The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

Baby nail clippers.  My arch nemesis.  For those of you that have never attempted to cut a baby's fingernails you may not appreciate this blog entry, but I dare you to read on. There are many reasons why Little E's nail clipping sessions are my absolute least favorite baby hygiene task.  I will go on record saying I'd rather change hourly poo diapers for an entire day than sit down and clip this kid's nails. First of all, the baby clippers are a smaller version of my nail clippers.  I have pretty large hands and I find myself awkwardly trying to use them. Second, Little E's nails are tiny.  And he is always in motion.  I have thought about a nail clipping ambush while he is sleeping, but I don't want to risk waking him. Third, I'm kind of blind.  This is self-explanatory. Fourth, this is a very sensitive part of Little E's body.  Cut down too low, not like I have any control, and he just about bleeds out.  Don't cut enough and he wakes up t

I'm in the middle of changing an epic Big E diaper.  He's wiggly, it's messy, I'm gagging. He looks at me and shouts: HOLD MY HAND! What?  Right now?  How will I escape this diaper change unscathed and hold your hand?  Besides, the Yoys are not hand holders, just ask Mr. Yoy. He repeats his request: HOLD MY HAND! I ignore him. Again and again and again. HOLD MY HAND!  HOLD MY HAND!  HOLD MY HAND! Wow, this is what it must have been like to change Darius Rucker's diapers when he was a baby. And now I've got that song in my head...

Little E struggled with terrible baby acne from around 3-8 months old.  He even has some scars on his face from some really bad past pimples.  Today they look like freckles.  I'm hoping eventually they'll fade. So he's been zit free for a few months.  Sunday morning I noticed a new one developing on his cheek.  Good lord, he is giving 13 year old, chocolate loving girls a run for their money. It grew and it grew and today when he woke up, the pimple actually told me it had applied for its own social security number.  It had developed into a whole other person. (Mr. Yoy commented that I finally had a third child). I am a pimple picker, I admit it.  It has taken all of my willpower not to take the top of this zit off.  We had a new playgroup today and I was not going to let my sweet boy go out in public with this blemish. Mr. Yoy talked me down from the baby pimple popping.  But I didn't let this pimple defeat me.  Here comes the judgy part.  I put make-up on my b

This morning we rolled up to our friend's house to unleash the Yoy madness on them. We had a great time decorating and eating cupcakes, pulling every toy out of its place, and wreaking general havoc. I noticed the sky darkening and Little E's timer was getting ready to go off.  He was fixin' to blow. By the time we had straightened up our mess, the skies had opened up.  So had Little E.  He needed a nap-like yesterday. We snaked everyone out through the garage hoping this, combined with our golf umbrella, would keep us dry.  I grabbed Big E in one hand and the umbrella in the other.  I lifted him into the car by one arm and skillfully balanced the umbrella onto the top of the car with my shoulder and ear.  I got Big E into his car seat when he did his patented back arch. I POOPED! What to do, what to do.  I asked him to suck it up and sit in it for the 10 minute drive home. Uh, negative.  So, I lowered him down, out of the car and back into the torrential dow

On Saturday night I went out for my good friend's 30th birthday party.  We had the limo, the Buckhead hotel room, Taverna Plaka for dinner and Clermont Lounge for a seedy, Atlanta good time. When I returned home on Sunday morning, Mr. Yoy asked me what I drank during my evening of debauchery.  I rattled off three glasses of champagne, half a bottle of wine, a Jim Jones (even though I didn't understand the historical significance at the time), a vodka tonic, topped off with another glass of champagne.  The amazing part was, I was tired, but not hungover. Sunday we did some family stuff and I didn't even nap when the boys went down in the afternoon, I cleaned the house instead.  I thought to myself - I can still hang! Then, this morning happened.  At 6:23, well before I had anticipated waking up this morning, Big E woke up yelling for me.  Any other morning, it would have been fine.  Sometimes, I even wake up that early on my own. This morning, it felt like the end

