Friday, September 30, 2011

The Longest Five Minutes of My Life

Today we took Big E with us to attend the second day of Rosh Hashanah services.  It was an alternative service with music incorporated so we'd thought he'd be:

1) mildly interested as he is clearly musical
2) drowned out by the keyboard, drums, and vocals

The alternative service was set up in a portable event tent in the parking of lot of our synagogue.  This is important to note because it became an enabler for distractions.

We arrive at the Amidah prayer.  I can't exactly recall what this translates into English, but I loosely translate it to mean the longest five minutes of my life.  It is a silent prayer where everyone stands and reads over a pages long prayer.

So now I'm multitasking.  I'm saying concurrent prayers, The Amidah and the Please-Big-E-Be-Quiet-Prayer.

Up to this point, Big E had been pretty well behaved for his first service.  The silence of the room stirred up something in the depths of his being.  He started chatting away.  And it was booming loud, mostly because the tent was so quiet.  I start sshhhh sshhhh sshhhhing him.

Q: What are you doing?  A: Praying
Q: What was that?    A: Wind
Q: What's that noise?  A: Helicopter (at least it sounded like one)

Mr. Yoy made the executive decision to take Big E out of the service to let everyone around us finish their silent prayer and meditation in peace.

They were gone for a few minutes, but not long enough. We had moved on to another quiet part of the service.

Big E maneuvers his way back to his seat where he proudly announces there was an accident.

I looked at Mr. Yoy and he nodded his head.

An accident!  There was an accident!

Over and over again he repeated this.  People around us started to take notice.  Mr. Yoy and I decided it was time to abandon our efforts.

Once we were in the parking lot, I saw what Big E was talking about.  A woman needed medical attention and was laying down in the parking lot.


We hurried Big E along, so he would stop reporting the news for everyone to hear.

This concludes Big E's first High Holidays experience.

If I had to rank his behavior with one being the worst and ten being amazing, I'd give Big E a seven.  He did pretty well in the service and we couldn't help that there was a medical emergency that excited him.

Two follow up points:

1) The woman was fine, so that was good news.
2) If you are ever going to have a medical emergency in public, a synagogue is the place to be.  They asked if anyone was a doctor and like 37 people came running up.

I'd like to wish a happy and healthy New Year to all my observing readers, friends, and family!
5772: Hopefully a sweet, sweet year

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Forgotten Treasures

My parents are cleaning out their house.  This means, every trip they take up to the ATL, I become the proud owner (again) of such awesome things as:

1) Madame Alexander dolls
2) Sweet 1980s records
3) My grandma's dishes

This trip, I was reacquainted with some of my early childhood artwork (and even some of my brother's artwork that they tried to pawn off on me.  No, I don't remember drawing that thing that I think may be a man dressed in a hot dog costume.)

I also received a box full of Garbage Pail Kids.  Can you say e-Bay?

Mr. Yoy and I went through the cards and had a good laugh.  We pulled out the ones with names of our friends and family.  These would make great presents.  We left them stacked on our kitchen table.

The next morning, my sticker fiend, Big E was sitting at the table eating his breakfast.  In the blink of an eye, Big E had peeled off three of the Garbage Pail Kids stickers and stuck them to his t-shirt.


My mom, my dad, and I all shouted in unison.  My collection, that I have had since 1985, was being decimated by my two-year-old.

For our effort, we scared the dickens out of Big E.  He immediately started the lower lip pout.  He was on the verge of tears.

Perspective, people!  We calmed down from our Garbage Pail Kids fueled rage and began to comfort Big E.

It was ok!  We aren't mad!  Smile!  Everything is fine! 

And it was.
My card.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

ADT who?

Am I wasting money by paying for an alarm monitoring company?  I think I might be...

This evening, we were upstairs and half-heartedly getting ready for bath time.

Big E had stripped down to nothing.  He was running around au natural.  I was praying he didn't decide to use the bathroom on my carpet.

Little E was in his diaper.  He had a poonami waiting for me and I was psyching myself up to change it.

Big E came running out of his bathroom with three tooth brushes in his mouth.  Great.  Now he's hoarding tooth brushes.

I opened my mouth to tell him not to run with multiple tooth brushes in his mouth (yes, I'm turning into my mother) when there was a knock on the door.

