The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Mr. Yoy is traveling for work.  This left me with a WIDE OPEN SATURDAY. My plan was to kill two hours at the YMCA (that's the maximum time that the Yoys can spend in the child care area per day), grab some lunch, and head over to Aunt Yoy's to commiserate about our traveling husbands. My first victory of the day was getting Big E to agree to go to the Y.  Usually it takes a miracle.  Today it was the promise of one dollar. We unloaded at the Y.  This included a giant history book and an Oriental Trading catalog (which is the equivalent of Catnip for kids). YOU DO KNOW THEY HAVE TOYS TO PLAY WITH HERE? But no one wanted to listen to me.  As usual. I held onto Big E's hand while he gripped his 400 page learning book.  Little E held onto Big E's elbow and his Oriental Trading catalog.  We formed a chain precariously making our way into the building. Except Big E tripped and went down hard.  He basically belly flopped onto the asphalt. ...

This afternoon Big E came home with zero homework.  Which was FINE BY ME. We decided to play a "friendly" game of monopoly.  Big E loves the hell out of some Monopoly.  He will wake up in the middle of the night and play a game by himself.  He sets up two players and plays himself. MOM, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE I LIKE TO PLAY IN MONOPOLY! He's buttering me up and I like it. Also, I think I'm the only one gullible enough to play with him.  I have yet to beat Big E at Monopoly.  He has a strategy and he consistently applies it to crush my soul. YOU KEEP ME FROM CHEATING.  WITHOUT YOU MOM, MY BODY JUST SAYS CHEAT, CHEAT, CHEAT. I swallow hard.  I think my child just admitted that when he sets up his solo insomnia Monopoly games, he cheats.  Who cheats when they are playing themselves? I'm raising a morally bankrupt human, and he has already decided his fate at the ripe old age of six. Big E is the next crooked banker who in 2065 will cle...

The boys got off to school without any major catastrophes. I was trying to fold a laundry pile equivalent to the size of Mt. Everest. My phone rang.  I was expecting the tree guy at 8AM to take a look at something for me, maybe he was delayed. I ran to my phone.  It was Little E's teacher.  My heart did a flip flop. PLEASE TELL ME HE DIDN'T FALL OFF THE PLAYGROUND EQUIPMENT AND BREAK HIS FACE. PLEASE TELL ME HE DIDN'T HAVE RAGING DIARRHEA ALL OVER THE CAFETERIA. PLEASE JUST BE CALLING TO TELL ME WHAT A SWEET BOY I WAS RAISING AND HOW HAPPY SHE WAS TO SEE HIS SMILING FACE EACH MORNING. It was none of the above. Somehow, a wasp had found his way into Little E's classroom. I am not talking about Buckhead Betty with her pearls and Mercedes, I'm talking about a bug with a stinger. And that wasp took aim right at Little E's neck. My poor, sweet boy was stung.  And he was hysterical.  They had tried to calm him down, but he was inconsolable. ...

Last Saturday I spent the morning with Mr. Yoy and our out-of-town visitors. We hit up General Muir for a delicious breakfast and then went to the spa for some relaxation.  If I had to rate my morning, I'd give it a 10/10. Mr. Yoy picked me up from the spa and we headed home.  I was relaxed but also teenage boy hungry.   As soon as we arrived home, I began throwing together my lunch for instant inhalation. Little E wandered upstairs with his brother and they began playing on the computer.  Mr. Yoy crawled into bed for a lazy Saturday nap. I sat at our kitchen island and ate everything in reach. MOM!  MOM!  THE TOILET ISN'T GOING DOWN! Little E yelled for my help from upstairs. I was not about to break up the food fest happening, so I told Little E to leave it and I'd be up when I finished my lunch. MMMMM.  CARROTS AND HUMMUS. MMMMM. SMART POP POPCORN. MMMMM. DRY ROASTED NUTS. I wouldn't call this is a traditional lunch, but it was hitting...