The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

I watched in awe this morning as my sons, but mostly Big E, asked a sweet, old lady who was accompanied by her granddaughter, for some coins to ride the way over priced rides at our mall. Out of principle, I refuse to give them money for this purpose. MOMMY IS POOR.  WE HAVE NO MONEY. I say this knowing with 100% certainty that Big E will relay this nugget of juicy gossip to the next random person he engages with. I'm sure the lady handing out popcorn samples gives two sh*ts that we are poor and out of money.  But at least she will know about it and can digest that info anyway she pleases. But back to the Yoys. They snaked over a dollar in quarters out of this grandma.  Maybe she was trying to buy them off, as they were hovering over her granddaughter as she rode some rides.  Let me rephrase that, Big E was hovering and Little E was crying, as usual. I tried to give the money back, but she refused.  So I thanked her profusely for her kindness and went to work on my ne

I have only begun to dip my toes into the cesspool known as organized youth sports. I missed the window to sign Big E up for spring t-ball, but this is a decision not to be taken lightly, so I'm going to over analyze all our options. If we lived in Dunwoody along with the other 99% of Atlanta's Jewish population, it would be a no-brainer.  We'd sign Big E up to play at the JCC.  With no traffic we are looking at a thirty minute drive.  With traffic (the most likely scenario) we could maybe get there just in time for the 2015 season. While traffic is a major deterrent, there is a substantial positive to signing Big E up to play in the Jewish kid league. Are you going to make me say it? Ok, I will. He'll be playing against other short, athletically-challenged kids. And don't say I'm perpetuating stereotypes.  Name another Jewish athlete besides Sandy Koufax? I'm waiting. The Gym at Peachtree Presbyterian (much closer to us) also has a t-ball

This afternoon, the Yoys set a bath tub record. I drew a hot and steamy bath for them after school.  It is pretty cold out, so I made it extra hot and steamy. They jumped in around 2:15. Thirty minutes in, I began planting the seed that bath time was soon to be over. The Yoys had other ideas. They were playing and laughing and having a great time.  I let them be. I stuck my hand in the water around 3 to check the temperature.  It wasn't even lukewarm.  It was bordering on cold. I'm pretty sure I saw an iceberg or two form between the floating boats and balls and cups. I finally convinced them to evacuate the tub a little after 3.  This has to be some sort of tub time world record.  Maybe I should call the good folks at Guinness? Who spends that long in the water, anyway?  Especially without reinforcing the water temperature with some hot, hot water and maybe a glass of wine and a good book? I no longer had two sons.  I had two prunes. Little E's B

Little E is on a pre-school diaper changing strike. He has yet to inform his major negotiating issues to his mom, but my guess would be something like: SOFTER WIPES! MORE BUTT CREAM! In any case, he refuses to allow his teacher to change his dirty diaper. Changing him can be complicated anyway, but now that he is injured, I'm afraid to hold him down and accidentally hurt him.  If I'm afraid, I'm sure his teachers are petrified. After school he came running at me and I could almost see, and most definitely smell, his hot, steaming trail. If Little E doesn't mind sitting in his own filth for god knows how long, potty training him will be a beast. I can't even allow myself to begin to visualize how poorly that will go. Instead, I will visualize myself at the spa.

I ran into Dr. K, the Yoys pediatrician, while I was at Publix this morning. Our previous public encounter was at the local farmer's market.  She bore witness to some crazy caloric muffin crack my kids were shoving down their throats from the local bakery stand.  I was mortified. Today was my lucky day.  My shopping list was flooded with vegetables needed to make my healthy, yet delicious and filling vegetable soup.  My cart was a cornucopia of fruits, veggies, and a rotisserie chicken. She asked how Little E's collarbone was healing. YEAH, YEAH, IT'S FINE, LOOK IN MY CART! I'M FEEDING MY KIDS THE BEST, MOST HEALTHY FOODS EVER! PRAISE ME!  I NEED SOMEONE TO TELL ME I'M DOING A GOOD JOB! I inched my cart towards her.  Daring her to take a sweeping glance. After a few minutes of chatting about how I want to put Little E in a bubble because I can't stomach his daily falls, she moved on. Even if she didn't take notice, I still feel vindicated

After school today, I threw the Yoys into the tub to wash off their preschool funk. Their bathroom is set up, so that I sit on the closed toilet while I wash them.  As I sat on my throne and watched the boys play (nicely, I may add), I had the need to blow my nose. I reached back and unrolled some toilet paper, ripped it off, and blew my nose all without taking my eyes off the boys. When I was finished, I noticed the toilet paper had brown, crusty spots.  I held one end of the toilet paper and let it unfold. Then I gagged. Those spots weren't from me.  They were dried poop. Big E must have implemented some top secret bullsh*t save the planet platform and decided to reuse toilet paper.  He rolled it out, used it, and then rolled it back. Little boys are rank. Excuse me while I go cleanse my face with bleach.