This is always a dilemma in my neighborhood.  Do I answer?  Ignore?  There is always shady stuff happening in the ATL, so I never know for sure who will be there.

I peeked out over the landing.  It was one of my neighbors.  Ok, I'll answer it.  I told both Yoys to hold tight and bounded down the stairs.

I had to pick up doggie Yoy who, by this point, was losing her damn mind.  I'm talking the Exorcist.  She does not like strangers.

I open the door and my neighbor apologizes for bothering me at this time and tells me about a party she's hosting in a few weeks.  She's giving me some details but really all I hear is the madness raining down from above.

You see, the fatal flaw of my house is that you can see up to the second floor.  So there was naked Big E with a mouthful of toothbrushes shouting on repeat:


Not to be overshadowed, Little E had crawled over to the bars and pulled himself up.  He was just gripping the bars in his sagging diaper and shrieking at her.

She's a mother, too, so this only mildly fazed her.  We both laughed and she left.

But it got me thinking.  She may not have been fazed, but I'm pretty sure this would frighten the hell out of most people.

I would have been scared if I hadn't have been so proud of Little E for pulling up on the bars.  Lazy guy.
My dog and kids are way scarier (and louder) than a blasting alarm!

Monday, September 19, 2011

Another bedtime massacre brought to you by the Yoys

This was a joint effort by both Yoys.

Act 1:

Big E was in his playroom playing with his train set.  I left him in there to change Little E's diaper and change him into his jammies.

Little E had other plans.  I got him into a clean diaper without incident, but the pajamas were a different story.

Every time I stuck one of his feet into one leg of the bottoms, he would twist over and pull his foot out.  He did this for about five minutes.

I started laughing out of frustration.  Then I started sweating.  LITTLE E!  I yelled out his name.  He looked at me with the most serious of stares.  I pleaded with him.

Please let me put your jammies on!  Please!

Act 2:

Around the time I'm hitting record levels of frustration with Little E, I hear Big E start yelling something about his trains.


Big E came running up the stairs yelling something over and over.



He is now rattling the gate and yelling at me.  See Ma'am, I've never seen that happen...

I put Little E on the floor and open the gate to let Big E in. But, you see, he doesn't want in.  He wants me to come down and look at the stupid bee.

First of all, I know for a fact it is not a bee.  We forever have a random fly in our house.  It's never the same fly, but there is always one.  Just flying around.  Annoying the hell out of everyone.

I saw it earlier in the playroom.

So, I'm not really concerned that there is a bee harassing my kid in his playroom.  But for the record, even if it was a bee, there was no way I was going down there to check it out.  I would lock myself in my room and wait for Mr. Yoy to come home and save the day.

But Big E won't let it go.  So I'm back on the floor trying to wrestle Little E into his pajamas and I'm about to lose it.

Big E is hovering over me whining about the bee and his train.  As a bonus, I noticed that Big E pooped while he was playing downstairs.

Good lord!  Everyone stop talking, moving, pooping, etc. and let me do my job!

I finally get Little E into his pajamas and get him into bed.  No book tonight, Mrs. Yoy is done.

Ditto for Big E.

Act 3:

And now, the sweet sound of silence.
There was no bee, but if there was, it would be a friendly bee, like this smiley guy.

Wax on, Wax off

Yes, another Karate Kid reference, I really can't help it. See Showering with the Karate Kid.

It was late afternoon.  Little E was napping.  Big E opted out of his nap.  I really think the whole idea of Big E's nap is a thing of the past.  Mrs. Yoy definitely needed a nap.  I was one tired mommy.

I put Cars on hoping it would lull Big E into a trance and allow me to catch a few minutes of shut eye.  Not my best mommy moment, but all I could think about was closing my eyes.

I told Big E that Mommy needed to take a nap.  As I settled into the couch, he brought me over a pillow and placed it over my eyes.  When I nap during the day, I always cover my eyes.  He knows the drill.

I drifted off.  I'm not sure how long I was in dreamland, but I was pulled back into a semi-conscious state by the feeling of hot breath on my face.

Lay very still.  In fact, play dead.  Maybe he'll move on to another victim.

