st

Key to their development into refined adults, I play a wide spectrum of quality music for the Yoys to enjoy. During one of our many storied van rides about town, we were jamming out to a childhood favorite, New Kids On The Block (NKOTB, duh!) As prepubescent Joey belted out about the girl going away, Big E became very alarmed. WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO GO? Oh, Big E.  Is now the time to dive into the topic of dating and breaking up?  I think not. BECAUSE SHE DOES. That was my well-thought out response.  I've been a parent for close to five years.  My ability to creatively answer questions has all but dried up. IS IT BECAUSE SHE HAS TO GO EAT BREAKFAST? AND THEN DIE? Whaaaaaaaaat? ONLY IF SHE IS EATING HER BREAKFAST AT THE WAFFLE HOUSE. I'm 100.00000% sure this poster was hanging from my middle school bedroom walls.  And possibly high school.

I'm here to say, that doesn't have to be the case. I tagged along with Mr. Yoy last week to his first shareholder retreat in Las Vegas.  And not scuzzy, Bally's Las Vegas.  I'm talking the Bellagio.  He wasn't allowed to go without me. With minimal begging, we convinced my parents to fly up to Atlanta to watch the Yoys while we spent three days in Sin City. Mr. Yoy had boring work stuff during the day so I was on my own. But don't cry for me.  I treated myself big time. Below is a partial list of the amazing things accomplished during my vacation from being a responsible parent: 1)  I woke up at 6AM Vegas time and worked out.  Don't roll your eyes at me, I never get to work out without checking the clock and my cell phone for calls regarding my children.  And the gym was packed.  I'm stuck on Eastern Standard Time, what's your excuse? 2)  I spent four glorious hours in the Bellagio Spa.  Four hours cost me approximately 65% of one month

Last night I tucked Big E into bed at 7:30, right on schedule. I didn't see him snort like ten lines of coke before bedtime, but maybe he did. Over the next four hours, Big E devoured his learning books.  He was in his room, laid out on the floor, quietly working.  He wasn't disrupting my much needed mommy time, so I wasn't super upset. We watched the Falcons lose ANOTHER game and decided it was time for bed. Like the Energizer Bunny, Big E was still going. IF YOU DON'T SLEEP, YOU WON'T GROW. This nugget of info didn't bother him at all.  He's totally kosher with always being the shortest person within a 50 mile radius. YOU HAVE TO GET UP IN 7.5 HOURS FOR SCHOOL! He gave me a mildly annoying shoulder shrug.  But finally agreed to turn in for the night.  And that was the last we heard of him until the morning. To prove our point, Mr. Yoy and I woke Big E up at precisely 7AM with a rousing performance. RISE AND SHINE AND GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY,

Tomorrow is picture day at Big E's elementary school. A few weeks back, we received the photographer's flyer which included a choice of six backgrounds. All six options are losers.  Fireworks, creepy lockers, some weird Star Wars sh*t, and my personal favorite (and instigator of this entry), the Christmas Tree with all the trimmings. I mistakenly sat down with Big E tonight to go over his choices.  I was hoping when I revisited the flyer that a miracle had occurred and there was now a plain background available.  No such luck, friends. Big E saw the Christmas Tree and his eyes lit up. OOOOOH MOM, I WANT THE CHRISTMAS TREE!! I sighed.  Heavily.  We have touched on the whole Jewish thing in years past, but I knew this year would be a challenge.  Big E spent three glorious years in a bubble at a Jewish preschool.  Now he was at public school and probably one of a handful of Jewish children there. BIG E.  WE'RE JEWISH.  WE DON'T CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS. The tru

My kids love treasure maps.  And burying sh*t.  And keys.  And playgrounds. If I mixed all of these things together in my magic blender, I could pour myself a big, tall glass of the worst afternoon ever. I pick Big E up from school around 2:20.  We then head straight to the school playground for 1-2.5 hours, depending on how much sugar the Yoys have ingested during the day. Yesterday, day my car/house keys went missing during our playground adventure. Big E snuck them from my bag and then handed them off to Little E, which is the equivalent of throwing them into outer space.  He is a black hole. I interrogated Big E, but for a kid that can remember the graphic details of when he fell off a train car in 2011, he had complete amnesia in regards to my keys he had stolen an hour before. Bless their hearts, Big E's school mates helped me look for hours.  To them it was just another "treasure" hunt.  To me, it was my ride home. I explained in detail

