The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

We spent the afternoon outside playing with the Yoys' new water table. I like to equate my kids to bridge trolls.  They will not let you pass our house without having an intimate and entirely inappropriate conversation with them. Today a new neighbor walked by.  I recognized the dog first as it plays out in their backyard, which I have a clear view of.  I also know that new neighbor's wife is like 10 months pregnant.  I've seen her out back sunning her swollen belly on the few nice March days we've had here in the ATL. It began innocently with a few hellos and questions about the neighbor's dog. WE HAVE A DOG!  HER NAME IS POODLE YOY!  SHE IS GREY BECAUSE SHE IS OLD! HER BREATH STINKS! You know, the usual deets. Then it got personal. DO YOU HAVE ANY KIDS? New neighbor stifled a laugh. NOT YET.  (A very cryptic response in my opinion) Big E was not phased. YOU WILL..... It was almost in a threatening tone...

Bedtime did not go as planned. Big E's frustrating preference of barely eating dinner followed by multiple snacks after teeth brushing, while in bed, caused a minor tiff between us. I'M READING BOOKS NOW.  IF YOU GO DOWNSTAIRS TO GET A SNACK YOU WILL MISS PART OF THIS BOOK. His response was to throw a book at my head.  It grazed my chin.  But I had had enough.  I stood up to storm out of the room.  It was either that or throw him out the second story window. Mid-stride, Little E walked into the path of Tornado Mrs. Yoy.  I tripped on him. He went down hard. I went down harder.  I slammed my already ailing back into Big E's bedroom door as I landed on my side. Little E started crying.  My back was in flames.  I felt like that old lady on the infamous commercial. I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP! I propped myself up on my elbow to assess the damage to Little E. Blood.  Dripping from his mouth.  On the carpet.  On my...

I've attempted to teach Big E my phone number in case he gets lost, kidnapped, or runs away from home and then has major regrets. BIG E, WHAT'S MY PHONE NUMBER? He thinks about it for a minute before he confidently gives his answer. 2-7-2... OH WAIT, THAT'S THE CHANNEL NUMBER FOR DISNEY JUNIOR (which by the way Mr. Yoy canceled around the beginning of the year in a cost cutting measure)! Great, my kid won't know how to contact his worried sick mother, but he'll sure as sh*t be able to watch his favorite television programming from his kidnapper's dark basement. It's called priorities, people.  Get some.

I have recently introduced board games into Big E's activities syllabus. I have to admit, I'm astonished by the amount of cheating that Big E attempts to pull-off. Look, I love to cheat.  I used to win many dart games on the bar scene by slyly adding a few extra points to my score here and there.  No one ever caught on to my hijinks and I earned the reputation of being a mean dart player. So I know a cheater when I see one. Here are some glaring examples of Big E's indiscretions. 1)  Chutes and Ladders:  Only the ladders apply to Big E.  He chooses to ignore the chutes.  What goes up does not come back down, at least in his mind. 2)  Candyland:  Big E asks to shuffle and go first.  He pulls the first card which is ALWAYS the cupcake or whatever sweet card lands you like six spaces from winning.  I need to teach him more subtle ways to win. But there is a bigger question looming.  What is driving him to be such a terrib...

This fall, if all the stars align (I'm talking to you Atlanta Public School pre-k lottery!), both Yoys will be in school every day, for at least part of the day. I will have four blissful hours each morning. SO, ARE YOU GOING TO GO BACK TO WORK? I've heard this response more times than I can count. For the record, I have never left work.  I have just changed employers and taken a major pay cut.  I do have a few mornings a week for myself, but mostly it is me and them.  All day, every day.  The grandparents all live out of state.  My beloved babysitter fell and broke some important things that have sidelined her. Mr. Yoy works 17,000 hours a week.  It's me.  Only me. I'm not complaining about it.  Well, not really.  You see, I chose this route. And I'm not trying to start a mommy war.  Each woman's decision after having a baby, whether it is to stay home, work full-time, or somewhere in between is a very personal choice. ...

