The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Happy Thanksgiving, guys! In observance of Thanksgiving, Cobb County graciously gave me my offspring for an entire week. What is this about? I'm pretty sure when I was growing up, we had like two days off. MAX. But not here in the land of wonky school schedules. It's me and them for an uncountable number of days straight. Coinciding with their week off, the weather quickly turned from a typical Maine summer day into a Siberian Christmas. I took this opportunity to order my first North Face coat.  I had tried it on back in August when Mr. Yoy and I had visited Boston. Although I'm all about an impulse purchase, I decided to hold out until it was legitimately cold. My coat arrived yesterday. I ripped open the package and immediately modeled it for my kids. They were less than impressed. It was basically like wearing a blanket, which was my goal, but it made me look like a giant box with twigs coming out the bottom. Spongebob. Spongebob wearing a gray coat. Regre

Your phone rings. You fish it out of the bottom of your purse. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL shows up on the caller ID. There are two panicked thoughts that run through your head: 1) MY KID IS SICK/INJURED. I have received this call a few times. The last time, Little E fainted at school due to a combination of a cold and medicine that I had given him. I also have an adverse reaction to cold meds, and I didn't even think that my children could have it, too. That was one was on me and was scary as hell. The nurse had to call an ambulance. 2) MY KID IS IN SUPER BIG TIME TROUBLE. I have also received this call. A few times from Little E's pre-school (I know, I know, he's perfect. How could this happen?) And one time regarding Big E and a private parts contest in the cafeteria during lunch. But for the most part, my kids are well behaved at school and save their satanic tendencies for when they come home. It's impossible to be well behaved ALL DAY. Because we all know

The annual Toys R Us toy catalog arrived in the mail today. This is a monumental day for the Yoys. It is the day that they go page by page, circling toys that they want me to buy them for Chanukah, that I'll probably never ever buy them for Chanukah. But it takes up a good hour of their time, so I'm all for it.  Even if it means crushing their consumer dreams. Little E was circling away when he came upon this: He was reading aloud all of the details of this S'more Maker. All I could hear was "THIS THING WILL MAKE THE BIGGEST MARSHMALLOW MESS EVER AND DO NOT ALLOW IT INTO YOUR HOME." Little E was struggling with one of the words. MOM, WHAT DOES THIS SPELL: F-U-C-K-E-R-S. WHAT?? I shot up from my chair and walked over to him and this pornographic catalog. FLICKERS. AAAAAAHHHHHHHH, it spells flickers. As in a flame. I stifled a laugh and handed it back over to Little E. No chance in hell, my friend.

It's family picture eve. This is a pretty big holiday around here.  Brainstorming sessions, wardrobe, etc. We take our yearly holiday card very seriously and the family picture is crucial. Fake Fight Scene, Anyone? I've worked hard this week to hold my crazy in check. I didn't cut or file their fingernails, although I knew I ran the risk of Little E slashing up his face. I let them wrestle out back with their friends. I sent them to school not rolled up in bubble wrap. Previous family pictures include Mr. Yoy and a peeling forehead.  He didn't think he needed to apply sunscreen during a mid-day out door sporting event. In those pictures, he's wearing a baseball hat. Another year, Little E had such bad baby acne I debated using concealer on his chubby, little face. In recent years, we've really pulled it together. I got cocky. I thought I had tomorrow's shoot in the bag. Until Big E broke out in hives after dinner last night.  They covered

I don't know about your house, but we are in serious Halloween countdown mode. T minus eleven days. Eleven days until my kids can don their chosen costumes and gorge on candy and wine . Oh, wait. That last part is all me. I'd tucked the Party City bag full of their costumes and props away, so nothing was destroyed and/or lost during the ramp up to Halloween. Until last night, when the Yoys went digging in the hall closet. Big E immediately opened his packet of violations. I think this is why he chose to be a SWAT Officer. Just so he could issue tickets and be all-around bossy. Then I got this. What is this you are wondering?  Well, it's a $200 violation (which I maintain is pretty pricey for my first offense) for purchasing Little E a Hufflepuff robe for Halloween.  You see, in my constant state of rushing around like a mad woman trying to check all the items off of my neverending to-do list, I purchased Little E the Harry Potter robe from the wrong