At three and almost five, I can leave the Yoys unattended for short timespans without an apocalypse. This evening I ran upstairs to put their laundry away before bedtime. The cleaning people are coming in the morning, and I have to make sure my house is pristine so they don't judge me and my filth. It took me five minutes.  That is all. In five minutes, Big E had used the bathroom.  Yay for him!  Except he left a sh*t trail starting on the side of the toilet seat and down the bowl. But the damage didn't stop there. Somehow he managed to smear it down the front of his quads via the arches of his feet.  Apparently, he took up some crazy form of yoga in the brief time I was upstairs. BIG E!  WHAT IN THE WORLD?  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? He looked up at me (because he was busy playing) and smiled. I WENT TO THE BATHROOM, MAMA! I asked him to freeze like a statue and went to get the baby wipes.  I wiped up his feet and legs so I could get him to the tub without any perm

After a stellar checkup at the dentist this afternoon, Big E received a coin to put into the prize vending machine.  There were many crappy prizes to choose from. Big E ran ahead of me and impulse bought a stick-on mustache.  I thought he made a pretty solid decision given his options.  I was going to stick that thing on his face and take some HILARIOUS pictures. Big E immediately had buyer's remorse. I WANT THE SUPER BOUNCY BALL INSTEAD. There are too many indecisive little kids running around this place to have a return policy in place.  The next time you return, you'll get another prize.  That's it. As I tried to check-out, Big E had a balls-to-the-wall meltdown over his missed opportunity to own a seventh super bouncy ball.  Tears, stomping, pushing as I tried to remain calm, although I wanted to match his crazy with my own that was simmering up inside me. Not to be outdone, Little E screamed to be picked up. I signed my life away and hurried out of there

This morning was Little E's three year old checkup. Everything was within the normal parameters with the exception of his inappropriateness levels.  They were off the charts. The nurse asked Little E to disrobe down to his polar bear themed tighty-whities. WHY?  YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE MY BOOTY?! And just to reiterate his point, he stretched the word booty out into six syllables. Yep.  That's my kid.

Both my kids are toilet trained. In the past, I needed to asterisk the above sentence. The Yoys had a deep, dark secret that we share with many other families. After using the toilet all day, we slide our kids into pull ups at night as the ultimate uninterrupted sleep insurance policy. Any sort of bathroom accident is messy, but in the bed at 3AM with all seven of your stuffed animals is plain Armageddon.  I wasn't ready to dispose of our safety net, and neither was Big E. Let's just air it all out here.  Pull ups are code for diapers.  Because that is what they are.  They just fasten differently.  They are a crutch. You may innocently start your child in them for insurance purposes, but like any gateway drug, it quickly escalates to cocaine, I mean, urine-ville every morning. With Little E, I noticed his pull up was always dry come morning.  With that nugget of truth, I altered my parenting trajectory.  I wasn't going to fall into the pull up trap with child

Just in time for the high holiday season, Little E is rockin' a fat lip like he's Lisa Rinna stirring up trouble on Melrose Place . Unfortunately for my raging mommy guilt, this injury was my fault. Little E was laying in the hallway on his belly rolling his Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine back and forth.   I managed to clear Little E, but the bumper of the Mystery Machine had a fight with my flip-flop and Scooby-Doo and his ride took flight right into my poor, sweet Little E's mouth. Blood.  Tears.  Swelling. MOMMY, YOU HURT ME! I wanted to cry, too. I made him suck on an ice pack, wrapped in paper towels.  Apparently that tasted the same to him as the Yoforia we ate on Sunday.  Note to self, cross that fro-yo place off the list. So if you run into Little E tomorrow, please don't ask for his autograph. 1) He can't write. 2) He is NOT Lisa Rinna.