Over a week has gone by since we set the clocks ahead one hour, and I'm still dealing with the ramifications. Tonight, I put the Yoys to bed around 7:30.  I feel like that is a respectable bedtime for a two and four year old. Big E thought differently.  His closing arguments in his case against it not being bedtime went well beyond ten minutes.  The daylight at bedtime thing is really rocking his world. Finally, Big E requested a phone call to Uncle Yoy to verify my claim that bedtime had arrived. Uncle Yoy confirmed that it was indeed bedtime. For the record, I wore this kid out today.  Two hours at the botanical gardens where he operated on only one speed:  Olympic Sprinter. After that, we headed to the mall where he lunched and then spent an additional 1.5 hours in the new play area. He nodded off as we drove home and I know for a fact he was up in the middle of the night playing as he woke me up at 6AM to tuck him back in.  An...

DISCLAIMER.  THE MAJORITY OF THIS STORY IS HEARSAY, AS I SPENT MOST OF THE TIME WITH MY EYES COVERED. Saturday afternoon we took the Yoys over to a local Synagogue to see Lisa Loeb (LL) play music from her plethora of children's albums.  She was in town courtesy of the Atlanta Jewish Music Festival. Before I dive into the gory details, I'd like to say that LL never ages.  Her glasses may change, but she looks the same to me.  I find this amazing as she has two little kids and I feel that the four years I've spent as a mother has aged me approximately 27 years.   Onward we go. I was pretty relaxed about the show because it would be loud and my kids could be cray-cray, along with everyone else's and all the parents would just lean back and smile and give each other knowing glances. There was a group of children sitting politely on the floor directly in front of the bimah (stage) where LL was strumming her guitar.  My kids and Cous...

As I watched Little E swing his leg up and successfully clear the side of his crib, I suppressed the urge to vomit. It wasn't for fear that Little E would injure himself attempting to escape his jail, I mean crib. It was a premonition. I will soon have two zombie children trolling around my house at all hours of the night asking for sh*t like cookies, their leap pads, or to be tucked in. My sleep.  My precious sleep, already tempered by the inability to hold my bladder longer than four hours, a snoring elderly poodle, and the occasional Big E pop-in, will now be subject to another line of assault. I need to hire either a night nurse or a security guard to man the hallway in between our bedrooms. Mrs. Yoy NEEDS her sleep!

Every week, I hard boil a pot of eggs to keep on hand for snacks. I'm not going to launch into an egg commercial, but they are pretty awesome. I was starving when we arrived home from school yesterday.  I was ravenously peeling my egg.  Big E walked up and pointed to the yolk. IS THE YELLOW PART THE BABY CHICK? And, scene. My former most favorite snack in the whole wide world.

Passover is right around the corner. Here at the Yoys, we have yet to purge all the delicious bread products from our pantry. But don't get me wrong.  We are super amped about Passover.  We even brought out of retirement the giant cardboard bricks to do some building and wrecking. I use "we" very liberally. It ended up being me, sitting on the floor, while Big E barked at me to build a tower, a bridge, a tunnel, and finally, a pyramid. And after 30-something Seders under my belt, I finally appreciated what my people had gone through in Egypt. Big E was Pharaoh and I was tasked with building his stupid pyramids.  All he needed was a crazy hat and some killer eyeliner (The Ten Commandments Movie Joke!) This sucked. Dry your eyes, folks.  It gets better.  I had the last laugh on my taskmaster. Big E requested he be entombed in his tower of terror. Gladly. If only Little E's hot cottage cheese breath didn't bring the whole structure crashing do...