Another week, another bullsh*t school scheduling move by Cobb County. This week we have early dismissal every day so that the parent/teacher conferences can happen in the afternoon. I'm not sure I need a parent teacher conference. I can already summarize it for you below: Your kid is intelligent, but lazy as hell and has a bad habit of (picking nose/sucking thumb). You can circle the bad habit depending on if this is Big or Little E. It's like choose your own bad ending. So now I've got seven long a** hours from when they energetically bounce off the bus and when I attempt to put them to bed. Almost every night at dinner, I give Big E a half of a melatonin to get him to fall asleep. No melatonin means an 11PM bedtime, which makes for very painful 6AM mornings. Last night, as I prepared dinner, I was chatting on the phone with Mr. Yoy, who has been in California since Friday, but it feels like he's been away since 1998. Big E eats off a blue plate and Littl

We are finishing up our fifth week of school. We are mostly in the groove. Mornings are always sketchy as hell because, while I am a morning person (rainbows, singing, smiling), my kids are not. Especially, Little E who I have to wake up every single morning. Left alone, he would sleep until eight, just like Mr. Yoy. If I could get them to bed at seven, mornings would be better, but no matter how hard I try, the 7PM bedtime is merely a myth here at the Yoys. Like seeing Mr. Yoy during daylight hours or good East Cobb Sushi. The bus comes around 7:30AM. I try to have the boys out of the house by 7:20. A 7:30 pickup might not sound so bad to some of the other local moms, but the kids are late to school every day. This means Little E doesn't have time to do his morning work, which means additional work is sent home at night. It isn't ideal. But I'm not upset enough to complain, as our bus pick up time at the beginning of last year was 6:56. Yes, that time starts wit

Hot on the heels of my Prada blog, I present to you another first world problem. Last night our air conditioning unit went on strike. We have one unit with three different zones. Zones one and three kept right on plugging, which sounds great, but zone two is responsible for the area we sleep in. WE'LL ALL BE DEAD BY MIDNIGHT. - Big E's Morbid Prediction In summary: we burst into flames as we lay restless in our beds, dreaming of popsicles, Alaska, and the Costco freezer room. Luckily for us, today we had scheduled a work day with our builder to come by and fix some things. We just added HVAC to the list. In preparation for the visit with the HVAC guy, I had to turn off the entire unit. His time window was between 1-6 and this gave me plenty of time to begin perspiring. Although we are knocking on September's door, Atlanta's 90 degree days have been merciless. I told our builder rep that I had to run to the bus stop around three, but I was hoping the guy woul

Friday, Mr. Yoy and I ventured up to Boston to see Kenny Chesney, Miranda Lambert, Sam Hunt, and Old Dominion play at Gillette Stadium. I was beyond excited as I've been waiting to see my boyfriend, Sam Hunt, perform live for months and months. After a frustrating Uber ride out to the Stadium (and we thought Atlanta traffic was bad), we hopped out of the car and began to weave our way through Patriot's Place (basically an outdoor mall). As we wandered around looking for the Will Call window, a security officer approached us with clear plastic bags and offered us one. YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO BRING YOUR PURSE IN, MA'AM. YOU'LL HAVE TO LEAVE IT IN YOUR CAR. And then the memories flooded back...FALCONS GAME. COLD AS HELL. WALKING BACK TO CAR BECAUSE PURSE DIDN'T FIT NFL REQUIREMENTS OF BEING CLEAR OR THE SIZE OF A SUPER-PLUS TAMPON. I began to panic, as we had no car. And I had a Prada, my go-to, nylon, cross body bag that is basically melded to my body.

Back in 2013, I purchased two stuffed owls from the dollar bins at Target. The boys' new school mascot was an owl and this was a perfect way to introduce them to it. Initally, as with all toys (and the plot to Toy Story), the owls were fan favorites. Until something newer and softer and shinier came along. The owls were relegated to the stuffed animal shelf, where fun goes to die. During the move, only one owl was unpacked. It was moved to the top of a book shelf with Mickey and Clifford where it lived until today. What happened today you ask? Little E rediscovered owl. They had a lovely afternoon together playing and cuddling and rekindling their relationship. Approximately 52 seconds before I took the boys upstairs to start bedtime, this happened: Hootie went and lost his damn foot! My scheduled serene bedtime was replaced with a fury that matched the storms swirling outside. IS THAT RAIN OR LITTLE E'S TEARS? In my panic, I told Little