As a family, we viewed zero television today.  Not one news report.  Not one fifteen minute episode of Fireman Sam.  Nothing. Big E's punishment for lying about being sick was a full day unplugged.  I certainly wasn't going to make staying home sick fun for him. But my stubbornness came with its own set of consequences.  The most dire of which, involved me.  I spent 12 straight hours in constant dialogue with Big E. Every facial expression or under my breath comment I made was then fully analyzed by Big E.  It was exhausting. But my kids evolved.  They made up some crazy games which I will share with you.  Maybe you can teach them to your kids when they run out of things to do. 1) Yank My Chain.  The title IS catchy, isn't it?  This involved my kids launching themselves off Big E's bed in an effort to reach the chain that turns the fan light on and off.  Based on the thuds and substantial cheers that followed, my kids were masters at this game.  I peeke

This morning Big E awoke from his extended weekend.  He was groggy and grumpy. I, on the other hand, was singing from the mountaintops a la Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music .  My kids were returning to school.  I'm sure many of you had awesome Labor Day weekend plans.  Mine involved spending Sunday and Monday with them while Mr. Yoy worked.  It truly was a Labor Day. MY STOMACH HURTS.  I DON'T FEEL GOOD.  I CAN'T GO TO SCHOOL. Big E grasped at his stomach and even made a lame attempt at vomit. After multiple questioning from both Mr. Yoy and I, we decided to keep him home. Mr. Yoy left the house at 7:30. Poor Big E.  He was ill.  My plan for him was to lay in bed all day.  He was going to rest up from whatever ailed him and be as good as new for tomorrow. Around eight, Big E emerged from his bedroom.  Angels sang out.  He was a new man.  Completely healed.  It was a Rosh Hashanah miracle, I tell you! I had been had.  Lied to.  And I was angry. I am a sy

We have reached Monday evening of Labor Day weekend. We have done tons of eating and playing and swimming and learning books. Not much napping and most definitely not much sleeping . As I navigated 285 on the way home from a visit with our family, my mind wandered to the upcoming week.  It wasn't until I was about half way home, that I noticed the eerie silence that had enveloped the van.  I peeked into my bus driver mirror and saw both Yoys, heads slumped over. YES!  YES!  YES! I yelled this to myself for fear of waking the beasts.  I spent the remainder of my drive strategizing how I would get them out of their car seats and neatly tucked into bed without a flutter of the eye. So take note parents.  This may be helpful to those of you struggling with the transfer. 1) Always carry a set of pajamas.  I had the Yoys bathed and fed when I left D-Wood...just in case an opportunity arose. 2) Once home, close the garage door with all car doors shut. 3) Exit the car and h

Last night Mr. Yoy and I climbed into bed around eight to binge watch  Orange is the new Black . Shortly after our show began, we had not one, but two haunting visitors.  Big and Little E. Obviously, we didn't want them to watch our prison show.  They can't comprehend bad words or adult themes, but we wanted to freeze them in their extra-wide tracks. EEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKK!  MONSTERS! Mr. Yoy dug deep.  His acting rivaled the great Robert De Niro. A flicker of fear washed across Big E's sweet face. He did a 180 and sprinted down the hall back to the G-rated walls of his bedroom. Mission Accomplished.

This morning I was startled awake by screams. It was still dark so I wasn't sure which crying child was headed my direction. WHAT'S WRONG?  WHAT HAPPENED? I yelled from my cozy bed.  My tongue bathed in the remnants of last night's wine adventure. More cries.  But this time my keen ear distinguished this to be Little E. I thought his streak of never vomiting had unfortunately come to an end.  The only time Big E cried like this was when he vomited all over himself and his bed, which was awesome, by the way. I FELL OUT OF MY BED!  IT HURT! Poor Little E.  He dropped it like it was hot.  Right out of his leathery Costco trundle bed. I pulled him into bed as I still hadn't garnered enough strength to get up.  I'm not even sure if Mr. Yoy woke up for this.  He quietly snored away next to me. I soothed Little E as I strained to catch the time.  6:30.  He's up for the day.  And with all the adrenaline pumping through my tired body from the sudden wak

The chance the Yoys' shared bathroom has of not smelling like the men's urinals at the Falcon's game. My kids aren't even drinking beer and stuffing their faces with nachos. They are stone cold sober.  And three and four years old. No amount of bleach and the thrice-weekly washing of their bathmat keeps the lingering smell of urine at bay.  It mocks me. I'm thinking I need to install a drain in the floor, tile the walls and ceiling, and power wash that room every evening after I put them to bed. Any suggestions?  Besides requiring them to use the grass in the backyard.  I even used them all together.  I either singed all my nose hair or I finally (temporarily) got rid of the smell.