Next came the stickers.  He placed a giant Cars sticker across my chin.  I may or may not have dreamed I was at Natural Body having my chin waxed.

Don't move!  Don't breath!  You can still salvage your nap!

Then came the final straw.  He ripped that sticker off my chin like he was waxing my face.

And, I'm awake.  Dang!

I opened my eyes and glared at Big E.


I checked the clock.  I managed to squeeze in a 12 minute nap.  I guess I'll take what I can get.
I love that this is from 16 magazine, one of the most underrated publications of all time.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Big E: All talk, no action

Big E is infatuated with all things firefighter.  He loves driving by the firehouses to see the pretty red engines parked outside.  He loves playing with his firetruck and watching Fireman Sam on tv.  I know, I know, you get it.

I'm pretty sure he would set our house on fire if he realized that would result in a firetruck and many fireman taking over our street.  On a side note, Mr. Yoy and I would probably not mind because that is probably the only way we'll ever get out of our house.

This morning we were in the car.  We pulled up to a red light when we noticed just past the intersection there were five firetrucks and about 20 firefighters practicing a drill.  This was the jackpot of firefighters.

We pointed them out to Big E.  He got all excited. We rolled down his window and told him that when we drive by he should yell out hello to all the nice firefighters.

The light turned green and Mr. Yoy creeped the minivan up to the firefighters.





Mr. Yoy drove on.  What in the world just happened here? Why is he being such a wuss?

He's done this before and we can't figure it out.  I guess it is all part of being two and very temperamental.

Later this morning he asked to go back and see the firetrucks.

Yeah, right.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Love You Forever

This book is in high rotation at the Yoy house.

I'm not sure how many of you have read it, but the first 43 times I read it, I cried.  I don't know if it was my post-pregnancy hormones, but I could not make it through this dang book.

I can finally read it and not get all emotional.  Maybe I have turned into a Mrs. Yoy-bot?

So Big E was sitting on one of the bar stools waiting for his breakfast.  I was standing right next to him making the Yoys some raisin toast.

Big E looked up at me, batted his ridiculously long eyelashes, and said with such seriousness:


Oh boy, what was coming next.

Yes, baby?

He then proceeded to recite the song from Love You Forever:

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
as long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be.

I literally had to turn away and compose myself.

I knew there was a reason I was keeping this kid around.
I dare you to read this and not get choked up.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Waffle Housing in the ATL

DISCLAIMER:  Waffle House is not paying Mrs. Yoy for this endorsement.

Among other time killers this afternoon, we picked up Mr. Yoy for a late lunch.

We asked Big E where he wanted to go.  He said something I didn't quite understand, but Mr. Yoy confidently announced that Big E wanted to go to the WaHo.  Hmm...seems like the fix was in.

Not what I had in mind, but I was along for the ride.

The Waffle Houses of my youth were mostly visited at 2 am after a long night of partying.

Back then, it was a rowdy crowd smelling of cigarettes and alcohol.  Most were there to soak up the booze currently wreaking havoc on their drunk bodies with a little smothered and covered action.

I had extremely low expectations.  We walked in with the whole Yoy clan and were immediately greeted by two of the friendliest ladies I've ever happened upon.  They quickly washed down a high chair for Little E and had us seated.

They bantered back and forth with Big E and let him do what he does best: be the biggest ham in the room.  Big E had a captive audience and was in heaven.

Mr. Yoy hit up the jukebox for his six songs for $1.  The ladies didn't even bat an eyelash when Lady Gaga came on in between a bunch of random country songs.  Big E LOVES Lady Gaga.  They sang along with us.

The service was quick and friendly and erased all bad memories I ever had of Waffle House.  Seriously, I was impressed.  I may even shoot an email to their customer service department about our visit.
Still wondering why my kids pick at their low-fat nutri-grain waffles at home and at Waffle House basically unhinged their jaws and swallowed their waffles whole.

A case of mistaken identity

I ran by Tommy's, Atlanta's famous barbershop, this afternoon to get Big E a haircut.

The cleaning people were at our house and I wanted to avoid a repeat performance.  See Little Mister Bossy.

I'm never sure how Big E will react to a haircut. Sometimes, he sits perfectly still.  Other times, he is like the exorcist in the chair.