Last week we hit up the dentist for the Yoy's cleanings. Big E got an x-ray done to see how things were progressing in his mouth. He's lost a bunch of teeth, but currently there are two giant chiclets spread way apart up top that are screaming ORTHODONTIST! NOW, PLEASE! I am expecting that my kids' teeth have a date with destiny. And by destiny, I mean long, drawn out years shuttling them to and from the orthodontist every four weeks. I was a braces wearer from 2nd-8th grade. By the grace of g-d, I didn't have to enter high school with metal train tracks across my face. Everything is fixed now, but my teeth were so gnarly that my doctor used me as a case study for a class he taught at a nearby university. Dr. H looked at Big E's x-rays and instead of the "looks good, see you in six months," I got the tooth BOMB dropped on me. 1) Big E's upper left lateral tooth hasn't broken through yet, but it will be coming in completely sidew

Back to school has come and gone. In a show of solidarity with all the other moms, who silently suffered through summer, I threw an enormous wine and school bus party and invited all my friends to decompress from what they had just survived.  We hung around all day drinking and watching 80s movies and eating raw cookie dough out of the Costco-sized tub. The best five pounds I've ever earned. Wait. That was all just a DREAM? DANG! In real life, I tried my best to get the Yoys adjusted to their new teachers and schedules and such. That included eliminating bed time that had slowly crept up to 10PM...11PM... Who cares, I'm going to sleep. Big E rolled right into second grade like he owned the place. His transition was seamless. Little E rolled right into a wall. As he lay crying on the floor because I asked him to write his name on the top of his half page of homework. WHY DO I HAVE TO WRITE MY NAME ON EVERYTHING? I KNOW WHAT MY NAME IS! WHY IS MY

I have a monster confession to make. For the most part, I still help my kids get dressed in the morning. Ditto for bath/shower time and about everything else in their lives. It's not that I don't want them to be competent humans.  I have nightmares of Little E calling me up from college to have me swing by his dorm and adjust the velcro on his XW New Balances. That's right, because I never taught him how to tie his shoes. Here's my problem: I'm Type A. Like bad. And I want things done quick and I want them done right and I am always running short on time. And that is how I find myself with an almost 6 year old and a 7 year old who still "need" help. They are capable of doing it, but they know I will do it for them. But I've recently seen the light, folks. Big E turns eight this fall. Eight is old. I remember being eight. It was 1984. I was old enough to buy this record: Wait, what.......mom and dad? So I was probably old enough to dress

On my way home from work this morning, my neighbor informed me that another neighbor was having a birthday party for their child and had rented a train and ponies. I really couldn't visualize what this would look like until I pulled up to my home. RED ALERT! RED ALERT! RED ALERT! I called Mr. Yoy, who along with Uncle Yoy, had just left breakfast with Big and Little E. DON'T COME HOME! DELAY YOUR TRIP! DRIVE AROUND 285 A FEW HUNDRED TIMES! I informed him of the current situation. There was a 0% chance my kids didn't end face down in our neighbor's birthday cake after hijacking a pony ride and the red train engine. Thank goodness they were running over to Home Depot to pick up leather cleaner.  This would buy me some time. I went upstairs to make the beds and fold the endless piles of pool laundry. As I finished with Big E's bed, I heard the garage door open.  I looked out the front window to see Mr. Yoy pulling into t

The last day of their three weeks at HM camp was coming to a close.  After a rocky start, the boys pledged their allegiance to this camp.  They wanted to go back for another session, not in the cards, but I promised they could go again in 2017.  I was beyond relieved.  I took a gamble with this $$$$$, all-day for three weeks, camp. I gambled and I won (this time). Check back with me in a few weeks when I return from Vegas. Today was Medieval themed day. They asked the campers to dress as kings, queens, knights, or even dragons. The Yoys loosely interpreted this to mean Halloween in June and pulled out their all time favorite costumes, the cops.  They didn't give a second thought to their wiener costumes, which I love. I lobbied hard for them to wear their paper crowns from Medieval Times and be done with it. Black polyester pants (but sort of like capris because they have grown since 2014) and black polyester long-sleeved tops. With velcro ties. And black hats. This was what