Big E's transition from a super small preschool to a full-fledged public elementary school has been pretty smooth. We knocked out last week's homework assignment with no problem.  High fives and back pats all around. I eagerly opened up Big E's homework folder this afternoon to see this week's project. And there it was.   DIORAMA. Don't know what that is?  Look it up.   Before we go any further, I'd like to point out the first part of the word basically communicates that me and my four year old son will die attempting to pull this thing together. I have foggy flashbacks of creating my own diorama using a shoebox and my dollhouse furniture.  I was also eight. Never fear, loyal readers, Mrs. Yoy has a plan! 1) Pinterest  2) If #1 fails, use my charms to convince Mr. Yoy to take the lead.  He's the creative one, anyway.

Big E was hard at work on his first homework assignment of the school year. Yes, I am aware that he is four and has homework. His task was to draw his school, his teacher, his classroom, himself.  I busted out the markers and watched Big E channel his inner artist.  As his mother, I believe him to be the next Monet, but in reality, his talents are more in line with an 80s episode of Win, Lose, or Draw. BIG E, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE YOU DREW! He looked up at me and smiled with such confidence. IS IT BECAUSE I USED A LEADING DISNEY ANIMATOR? Good lord.  My kid watches way too much Disney stuff.  He's already been brainwashed. Big E's Self-Portrait

Living in Atlanta has its pros and cons. I have yet to determine the pros, but as a regular reader of the Mrs. Yoy Blog, I'm sure you are familiar with some of the cons.  See crime, traffic, pot holes, etc. One of my top five cons, is the century old, jacked up water and sewer system. As a city resident, our monthly water and sewer bill is astronomical.  Some months, I take a shot of vodka just to have the courage to open the envelope. It consistently hovers in the $200/month range and we never use our sprinkler system.  Ever.  A few of my (un)lucky neighbors have received bills approaching $1,000.  For a month.  Of water.  Not Veuve Clicquot. We are mindful of our water usage.  It's not like we skip showers or don't flush our toilets, we just see dollar bills sliding down the drain when we do. Little E is newly bathroom independent.  He's doing great, for the most part. Yesterday he used the bathroom and washed his hands all without me having to get up and

This afternoon's outing began with the usual toilet standoff. While a toilet standoff sounds intriguing, it boils down to me pleading with my children to use the bathroom before we leave the house so we can avoid (AT ALL COSTS!) the dreaded public restroom. Who doesn't love dragging two kids into the dirtiest Walmart-ish bathroom stall on the planet? THIS GIRL! It is that visual that fuels my stubbornness.  Bathroom time is a must before we head out. Big E immediately refused. Little E happily climbed up on the toilet.  He hasn't graduated to the EVERYTHING-MY-MOM-SAYS-IS-SH*T phase yet. Half-way through Little E's bathroom time, Big E decided he needed to use the toilet.  Like yesterday. I offered him my bathroom, the guest bathroom, or the downstairs bathroom. These choices were sub-standard.   Big E needed his bathroom.  With the lovely blue walls, elephant decor, and plush towels.  There was no other option for him.   I watched

Big E fell flat on his face this evening. At first I couldn't tell if the blood was real or if it was residual paint and/or pizza sauce. But his tears were very real, so it's safe to assume that the blood was not for show. I calmed him down and assessed the damage to be a few surface scrapes and a rudolph-like nose, which I believe is the correct medical terminology. As bedtime approached, I received some terrible news courtesy of Big E. ANY SCRAPES OR BUMPS TO MY NOSE WILL CAUSE ME TO STAY AWAKE ALL NIGHT.  (It was even better in person, with his seriousness and overzealous hand gestures) My hopes for an early, peaceful evening sunk like my jokes at a cocktail party. But in the end, the 6.5 hours of school + 2.5 hours of playdating + 1.5 hours of pizza eating overpowered Big E and he boarded the express train to dreamland. AMEN. If you see Big E tomorrow, make sure you say hello!