On my way over, I talk up the haircut experience.

Aren't you excited to see Tommy?

Are you going to be a handsome boy?

For the record, there are like eight different people in the shop that cut hair.  Sometimes we get the boss man, Tommy, but sometimes we don't.

Today we didn't.

We got Cecilia, a sweet, middle-aged asian woman.

Big E got up in the chair, gave her his best cheesy smile, and shouted:


Everyone in the shop laughed, customers and barbers alike.

When Cecilia stopped laughing, she explained that Tommy was the old white guy in the corner.

Here's hoping next time we can get it right!
The real Tommy and Mitt (for Mr. Yoy and A.M.)

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

No More Yoys

I have two wonderful sons.  I love them dearly.  They are stinky and messy and wild and gross and loud.

See every single other entry I've written about them.

I stroll them all over the place in our double-wide.  The general public always has something to say about our spectacle.  Some comments are nice, some are irritating. Here are a few of my favorite:

Are they twins?

What are you feeding those guys?

You have your hands full!

And, my most favorite and tonight's blog topic-

Are you going to go for a girl?

This question is so personal and so startling coming from a complete stranger.  Sometimes I want to shoot back - are you?  Even if it is a man.

So, in order to avoid answering this question a million times over my few remaining years of fertility, I am going to let all of my readers know the answer.

It is no.

And I mean, hell no.

I'm partially writing this so I can look back in five years when the Yoys are in school full-time and I have this nagging ache for a baby, which I no doubt will have, and remember why the Yoys will remain a four person household.

I'm also writing this so the strangers at the mall, who, no doubt, are avid readers, will also stop asking.

First of all, my pregnancies were not all that fun.***

Insomniac.  Fire-breathing dragon.  Frequent restroomer. Dry-heaver.  Sciatica-cripple.  Day-time narcoleptic. Snorer (this one is for Mr. Yoy).  All good descriptions of myself during those nine months.

Even if I was guaranteed an amazing, symptom-free pregnancy there is then the haze that you live in for the first four months post birth.

I had a c-section with Little E.  All I have to do is look down to my abdomen to remember the pain that accompanied that surgery.  In my sleep, I would forget I had just been sliced open.  I'd hear Little E crying for me at 3 am.  I'd go leaping out of bed and wince in pain.

The three day intervals between showers, it took everything in me to muster up the energy to get cleaned up and dressed.  The weight of constant exhaustion on my eyelids,  they were permanently flying at half-mast.

My doctor said it best when she reported to me at Big E's one month checkup that she wished all babies were born as four month-olds.  Me, too, Dr. Yoy, me, too.

Shopping trips are the worst for me.  I let my eyes wander over to the other side of the Gymboree store.  I enviously scan the pink tutus and tights and little jean skirts, and I feel it.  I may even shed a tear or two if it is a really cute outfit, but it ends there.

Mr. Yoy always reminds me there is no guarantee.  We could end up with three sons.  Or four sons (You can't rule out twins in my case.  See my Mom and Uncle).  That is enough to snap me back to reality.

I almost forgot the most important reason.  We can't afford anymore.  I know this is so cliche, but kids are so expensive.  What in the world?

Anyway, I find solace in my adorable little niece who is a few weeks older than Little E.  When I have this uncontrollable urge to buy something pink, she is almost always the beneficiary.

And I know she'll take care of me when I'm old and gray and my sons won't return my phone calls (my greatest fear).  Especially after I bribe her with the 47 Madame Alexander dolls currently residing in my guest bedroom closet.

***Exceptions include amazing hair, publix cake for breakfast, maternity pants, and unlimited Willy's.

Little Yoysers

Monday, September 12, 2011

This never happens for Mrs. Yoy

Yesterday, we hung out at home with the kids.  We had some brunch with the other Yoys, watched some football, and in the evening, I had my monthly book club.

Before my departure, Mr. Yoy asked me to help him get the boys bathed.  He did the bathing and I got Little E ready for bed.  It was only a little after 6 when I put Little E in his jammies.  A tad early for bedtime, but he'd definitely go down.

As I closed his door behind me I saw that Mr. Yoy had put Big E into his jammies and was reading him a few bedtime stories.  I laughed to myself.

