The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

This afternoon, my new neighbor innocently rang my doorbell.  Her car battery was dead and she wondered if I could drive over and jump her car. Of course I could, but first, what is a car battery?  Kidding.  Sort of. She had the jumper cables and actually knew where they went so I just popped the hood and let her work her magic. Big E saw this as an opportunity.  He ran in the house and gathered all of his fall fundraiser catalogs.  He was finally going to get his chance to close the deal with a neighbor. He went through his whole spiel and pressed for the hard sell on the cookie dough.  I felt bad and I didn't want her to think that she had to buy something from him.  Even if we were jumping her car and saving her from calling AAA. I told her we'd bake up the cookie dough we'd already purchased and bring some cookies over to her and her daughter another day. That seemed to appease Big E, the closer. Have you thought about the Chanukah wrapping

Big E got into big trouble at school on Friday. He and a few of his classmates thought it would be HI-LARIOUS if they pulled down their shorts and undies in the cafeteria during lunchtime.  It was not. Because no one wants to see your hot dog while they are actually eating a hot dog. Big E's teacher sent a note home in his backpack detailing the incident.  He knew he had messed up.  Upon arriving home from school, Big E ran into his playroom and shut the door so he could "be alone with his toys and his backpack".  Maybe he thought he could destroy the evidence, but I'm too sharp for this kid.  Because I've been a kid.  Although, I was perfect and never got into any trouble. I sat down and asked Big E why he had done this and explained why it was inappropriate.  While everyone was laughing at it today, he could find himself in real trouble if he continued showing his privates in public.  He seemed to grasp why I was so upset and disappointed in him.  Shower,

Yesterday I made a run to Publix with my visiting mom.  She was helping me pick out food for my Rosh Hashanah dinner menu. We delegated the task of grabbing the Yoys from the bus stop and watching them until we returned home from Publix to my dad, Poppy.  It was a mere thirty minutes.  Whatever could go wrong? I pulled into the garage, popped the trunk, and hopped out of the car.  I immediately heard horror movie type screams coming from inside. I threw open the door.  Big E stood there.  Hysterical. I SWALLOWED A LEGO! My dad was flustered, to put it nicely. I'VE TOLD HIM EVERY DAY NOT TO PUT THOSE IN HIS MOUTH AND NOW HE SWALLOWED ONE! I tried to calm Big E down and get some details.  The piece was a 4 by 1, for all of you Lego professionals out there. I DON'T WANT TO BE CUT OPEN! It was time to spring into action.  I called Mr. Yoy.  He didn't seem impressed by our current crisis.  I hung up with him and called his doctor.  Because the Lego was plastic,

It began with escalating yelling from the playroom.  From my well-worn spot on the sofa, it sounded like Little E was repeatedly wrecking something Big E was building.  Typical annoying little brother stuff. Before I could intervene, I heard one final yell and then a scream so high that all the neighborhood dogs were beckoned to my front door. I ran to a hysterical Little E. WHAT HAPPENED? No response.  Just silent crying. HE WAS RUINING MY BUILDING!  HE KEPT GRABBING THE BLOCKS.  I HIT HIM IN THE HEAD. Big E spoke up.  His bottom lip was quivering.  He knew he was in the dog house. For the record, Little E was having a rough week as I'd already tried to wipe off his face with a soccer ball . I knelt down to try and soothe him. I couldn't tell where the point of impact was. Maybe his forehead? There was a smudge of blood.  Maybe Big E had cut him with the magnetic blocks. It was only then did I notice the drip, drip, drip of blood onto my hard

This afternoon we were playing on the school playground.  It was mostly deserted and the boys were getting b-o-r-e-d. We decided to play a harmless game of soccer. Little E and I versus Big E. Little E mostly ran around, played some hopscotch, and sucked his thumb.  He was not a very solid teammate. Even in my dress and Croc sandals, I was determined to destroy Big E.  I lined up for a big kick and fired away. I'd like to blame my rubber sandals for my misfire, but it might just be my soccer ineptitude. The ball fired off the side of my foot and straight into Little E's face, a mere five feet away. I gasped. Little E began screaming. MOMMY, YOU HURTED ME!  MOMMY, THAT HURTED! Over and over again. Oy, the guilt.  I felt horrible.  Big E immediately recovered the ball and scored on me while I comforted his baby brother.  He is clearly soul-less. So many tears fell down Little E's sweaty red face.  Tears welled up in my eyes, too. IT HURTED ME, TOO, L