At camp carpool pick up the other day, a counselor stopped to talk to me about Little E. UH-OH.  A short list of hot topics popped into my brain. 1) INCESSANT THUMB SUCKING (STILL) 2) COMPLETE DISREGARD FOR USING A TOILET ON A REGULAR BASIS (STILL) 3) LAZINESS THAT HASN'T BEEN SEEN ON SUCH A LARGE SCALE SINCE GARFIELD But it was none of these.  She surprised me with a new one. LITTLE E WAS VERY UPSET TODAY WHEN WE PLAYED A GAME AND HE GOT MUD ON HIS SHIRT AND ARMS. My external dialogue was all very understanding and sympathetic.  I turned around in the car to tell Little E that it was fine if he messed up his camp clothes as they were just that, camp clothes, and that any dirt on his arms could be washed off with a good bubble bath. I nodded knowingly at the teenager counselor.  Yeah, I got this. My internal dialogue was much different. DAMN STRAIGHT! I'M SO TIRED OF DOING LAUNDRY. OF BUYING SHIRTS THAT GET WORN ONCE AND ARE STAINED WITH S

Yesterday, Big E came home from camp with ANOTHER foot splinter. 1) I'm not sure why he was walking around without shoes on, unless he was headed to the pool. 2) This kid must shuffle his feet like a penguin, instead of walking like a typical human being. 3) OR this kid must be attracted to roughed up wood. AN UNSANDED WOOD DECK?  WHY, YES, I THINK I'LL TAKE MY SHOES AND SOCKS OFF AND SHUFFLE BACK AND FORTH UNTIL I GET MY 5TH SPLINTER OF THE YEAR. For the record, I've had less than five splinters in my life total and I'm old. If I extrapolate the rate in which Big E acquires splinters, he's on track to earn the foot splinter world record, if that's even a thing. Of course, he wouldn't let the camp nurse anywhere near him. She gave him numbing cream and a bandaid.  And now he expects that to be the gold standard of treatment around here. The only numbing cream I keep in the house is Bailey's. And this kid ain't anywhere near the le

It's been a splintery start to the summer.  On the last day of school, both Yoys had splinters.  Thank the lord my neighbor, Dr. B. was able to tweeze one of them out of Little E while we were at the pool. Big E is another story.  I've blogged about his legendary splinters in the past.  He refuses to let me anywhere near him.  I have to carry him to bed and then wait until he is passed out so that Mr. Yoy and I can sneak into his room like a pair of Navy Seals and yank it out while he is in dreamland. Yesterday, we decided to kick things up a notch. The boys were feverishly working on their new Lego set that Uncle D had bought them during his visit.   The house was completely clean, the boys had showered and were in their jammies, seven loads of laundry were complete, and dinner was on the stove. Monday, I was supermom. Until I accidentally dropped the Dill spice bottle.  It was glass.  I scooped it off the counter.  PHEW. It didn't shatter into a th

Tim McGraw said it best in his song, "Humble and Kind." Out of all of the traits I want my kids to have it is most important to me that they are good people.  It is something I struggle with on a daily basis. Little E has organically picked this up.  He shares with Big E, even though that is clearly a one-way street. He is sweet to his friends and he is ridiculously sweet to me. MOMMY, YOU ARE SO PRETTY. MOMMY, YOU SMELL SO GOOD. MOMMY, YOU ARE REALLY TALL. Big E has a ways to go.  Sometimes, he'll surprise me with excellent manners or his ability to make the new kid in class feel welcome.  But for the most part, he's the center of the universe.  And not just his, it is his assumption he is the center of EVERYONE'S universe. The last week of school brought class awards.  I wasn't sure of the structure of these awards, but as it turns out, everyone received an award and they were candy-themed. WHOPPER: THE CHILD WHO TOLD THE BEST

Yesterday we went to the Braves game.  It was a bobblehead game and Mr. Yoy has quite the collection of bobblehead dolls, including one of himself. The plan was to arrive early, as only the first 20,000 fans in the door will receive a bobblehead. Unfortunately, Mr. Yoy grossly underestimated the time it would take to drive there, park, and walk in with two little guys in tow. The bobbleheads were gone.  Had been gone since 3PM. Current time was 3:50. The Yoys were upset as Mr. Yoy had talked up these bobblehead dolls.  They had no idea what they were but they were disappointed with a capital D. But they recovered well and the CFA milkshakes seemed to assuage their feelings of sadness and deprivation. But not Mr. Yoy.  He was devastated. He looked around at the families of 5, 6, 7 people all carrying around the bobblehead dolls.  He schemed up ways to get one. WE COULD WAIT UNTIL EVERYONE IS REALLY DRUNK AND HOPE THEY LEAVE THEIR DOLL UNDERNEATH THEIR SEAT. MAYBE THAT GUY