Of course, the night that I'm leaving Mr. Yoy with the little Yoys, he thinks he can have them both asleep by 6:30 so he can relax and watch more football.  Right.  THAT. WILL. NEVER. HAPPEN. EVER.

I ran out the door to make my book club meeting on time.

When I returned home, I couldn't wait to hear about how Big E jumped in his crib yelling to be tucked in for two hours.  Or how he wanted water.  Or his duck that somehow made its way to the other side of the room.

That didn't happen.  Mr. Yoy triumphantly (and I might add, a tad smugly) reported that Big E didn't make a peep.  He was down at 6:15.  Little E did wake up crying around 8 because both of his chub legs got stuck in between the crib bars, but he went back to sleep immediately.

What in the world?  This is bull, I tell you!

There are nights that I couldn't get Big E to bed at 9 after an entire sippy cup of Benedryl.  How could Mr. Yoy get him to bed at 6:15?  Ugh.

And, we had to wake him up at 8 this morning!

I'm hoping for a repeat performance tonight.  He didn't want to take a nap after school, so I obliged and kept him up.

Please send sleepy vibes Big E's way!

So this is what it's like every day? - Mr. Yoy after spending a whole day at home with the little Yoys.
Maybe Mr. Yoy snuck some of this to Big E yesterday?  

UPDATE: Missing Pieces Located

The missing train puzzle pieces have been located.

Apparently, Big E was telling the truth when he told me they were under the rug.  Shocking, I know.

I had looked under the rug in Mr. Yoy's office, the family room, and the dining room.  I didn't see anything.

But Mr. Yoy had a great idea!  He moved the couch and some coffee tables in the family room and we were able to see deep under the center of the rug.  Sure enough, there they were!  Big E must have slid the train puzzle under the rug and when he tried to pull it back out, it broke into two.

Anyway, all is right in the world again.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Runaway Train

On Thursday evening, I went to a "swap" party where I picked up a Melissa & Doug train puzzle for Big E.  He loves puzzles.  He loves trains.  This was going to be the perfect toy for him.

He assembled it Friday afternoon.  It is about ten feet long when put together.  He then proceeded to "drive" the puzzle like an actual train all over our house.  The puzzle was a hit.  He loved, loved, loved it.

Score one for Mrs. Yoy.  I found something that kept him quiet and entertained for hours on end.  I've never met this Melissa & Doug, but I would like to personally thank them for creating this puzzle.

Fast forward to this morning.  Little E was in his highchair drinking his milk.  This is important because it eliminates him as a suspect.

Big E was on the floor scooting his train puzzle in between the kitchen and the family room.  I ran upstairs for literally three minutes to throw on some clothes for a birthday party.

When I came downstairs Big E was asking me to find the train.  The actual train engine is the first piece in the puzzle.  I looked quickly, because I was in a hurry, but found nothing.  We left for the party.

We returned home and Big E starting asking me again for the train.  I looked a little closer and noticed that not only was the train piece missing, but about ten other pieces had gone AWOL as well.

I put both Yoys down for naps as they were all caked out from the party.

I began a level one search and rescue mission for the puzzle pieces.  This entails looking under things like the sofa, the rug, the coffee table.  These are the usual hiding places.  No luck there.

Level two was next.  These are stealthier locations such as inside drawers, storage bins, the laundry hamper, his ride-along truck. Again no luck.

If I can't find them in the next couple of hours we may have to transition from a rescue to recovery mission.

I hope this isn't turning into another missing items report.  See Day Three of Crayon-gate.

I still never found those stupid crayons...

Please come back to me!

Friday, September 9, 2011

The Next Sandy Koufax?

Before we had children, Mr. Yoy informed me that the two main genetic traits I needed to pass down to them were my tall and left-handed genes.

You see, Mr. Yoy isn't all that tall and I am a Jewish giant. Think Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, except we are way better looking.

Mr. Yoy wants the boys to be tall so they won't be picked on.  I understand that.  But more than that, Mr. Yoy wants the boys to be lefties because he wants them to pitch in the majors.  Apparently, left-handed pitchers are much harder to hit off of when pitching to left-handed hitters.

Mr. Yoy wants Big E to be Sandy Koufax.  Nice Jewish boy, multiple Cy Young winner, retired at 30.  He even refused to pitch in the World Series because it fell on the Kip.  No pressure.