My pilgrimage across the Piedmont Hospital campus ends at Building 95. For those of you familiar with the area, I've just strolled/walked with the Yoys from the parking deck, to the pediatrician's office, to another building while navigating the random and completely inconvenient crosswalk system.  Plus I have my winter coat and boots on and am now breaking a sweat. We sign in.  Little E finds a cup of pencils used to fill out forms, dumps them out and then tries to drink from the dirty cup.  Yes! Big E snuggles up to some cute blond lady and begins explaining the ins and outs of his Leap Pad.  Thank goodness she is an elementary school teacher and appears to have endless patience for him. We get called down to an area where they give Little E a wristband with all of his patient info. Little E did not get the mandatory hospital wristband memo.  He goes ballistic and begins pulling at it. NO BRACELET!  NO BRACELET! I smile weakly at the hospital administrator and c

I must say, we timed our arrival perfectly.  You know how I loathe hanging out in the waiting room of the pediatrician's office.  Especially during the plague season. The boys barely had time to lick the fish tank glass, when Little E was called back. Big E is all about the doctor's office when he is just an onlooker.  He took the lead, I really didn't have to be there. Big E explained perfectly to Dr. K what had happened to Little E.  It was like I was watching him present on his medical school rounds.  For a minute, I was such a proud, Jewish mother. Dr. K had me take Little E's shirt off so she could examine him. She moved his arm around and checked his elbow and wrist. I'M NAKED!  I'M NAKED! Little E repeated this until I finally translated it to Dr. K. She burst into laughter. But this how I know she is an awesome doctor.  She casually asked Little E to high-five her with his left arm.  He began to, but then switched and high-fived her wit

Little E had a 2:15 doctor's appointment for his arm. We had some time to kill post school pick-up, so we crashed Mr. Yoy's lunch with our friend, Lady A. Little E came out from school with a box of Purim goodies.  Think Halloween on crack rock plus three giant hamentashen cookies in a square cardboard box. I wasn't aware of what was in the Purim Pandora's box and allowed Little E to carry "his box" into the Buckhead Bread Company. We sat down at the table and immediately Little E wanted to open the box.  I gladly did so, as he is sad and injured. This box would be my undoing. The Yoys proceeded to fight over its contents, my phone, world politics, and abortion rights over lunch.  I faked out leaving twice, but by the third time it was out of control and I left with the boys. Once I had the boys buckled in their seats, screaming, I began the traffic laden drive down Peachtree Street during the lunch rush.  Within ten minutes of stopping and start

We are a sorry sack of souls. All five of us.  And I'm including Poodle Yoy in this count. Sixty percent of this family has been placed on injured reserve. I threw my back out.  Again.  Which, when you have to lift 35+ pound kids into car seats throughout the day, can be quite taxing.  I'm limping around like an old lady.  It is completely not awesome. Moving on to Poodle Yoy.  She did something wonky to her back leg and hasn't used it in about two weeks.  The pain medicine has run out and she is not better.  Back to the vet we go on Friday.  She's lucky she keeps my kitchen floor spotless or she would REALLY have something to worry about. And finally.  The little big guy.  Little E.  He's had a rough week, complete with multiple falls.  He's walking around like Bob Dole with very limited use of his left arm.  It is pathetic. We need a nurse up in this house.  STAT. Hoping Mr. Yoy and Big E can buck the trend!

It's winter.  It's dry.  Dry skin is abundant.  It's a winter badge of honor, I suppose. Big E has taken to licking the backs of his hands.  I'm not sure if this is his own personal moisturizing routine, but it is killing the skin on his hands. I lotion him up nightly, and I'm pretty sure he is eating the lotion off. Whatever he's doing, is not working. It pains me to look at his raw hands.  Some parts have started to crack and bleed. So I'm wondering what is coming next. Should I put out a liter box for him? Maybe some catnip? I think I might start with some gloves to keep his tongue away from his skin. Big E's hands.  It's what's for dinner.