Yeah, yeah, I've seen Ice Road Truckers and Deadliest Catch, but I'd like to propose a new entry onto the most dangerous jobs list. LITTLE BROTHER The catalyst to this blog occurred this evening during the bath.  Little E received a bathtub basketball hoop and ball set for his birthday. This brings me to job hazard number one for little brothers.  What's theirs is also their big brothers, although this theory is not reciprocated.  Any objection to this law on the little brother's part results in an immediate backlash from big brother. Anyway, back to my story.  The Yoys were enthusiastically shooting hoops.  Big E became a little too enthusiastic, grabbed a giant bathtub boat and hurled it up to the hoop.  Even if Big E's shot was right on the money, it wasn't going to fit through the hoop netting.  There was only one place for this giant, plastic boat to land.  If you guessed Little E's still developing skull, you would be correct. Instant tears a

Uncle Yoy's birthday is quickly approaching.  I took the Yoys up to Hallmark to pick out some birthday cards. I immediately noticed a fatal design flaw in my local Hallmark.  The aisles containing the greeting cards were a tad narrow.  Today I was rocking the double umbrella stroller, which isn't obscenely wide. I pulled the stroller up to the Uncle cards.  Little E immediately put down the car he was gnawing on and grabbed a couple of cards.  Hmmm...this isn't working.  So I move the stroller over in the aisle. I didn't realize that on the other side of the aisle were all of the children's cards with Mickey, Cars, and every other enticing animated character known to a two year old. As I picked up and put down the uncle cards, I turned to see Big E literally "making it rain" greeting cards.  He kept shouting "LOOK AT ALL THE STARS!" Good-ness!  I move the stroller to one side and Little E is eating paper like it is his job.  I move the

Today we met Mr. Yoy for lunch.  We decided to head over to Fellini's. When Big E's cheese pizza arrived, Mr. Yoy began pulling it apart and cooling it off.  He handed Big E the crust immediately because he likes to play with it/eat it.  Mr. Yoy pulled off something that could have either been: 1) Melty cheese stretched out so far it resembled hair or 2) Straight up hair We determined it was hair. After I had a major gagging, gross-out moment, we debated whether just to pull the hair off and give the pizza to Big E.  He was hungry and we weren't sure his patience would hold out.  We'd already gone through all of the pre-game snacks. The conversation went something like this: Mr. Yoy : He eats food off the floor all the time. Mrs. Yoy : Good point.  Big E, what do you think about the pizza/hair situation? Big E: Well, he says nothing, but has his eyes closed doing his best Stevie Wonder impression.  In place of Stevie's harmonica, is the pizza crust

After our "killer" Costco run,  Aunt Yoy and I were feeling fearless, not to mention hungry.  We decided to take all three baby Yoys to Jason's Deli for lunch. First of all, arriving at 12:30 was a rookie mistake and we should have known better.  The place is like a table maze and we've got two strollers,  not to mention people are packed in there like sardines.  We found two tables pushed together towards the edge of the maze and grabbed them. I made my way across the restaurant, stacked three highchairs, and attempted to roll them to our table.  I got about 60% of the way back to our spot and then the table maze defeated me.  I had to carry the highchairs, one-by-one, above customer's heads to reach our table.  Good thing I'm tall and have freakishly long arms. Then we had a flurry of cleaning, wiping, placemating, bibbing, and feeding before Aunt Yoy and I could finally get up one at a time and order our lunch.  When all was said and done, both of us

Mr. Yoy bought Big E this movie to watch since he has such an affinity for singing "Tomorrow." It was an intense, but quick relationship. It started with Big E being absolutely mesmerized by the singing and dancing.  He wanted to watch it over and over again. Dumb Dog! We got Annie! Tomorrow! It's a Hard Knock Life! Big E was in showtunes heaven. But then the "Temper T annie trums" began.  (I must give credit to Mr. Yoy for coining the phrase.)  Big E would go berserk when we turned it off. The final straw was today at Costco.  We met Aunt Yoy there for some shopping.  As I pushed Big and Little E through the store, Big E was shouting "KILL! KILL!" People were looking at him.   Why is a two year old screaming that? And then it dawned on me.  It was Annie.  Actually, it was Mrs. Hannigan (her line from the movie). That'll be all from Annie for awhile.  At least until Big E is old enough to understand that shouting KILL i