Today is Wednesday.  So just like clockwork, I tossed the boys into the tub to wash off whatever happens at preschool. Little E had an unidentified yellow mess crusted to the side of his face.  The jury is still out on whether it was mustard or paint.  I wasn't willing to taste it, and Little E told me he ate cottage cheese for lunch.  Which is, in fact, a bold faced lie. Little E had other plans for bath time.  Like not taking one. He refused to sit down.  He screamed.  And then he tried to climb out. This is super dangerous on so many levels. His wet, stubby legs are never going to scale the side of the tub.  And so I know how this story ends.  He slips and falls and cracks his head open.  Meanwhile, Big E obliviously sits there and bathes in his brother's blood. Um, no thanks. I try and force him to sit down.  That doesn't really work.  His screams escalated. I reached for him again, but this time my fingerna...

After months of boycotting the Yoys' weekly Shabbat school program due to their ill behavior, I have begun to reintroduce myself. The first few weeks back haven't been too bad.  For the most part, the boys have behaved and Big E fully understands that any bullsh*t from him will result in my self-exiling, again. In between songs today, Big E walked up to me, pulled my finger, and yelled out FART! STOP THAT!  NOW! I growled at him and give him my sternest-you-are-in-serious-sh*t look.   He did it again.  And again. I could feel my face heat up and turn bright red.  I glanced around to see who had heard our exchange. For the record, I do not sit around my house having my kids pull my fingers while farting on demand.  I'm sure you didn't need me to clarify that, but I did regardless. But where on Earth did Big E pick up such a disgusting and rude party trick you may ask? Look no further than Mr. Yoy.  It's a shame he miss...

The following books have been forever banned from the Yoy bedtime library. 1)  Books with sounds.  The Yoys fight to the death over who gets to press the train whistle button.  I'm not having it. 2) Books with flaps.  The Yoys (AGAIN) fight to the death over who gets to lift/rip off the flap.  Spoiler Alert:  Peek-a-boo!  It's always the same damn baby under there. 3) I SPY books.  They may only be a few pages long,  but their length to actual reading time ratio is alarmingly high. 4) The entire Five Little Monkeys series.  This just incites bed jumping and overall wildness that is incompatible with bedtime. Follow these guidelines to insure a much smoother (and shorter!) bedtime routine. And feel free to add onto the list.  I'm always looking for ways to further streamline the bedtime process. You are welcome. One of the forbidden...

I began blogging because I wanted a creative outlet to vent the frustrations and joys and madness of quasi-single parenting. I always say that Mr. Yoy works all the time, and by all the time I mean my kids point to Mr. Yoy's office building and refer to it as his home. It's not that Mr. Yoy hates us (at least I don't believe he does), it's just that he is working his a** off to ensure our future is financially stable.  And while I joke and (fake) complain about it endlessly, I get it and I respect his work ethic, integrity, and sacrifice.  It is incredible and endless. Today, Mr. Yoy was rewarded for his outstanding work.  He was promoted to partner at his law firm. And in a weird way, I felt like I was promoted, too. All the weeknight dinners and baths and stories that I do solo each and every night. All the weekend days when I'm scurrying for things to do with the boys while all our friends are spending time as a family. All the evenings sitting in s...

It was finally bedtime at the Yoys. OK BOYS, LET'S HEAD UPSTAIRS! Big E shot upstairs like a rocket.  I should have been suspicious, but I was just very tired and grateful. It took Little E a tad more convincing.  I finally corralled the herd and headed up to face my next challenge.  BEDTIME. I heard a suspicious noise coming from Big E's bathroom. MOM, SOMETIMES I HAVE A HARD TIME... My heart leapt into my throat.  How will this sentence end? SAYING I LOVE YOU? FINISHING MY VEGETABLES? FALLING ASLEEP? Sadly, it was none of these benign problems. Big E had used the little potty to take a major poop and was trying to carry the contents to the toilet.  But he failed miserably.  Thankfully, it was mostly urine that flooded the bathroom floor, but it was close to seven and I had mentally checked out for the day.  At least I thought I had. I got to work cleaning up the bathroom floor, the little toilet, the big toilet and everything ...