I needed one minute to call someone back from our synagogue. Just one minute. The Yoys were quietly watching a movie and munching on slices of cheese. I tip-toed into the kitchen and dialed the number. It's like they KNOW I'm on the phone. Poodle Yoy snaked Big E's cheese and he lost his sh*t.  Um, Big E she ate your cheese, not your actual hand. He came running into the kitchen in full nuclear meltdown mode. Little E, not to be ignored, followed hot on his trail, flung open the refrigerator door and began unloading the dairy drawer. I tried to ignore the chaos and write down a few phone numbers. CAN YOU REPEAT THAT?  SORRY.  CAN YOU REPEAT THAT.  AGAIN? I appreciated that the woman on the phone didn't make a snarky comment as I know she heard the sh*t show being transmitted via telephone. IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU'VE GOT YOUR HANDS FULL. She didn't say that, but that is the stuff I usually hear. I translate it to mean:  IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU H

Big E hit a new milestone today. No, he isn't reading.  Or even peeing while standing. While trying to get Big E to sit down for dinner, he busted out some new schtick. It went like this. BIG E, SIT DOWN AND EAT YOUR DINNER! (this is me, just to clarify) Big E looked at me and smiled the most evil smile I'd ever seen pass his lips. BIG E, SIT DOWN AND EAT YOUR DINNER! (this is him, mocking the sh*t out of me) I was stunned.  First I wanted to laugh, because I know I did this as a child.   BIG E, STOP REPEATING ME AND EAT! (again, this is me) BIG E, STOP REPEATING ME AND EAT! (again, my mocking, smiling son) After the initial urge to laugh subsided I was mad as hell.  This was the most annoying thing he's ever done to me (hmm...maybe not...see every other blog post ever). OH, YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?  (you know the drill) OH, YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?  That silenced me.  I stopped talking for the next thirty minutes.  I shook

This evening's fight to the death battle was over a two day old birthday party balloon. I pleaded with Big E to let Little E have it.  The sound of them attempting to rip it from each other's grip was akin to nails on the chalkboard. It was late in the day and my patience was scarce. IF YOU DON'T STOP FIGHTING OVER THE BALLOON I'M GOING TO POP IT! Big E looked at me for a moment. WITH SCISSORS?  POP IT, MOMMY! They broke out into a quite catchy, POP IT chant. Being the people pleaser that I am, I grabbed the scissors and with a dramatic flair stabbed the hell out of the birthday balloon. POP! And it was over.  Except it wasn't. The Yoys began crying in unison. I WANT THE BALLOON BACK!  WHY DID YOU POP IT? I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE STRING! For reals? It took every ounce of will power to return the scissors to their hiding spot instead of where I wanted them to go (my eyeballs). Hello balloon, please meet your demise.

I am the mother to two sons. I expected the wrestling and hitting and running and wildness and screaming. What shocks me daily, is the amount of wrestling and hitting and running and wildness and screaming. It never subsides.  Not even as we are reading bedtime stories and Big E is launching himself from his bed to mere inches away from the churning ceiling fan.   Note:  I did not sign up for decapitation by ceiling fan. Like Ponce De Leon, I am forever searching.  Not for the Fountain of Youth, but something more in line with the opposite of the Fountain of Youth.  I'm searching for the ultimate little boy energy drain. If only I could harness this raw energy.  I could plug my phone, televisions, and appliances into the back of the Yoys.  I'd never have to pay a Georgia Power bill AGAIN. We had two days of cold weather here in the ATL and the kids were climbing the walls.  There was no school today, so I had to dig deep and figure out something to do that would de

Big E woke me up bright and early at 4AM. MOM, I NEED MORE WATER. Half-asleep, I pour more water into his cup and put him back to bed. I was just falling back to sleep when I heard the pitter-patter of Big E's feet.  I played dead hoping he'd turn around and go back to his room. He began whispering in my ear.  It was super creepy, kind of like something you'd see in the movie Stigmata.  It didn't really sound like he was speaking English, but every once in awhile I'd hear the word "MOM". I opened my eye and glared at him. MOM, I'M HAVING TROUBLE KEEPING MY EYELIDS CLOSED. This whole middle of the night thing is getting way old.  I cannot sustain life as a productive mom if this keeps happening. GO IN YOUR ROOM AND DO YOUR LEARNING BOOKS! I roll over and try to settle back down. I hear his feet again. MOM, I CAN'T FIND THE NEW LEARNING BOOK GRANDMA BROUGHT ME. Um, at 4:30 in the morning, this is the least of my concerns.  I