I keep the boys' hair short.  They took not one, but two, horrible school pictures in the fall.  Even with retakes, no one bothered to run a comb through their hair. I had had it. I buzzed both of them and haven't looked back.  There is no hair brushing and their hair always looks good.  The only downside is the frequency I have to drag them to get their hair cut.  Luckily, my kids are super nerds, and the draw of the library right next door, is enough to motivate them. It's been about a month and they are both due.  I asked Big E if he wanted to get his haircut. MOM. I WANT COOL BOY HAIR. YOU KNOW, IT FALLS ACROSS YOUR HEAD LIKE THIS. I took a deep breath and quickly walked out of the room so I could panic. I'm pretty sure Big E just asked me for Georgia Hair.  My child. Thick with Florida roots wants Georgia Hair. What is this Georgia Hair, you may ask? THIS Some call it the Southern Swoop.  I call it Georgia Hair.  Mostly because I'd never se

Little E's homework assignment this week included writing an opinion piece stating his opinion of a topic and the reasoning to support it. Little E was having a little bit of writer's block, which I totally understand. I suggested writing about why red is the greatest color ever (even though we all know that isn't true). Big E, who was sitting next to Little E, suggested he write about how Big E was the greatest brother ever. I shook my head no. Because even though this is an opinion piece, this statement is blatantly false. Like all younger siblings, Little E loves his big brother, so he enthusiastically agreed to write his opinion piece about how awesome Big E. (MANY EYE ROLLS) Little E is still mastering handwriting, so let me transcribe his opinion piece. Big E is the best brother because: 1) He protects me. Tonight in the bathtub, I witnessed Big E b*tch slap Little E across the face.  He then claimed it was an accident.  I guess Big E was prote

Happy Easter, folks! This year brought the Yoys their first ever Easter Egg Hunt.  I gave them a pep talk beforehand.  Yes, we are Jewish. Yes, you can still hunt for eggs and eat delicious peeps.  Yes, you can wear bow-ties and pastels and no one will be the wiser.  We lit the Shabbat candles and headed out the door. And the boys had such a great time. Until the end.  When it was brought to my attention that Big E had taken another little boy's basket of eggs, snuck out of sight, and emptied its contents right into his basket. I was angry with him.  I was embarrassed that he committed the greatest sin on the Easter Egg Hunt circuit during our first time to the rodeo.  We would be labeled as the egg-stealing Yoysers and banned from all future egg hunts in some super secret Easter book. Scene of the Crime At home, Mr. Yoy and I sat Big E down and spoke to him about it.  He vehemently denied any participation in the theft.  He blamed a set of younger twins. Big E

Yesterday afternoon found us at track practice.  This trip, the drama was centered around the playground, not the woods, thank goodness. Big E was busy running his little booty off. Little E was blissfully playing on the playground. MOM! THAT GIRL SAID BAD THINGS TO ME!  SHE SAID SHE WAS GOING TO KICK ME IN THE HEAD! Little E ran up to me and pointed to a girl a little older than him (from now on referred to as Mean Girl).  His bottom lip quivered. I took at deep breath. What creature of Satan would pick on Little E? If it were Big E, I wouldn't even bat an eyelash.  He probably did something to provoke it.  But Little E? Aw, hell no.  That kid sh*ts rainbows.  His morning breath smells of Cinnabon. He's perfect.  In my calmest voice, I told Little E that if she said anything else nasty to him, that he should look her in the eyes and tell her in a stern voice: YOU CAN'T SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT. What I really wanted  Little E to tell her was that his mom w

Yesterday afternoon, Little E decided he wanted to sit out front on one of our landscape boulders and tell ghost stories. I was assigned to go first. It's been about 25 years since I last told a scary story, with the exception of the one where the guy stole all of this season's Gucci bags from Saks, but I dug deep and pulled out a classic. In the late 80s and early 90s, I attended a sleepaway camp in NC, Camp Pinewood.  I have so many fond memories that I will not bore you with. Back in the 1960s, there was a terrible plane crash which resulted in the death of everyone on board. Rumor had it, you could still find wreckage on the camp grounds if you wanted to snoop around. I was cool with just hearing the story that evolved around the crash, I didn't need a visual. Out of this crash, came the story of Peg Leg.  A ghost who lost his leg in the crash and had a Peg Leg (original, I know) that he dragged all around Pinewood creating mischief and scaring the