After a Yoy family lunch today, Mr. Yoy and I had a horrible idea. There is this really cute Buckhead boutique that we are forever window browsing when we visit this shopping center.  Today, for reasons unknown to me, we thought we should go inside to look at the pretty dresses.  Mr. Yoy offered to hold Little E while I looked around.  Big E was set free to roam the store.  Fortunately, we were the only ones in there. Unfortunately, Big E found the rack of overpriced Lilly Pulitzer dresses to run full speed into.  As he buried his post-lunch hands and face into the pale pink shift, I had a major heart attack.  I'm sure this dress costs no less than $300. And with that, we called it.  We apologized profusely to the sales lady.  She gave me a knowing look and said "I understand.  My sons are 5 and 7."   AMEN! She also mentioned a super big sale in early August, so maybe Big E's antics saved us some dough. The most interesting part of the whole event was th

This is my weapon for fighting the mommy mush brain.  I play these puzzles as much as I can to keep my mind sharp. I've worked my way up from medium to hard and occasionally I can complete a challenger puzzle.  I am very proud of that, by the way. Some evenings, after Little E has gone to bed, Big E and I will curl up in the Yoy bed to unwind.  I'll grab my puzzle book and he'll watch a little Mickey Mouse Club. Recently, Big E has taken an interest in "mommy's numbers book," as he calls it.  So while I am concentrating to the point that steam is coming out of my ears, Big E sits on my shoulder, like a little parrot, shouting things like:   7....4....1....5....8....9 . I don't know if you've ever played Sudoku, but it takes a ton of concentration and Big E's commentary is making my puzzle time way harder than it needs to be. I have to laugh because he is just pointing out numbers that he sees.  But as my mind races to fill in the missing bl

The Yoys spent Fourth of July weekend up in NY celebrating my brother's wedding.  We had such an amazing time.  We were very honored that my brother and sister-in-law asked if Big E would be a ring bearer in their wedding. The weekend began with a bang, literally.  Big E tripped in the hotel lobby within an hour of us checking in.  I didn't see it happen and he didn't make too much of a fuss.  Mr. Yoy called me from our room moments later and told me to come ASAP.  I rushed to the room and found what appeared to be a murder scene.  What Big E was calling "paint" was blood and it was everywhere.  On the rental crib, duvet cover, his clothes.  It was all over his hands and face and I couldn't tell where it was coming from.  Good thing one of Mr. Yoy's best friends, Dr. Yoy, was there to inspect Big E, clean his wound, and make things "all better." The stigmata, as Mr. Yoy referred to Big E's hand wound, would end up being a central theme to

Last night, Big E awoke around 1:45 shouting for me.  I jumped out of bed, threw on my glasses, and busted a move down the hall.  What would I find when I flung open the door?  Would there be a repeat of last week's vomit?  Did he soak through his diaper?  The suspense was killing me! It was none of the above.  He had woken up and wanted to go to Mommy's bed to sleep with us.  One night during our trip I let him come into our bed only because he was sharing an adjoining room with Little E and I didn't want Big E to wake him. I see he is expecting this to be his new routine.  I sat down on the floor next to the crib and explained that there was no way that was going to happen.  I'd be happy to lay next to his crib until he fell back asleep (taking a page from Super Nanny here).  I grabbed a pillow, held Big E's bandaged hand (another story) and drifted in and out of sleep while Big E chatted away. He started taking inventory of everyone in his crib.  BEAR!  SHE

I'm trapped on a plane with two small children.  I'm nervous as hell, I'm sweating through my shirt and I'm praying my kids behave.  Mr. Yoy is snoozing away in the aisle seat and I'm shooting him death glances.  The people around us are, one by one, requesting headsets.  This is no bueno. I'm not above using a little mental warfare on my kids for the sake of surviving the plane ride. We have convinced Big E that the no smoking sign above our heads is actually a no pooping sign.  We tell him not to do it.  He buys right into this and starts repeating over and over again that he is not allowed to poop.  The thought of having to change a diaper in an airplane bathroom fills me with debilitating fear. I'm proud to announce my kids were 0-4 on both flights.  We made it! Our other ace in the hole is the "pilot" card.  We told Big E that if he was misbehaving then we would have to press the pilot light (next to the flight attendant light) and he