Today we hit up the Botanical Gardens as the weather was stunning. After running through the entirety of the garden and shoving his face full of snacks, Big E had to use the facilities. As I debated with Big E the merits of standing while going to the bathroom, he informed me this was a more serious visit.  He was going to have a BM. Side note.  This kid LOVES to poop in public.  I'd rather turn my system toxic than do it, but not Big E.  He is all about it! I got him all set up and removed myself from the stall as Big E requested privacy. I stood on the other side of the door and held it close. In walked a mom and her two elementary school aged children.  They were all talking and Big E caught on fast that there were other kids in the restroom. HELLO! Big E yelled out his most enthusiastic greeting from atop the throne. I quickly shushed him and managed a weak smile at the mom. OPEN THE DOOR SO I CAN TALK TO THEM! Unfortunately it had to be in the middle

Last night, Mr. Yoy was out of town.  I put the Yoys to bed early (6:30) and enjoyed a wonderful evening sacked out on the couch, wearing my fancy sweats, while watching terrible reality television. Around 10:45, my eyelids began to crumble and I moved the party upstairs to my bedroom.  I tucked myself in a little before 11 and made it about ten minutes into Conan's monologue before I boarded the sleep train.  I had the bed to myself and I was going to have an amazing night's sleep.  I could just tell. Fast forward 45 minutes. 11:55 PM MOM!  YOU FORGOT TO TURN THE LIGHT OFF DOWNSTAIRS.  YOU ARE WASTING ELECTRICITY! I slowly open my eyes.  Usually I hear Big E creep into my room, but last night, I was dead to the world.  I sit up and look at the clock.  It's not even midnight. BIG E, I LEFT THE LIGHT ON INTENTIONALLY BECAUSE DADDY ISN'T HOME AND THAT SINGLE FLOOD LIGHT OVER THE FIREPLACE WILL DEFINITELY KEEP THE BURGLARS AWAY.  NOW GO TO BED. He makes his w

The Yoys attend half-day preschool three days a week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we all hang out together.  I try and schedule activities and outings to keep them occupied, but sometimes it doesn't work out that way.  Especially when the weather blows, which it has with some consistency every Tuesday and Thursday since we returned from wintering in Florida. Today ended up being a lazy day.  Little E and I managed to change into street clothes, but Big E is still in his fleece jammies, per his request. The following occurred all before lunch was served. 1)  Little E fell down the stairs.  Not a super dramatic, Scarlett O-Hara-esque spill, but enough to scare me.  I watched in horror as his giant head lead the way as he somersaulted down three stairs.  He managed to stop himself one step above the hardwood floor.  The whole event lasted about 10 seconds.  Little E then cried for approximately 20 minutes.  Oy. 2) Big E bit Little E for trying to take control of his playlist o

At Babies R US last week, I had a massive lack of judgement. I blame the colors.  The miniature size.  The kitschy name.  The instant flood of memories of myself drawing in my sketch book as a child. I bought the Yoys markers.  And a truckload of them, to boot. In my incapacitated state, I purchased 16 markers.  Or as I have now renamed them, destroyers of all things nice in my house. The boys did color with the markers some.  Big E even used them to design his appropriately titled, I'M SORRY, MOMMY piece . Mostly they dump the Pip Squeaks on the floor, take all the caps off, and then leave them to dry out. If I were smart, I'd let those suckers dry out.  But I'm too Type A.  I end up scouring the playroom hunting down matching caps and markers.  I am slowly going insane. I'm tabbing this entry for when I have the inkling to purchase a set of drums for Big E or a supersoaker for Little E. Where is the red cap?  I say, where in the world did that red

As of two weeks ago, Little E decided he was a man and no longer needed a lengthy, three hour afternoon nap. After I sat three days worth of Shiva over the loss, I finally came to terms with my new reality. And it wasn't THAT bad.  We could actually stay out and do stuff past 1pm. There was a freedom I hadn't felt since before I had kids.  I was no longer toting around a time bomb set to explode at precisely the same time each afternoon. I know, I know, I'm supermom.  But please, give me a chance to explain.  In response to our new nap-free household, I've moved up bedtime. It's 6:30, you say?  Well then bath time begins now and lights out is in precisely 30 minutes.  Don't like the new routine?  Write a letter to the management (she's the one with constant bags under her eyes and a caffeine IV). But I have a dirty little secret.  Both boys are napping now.  We are going to a program this evening at our Synagogue and I find they are less likely to