We realize it is too early to really determine which hand Big E is going to favor, but everytime he picks up a crayon and starts drawing away with his left hand, Mr. Yoy and I have a party.  Streamers.  Balloons.  Everything.  We are so excited.

And then five minutes later he is coloring away with his right.  And we are insanely sad.  We are manic parents.

What's that?  Big E is actually holding a fork and it is in his left hand?  This is it!  The moment of truth!  Only to be replaced with disappointment when Big E uses the fork to brush his hair instead of eat his meal.

Ouch!  I know Big E just pegged me in the head with a nerf ball, but what hand did he throw it with?

In a few years, we will know the answer for sure.  In the meantime, we'll just watch for signs.  And hope.

Side note:  In case you were wondering I definitely failed to pass the tall gene down to my kids.  They are both midgets.  I'm hoping I don't go 0-2 on the genetics.
Who needs a doctor, I'm going to have myself a major league pitcher!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Boys are gross!

It was bath time at the Yoys.  For whatever reason, Little E loves to pull up in the bathtub, and usually nowhere else.  There couldn't possibly be a worse place to do this. It's slippery, he's wobbly, it is a recipe for a major disaster.

Tonight he pulled up and curled his meat hook hands over the side of the tub.  He was so proud of himself. Just standing there in all his baby glory.  I was half cheering him on and half holding onto him so he wouldn't bust it.

Little E's not so little bottom was just too tempting for Big E.

For all the world to see, but really it was just me, Big E credit checked him.

Yeah, I said it. CREDIT CHECKED.  Right there.  In the tub.

Don't know what it is?  Look it up!

Little E thought this was hilarious and started laughing.

Really?  I know I am surrounded by Boy Yoys and I need to adapt to their grossness, but I also need to be eased into this.  Maybe just some alphabet burping? Or pooting?

Baby steps.

Mrs. Yoy rule #19.

Finders Keepers

Do you remember this amazing Nickelodeon game show from the late 80s?  I may just be dating myself here, but do you?

The basis of the show centered around two kids searching for a hidden object in a staged room.  In the process the kids destroy the room leaving nothing untouched.

Think police looking for drugs during a bust, not like I would know or anything...

So you are probably wondering why I am rambling on about some dumb cable game show that ran for all of two seasons.

Every evening after the Yoys have gone to bed.  I spend about 30 minutes making the house livable again.  This includes their playroom that has many bins and baskets to organize and store toys.

When I am finished, the room looks catalog ready!  Who wouldn't want to play in there?

Morning rolls around and I usually bring the Yoys downstairs around 8.  We eat breakfast and then I unleash them on the house.

By 8:22, their once picture-perfect playroom looks like it has been used for the Finders Keepers show.  It is breathtaking, in a bad way.  How can two little kids wreak such havoc in such a small window of time?

Next time I walk in there and they are pulling all of the toys out of their respective bins, I'm going to launch thousands of ping pong balls at them (show reference).

Anyway, my Type A personality wants to clean it all up immediately, but I know this is futile.  So I resist until the end of the day.
All of that work for $50?

Friday, September 2, 2011

Mrs. Yoy looking for a new balance

I'm not talking about a break from my kids or more time for myself, although that would be nice.  I'm talking about the navy, size 4XWs I just received from Zappos.

The pair was in a shoebox in Little E's room.  These were going to be his fall shoes, even though I doubt he'll be walking by then.

I picked the box up, as it had suspiciously made its way into Big E's room.  The box was a little on the light side.  I opened it up.  I'm pretty sure when I received the sneakers they were shipped in a pair.  That's usually how it works.  Today the right one was flying solo.

I brought the shoe box back to Little E's room and starting looking around for the missing sneaker.  I asked Big E where the other shoe was.  I went out on a limb here.  I guess it could have been Little E, Mr. Yoy, or even maybe doggie Yoy, but I went with my gut.

Big E informed me it was in Little E's toy basket.  I rummaged through it.  Big E was lying.

Then I got all Law & Order on him.  I grabbed a coffee, a cig, and my tough guy persona.