Up until the start of school, Little E was still peeing like a girl.   I knew once school began the lure of the tiny urinals would convert Little E to a stand-up urinator, but I was delaying this as long as possible. You see, last year I painted their bathroom wall a beautiful blue.  I purchased a new shower curtain and coordinating rugs that I really loved and enjoyed.  I'd walk into their bathroom and smile.  I had actually successfully decorated a space in my home without the use of a designer.  It was perfect. And I wasn't about to let a bunch of urine destroy my dream. But as I predicted, Little E began to ask to use the toilet standing up.  And you know what, his aim was pretty decent. What WAS I worried about anyway? And then I remembered. Little E must have been hallucinating before bath time on Monday.  I think he believed the bathroom wall was on fire and was in need of a hose down.  So he graciously provided the "water".  He soake

Last week Mr. Yoy visited Washington, D.C. for work and like any good daddy, returned with presents for the Yoys. One was a 3D puzzle of the White House and the other was a fake Lego, which I will from now on refer to as Flego, of Air Force One. The boys' eyes lit up when they saw their gifts. I just saw a giant headache in the making. On Saturday, while Mr. Yoy was at the office, the boys decided they wanted to put together the Flego plane.  I opened the box and the bag and handed the instructions to Big E. GOOD LUCK, BUDDY. And with that, I returned to the kitchen to clean up breakfast. MOM. MOM. MOM. MOM. MOM. CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THIS? I knew this moment would come.  I gulped down some Coke Zero, swept the cobwebs from my brain, and sat down on the floor in the playroom with the Flego instructions. The Flegos instructions were most likely printed in the same factory as the Ikea instructions. IS THIS IN SWEDISH?  AND IS IT UPSIDE DOWN? This well-intentioned

This afternoon we met some friends at the local Chick-Fil-A for some indoor playground time and an early meal. My friend and I watched our four crazy boys through the extra thick glass.  We weren't about to enter the play area where their laughs and yells were amplified to deafening levels. But we watched other kids' moms go in there and sit on the germ infested bench and slowly bake to death. I noticed Little E was getting very chatty with a few of the moms.  I could see his mouth moving, but had no idea what information he was disseminating.  I prayed it wasn't anything incriminating or personal.  Or both. One of the moms approached me when she was leaving. IS THAT YOUR SON IN THE BLUE THOMAS SHIRT? Gulp. Um, yes, I guess I'll claim him.  But only if this is a good, positive story.  If not, he's my friend's son. YES, IT IS. She went on to explain that she was speaking to her kids in Spanish and Little E recognized it as such. She asked him if

The toy situation at my house was out of control. We were long overdue for a toy purge. This can be a very precarious process.   Do I let the boys help me pick out the things they want to give away?  We all KNOW how that ends.  With zero toys being removed from the giant toy sh*thole that mocks me as I relax on my buttery leather couch.   With the start of school I was finally given the time to sneakily go in there and remove things that the Yoys haven't touched in months. I said good-bye to mega blocks, duplo blocks, one too many Chick-Fil-A toys, and a menacing Wreck-It Ralph doll.  I also earmarked some Geo Trax trains to be driven up to my brother's house when my parents roll through in a few weeks. I was feeling cleansed.  Organized.  I dumped the toys into trash bags and labeled them for their final destinations.  I moved the black bags into my trunk.  Guilt crept into my thoughts.  But I shut that down fast.  It's not like I was dumping a dead

Little E has worn the same shoes since he began walking: size XW New Balance sneakers.  We may switch up the color but it is always the same shoe.  It's the only shoe I can find that will close over Little E's Fred Flintstone feet. Currently he is rocking a gray pair.  I bought them right before school started, so they are still in pretty good shape. Last week, I got a call from one of Little E's teachers.  Anytime I get a call from school I expect the worst . At some point during the day, Little E had ended up with another student's gray New Balances.  His teacher requested I send them back the next day. I checked his shoes as soon as the bus dropped him off.  Sure enough they were a size smaller and were just W, not XW.  I pictured Cinderella and laughed at the visual of Little E jamming his foot into the wrong shoe. I thought it and my mom and Mr. Yoy both asked it. HOW DID HE NOT REALIZE HE WAS WEARING THE WRONG SHOES IN THE WRONG SIZE? He just didn