My house may or may not be haunted .  Understandably, I'm a little jumpy. Little E retold his creepy ghost story AGAIN at Big E's school playground yesterday after class.  He's keeping the topic trending over here at the Yoy residence.  Which leads me into my next story... The morning alarm came too fast.  Mr. Yoy and I were out late jamming to the likes of Toto and Kansas last night.  We were paying for it this morning.  I mumbled something to Mr. Yoy and rolled over to grab my glasses. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I levitated into the safe clutches of the ceiling fan. Standing one inch away from my pillow was not one, but both Yoysers. Shoulder to shoulder.  Perfectly still.  Smiling in the dawn light. How did I not hear those guys slip into our room?  Their nighttime approach resembles a herd of elephants. I'm going to have to booby trap our bedroom door, Goonies style, if this continues. Try waking up to the boy version of this.  

Last night, I saw a ghost.  He was white.  Walking up our stairs.  And crying. This could be the opening scene to every terrible horror movie ever made.  Or it could be my sweet boy, Little E, telling everyone he encounters about our newest resident.  In his creepy little kid voice. His teacher told me about it first.  She pulled me aside to tell me how clearly he had described our ghost.  The hair on my arms stood up.   As I walked him home through our neighborhood, I tried to justify his story.   IT WAS PROBABLY A BAD DREAM. HE SAW IT ON SOME SILLY TV SHOW. But my sensibility, which I pride myself on, had quickly dissolved into hysteria by the time we turned onto our street. OUR HOUSE MUST BE BUILT ON AN OLD BURIAL GROUND! WE ARE HAUNTED! HOW WILL I EVER SLEEP AGAIN? I didn't say anything to Little E about it.  Instead, I watched in amazement as he relayed his story to anyone that would listen. I SAW A GHOST... Mr. Yoy thinks we are

Day two of Big E's adventure in Pre-K. He seems to be adjusting well.  No tears, no dragging his feet when it's time to go.  Heck, he even hugged every person left in his classroom goodbye this afternoon at pickup.  Including his teachers. As I was preparing to pull my stuff together, including Little E, and leave to go pick up Big E, we had an incident. I won't go into the gory deets, but it ended with Little E in the tub. So I didn't hear the approaching storm. I was in such a rush to get out the door, I didn't notice the rain until we backed out of the garage. I delusionally reassured myself it would let up by the time we made the five minute drive to school. I parked on the street and shut off the car.  I had about five minutes until I really had to get out and make the half a block walk to the school. LET'S GET OUT! Little E is so patient.  And clearly he wants yet another bath. The five minutes passed and the ran showed little sign of r

For almost three weeks, I've had my mom to help me care for the Yoys.  She flew up to the ATL while Mr. Yoy was away for work and then she flew with me down to South Florida where I stayed with the boys until Mr. Yoy retrieved us this past weekend. I'm not going to lie, I coast when she is around.  Most meals the boys ate during July were prepared by Grandma.  Which may explain why they ate gummy vitamins and sun chips for dinner tonight.  I forgot how to mom. If I had it my way, I'd ease my way back into hard core parenting.  It's really difficult to go from one end of the spectrum to the other.  Thank goodness I have my sweet boys to keep me on my toes. We hit up the Toyota service department this morning for an oil change. Both Yoys brought their backpacks full of learning books and stickers and snacks to keep them quiet for the 30 minutes it takes to change the oil.  These kids were prepared. I anxiously watched as the pot that is my children began to simm

Big E is a talker.  Not only is he a talker, he has zero filter.  Which can be very dangerous.  Mr. Yoy and I are very careful (most of the time) of what we say in front of him. Half of our conversation is spelled out.  When Big E finally learns to read, it will totally S-U-C-K. As we were leaving the pool this afternoon, we encountered an employee of the clubhouse leaving her shift. For the record, she began the conversation with Big E.  Which I'm sure she'll regret forever. It started innocently, but once she engaged Big E, the information was free-flowing.  I CAN COUNT TO ONE HUNDRED. I CAN COUNT TO MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED. MOST OF MY FRIENDS ARE FIVE. I'M NOT, UNTIL NOVEMBER. On and on he went. She asked him about dinner plans. CHICKEN NUGGETS?  OR TORTELLINI PASTA?  OR PEAS? I finally peeled Big E away from this poor woman. She yelled some parting words to Big E across the giant pool. ENJOY YOUR CHICKEN NUGGETS! In my mind, I played out what