Big E ran in his room and returned with the missing shoe.  I don't even want to know where it was, but at $45/pair, I'm locking those suckers up until Little E is ready to wear them.
I'm so glad I found you!

Thursday, September 1, 2011

To train or not to train

I'm teetering on the edge.  On one side, I see the unending pile of dirty diapers. On the other, I see the constant trips to the bathroom, whether it be at home or at Publix.

At this point, I could be swayed either way. Big E does not have school tomorrow or Monday so this gives me four days of intense housebound toilet training.

I'm pretty well prepared.

Cute potty seats - CHECK!  See Potty Training.

Tighty-whities - CHECK!

Snacks and other bribery tools - CHECK! See Pretzel M&Ms > Gold.

Juice to incite him to drink more, and therefore "go" more - CHECK!

Courage and patience to attempt this - MISSING?!

I don't know if I am ready.  Big E is so strong-willed and if he isn't on board, this is going to be horrible.

Plus, it's Labor Day weekend.  There are a million other things I'd like to be doing this weekend.  Instead, I'm potentially slated for urine cleanup the whole damn time. I'll be hatefully thinking of all my friends at their BBQs and pool parties as I'm scrubbing clothes, floors, and probably myself.

I could push it out until the High Holidays at the end of September.  Big E will also have a big chunk of time off from school then.  But is procrastinating going to get my son toilet trained?  I wish!

Don't they have some expert that can come to your house and do this for you? It would so be worth the money.

Help Mrs. Yoy!
This will be Mrs. Yoy if I survive Potty Training Weekend '11.  Minus the ugly outfit, of course.

Ingredients for a horrible night's sleep

The following events happened over a nine hour period.

Last night, 11:00PM:  I crawled into bed to do some Sudoku and watch my man, Conan.  Somewhere around John Krasinksi's marionette impression I dozed off, although it was quite endearing.  Mr. Yoy was working late to finish the month of August strong, so I was flying solo.

2AM:  I awake to George Lopez, the lights on, no Mr. Yoy (work sucks), and an urge to use the restroom.  I do have to say, I once had a bladder of steel.  I flew to Europe and didn't use the airplane restroom.  Now that my bladder has been ruined by two pregnancies, if I drink anything past seven at night, I'm guaranteed to be up at least once a night, sometimes twice.

I call Mr. Yoy to remind him to take the trash and recycling out when he gets home.  He is on his way and asks me to wait up for him.

2:15AM: Mr. Yoy arrives home and we recap our evening. He puts some horrible MTV show on the tube.  I try to fall back asleep.

2:40AM: Dang!  I'm hungry.  It's all I can think about.  I slink downstairs and grab a string cheese and jello.  Yum! Back to bed I go.

3:00AM: Mr. Yoy thinks he hears someone stirring.  TUCK ME IN!  TUCK ME IN!

What the hell?  That kid is up?  We both go in there to make sure there isn't some sort of massive catastrophe in his bed.  Everything is dry and where it should be.  We conclude that he must have had a nightmare, which led to a conversation about what his nightmares would be about (another blog topic).  We tuck him back in and return to bed.


Seriously, again?  Mr. Yoy tells me to just bring him in bed with us.  I grab Big E.  Once we are all settled into bed we can clearly hear Big E's stomach growling.  Like mother, like son.  I run downstairs, again, and get him a Gogurt.  He downs it in bed and then I put him back in his own crib.


Ugh, this is worse than when I was nursing.  I've now been awake for two hours and I'm starting to get that panicky feeling you get when you know you need to sleep and you cannot.  I calculate how many hours I have until I have to get up in the morning and add it to the few hours I had before my bathroom break.  Six hours is not enough for Mrs. Yoy.

It was time to lay down the law.  I went in there and used all my standard threats.  I hastily tucked him in and stormed out.

4:30AM:  Now I'm just lying awake listening.  I feel like I haven't heard the last from him.  Why can't I fall asleep? I look over at Mr. Yoy.  He is snoring away. I want to suffocate him with one of our many fancy bed pillows. I refrain.


Instead of Mrs. Yoy, Satan ran into Big E's room and went crazy.  It was a combo of frustration and exhaustion.  I'm not even sure what I said to him, but I am happy to report that it was my final trip into his room.

8:00AM:  Whoa!  I slept in.  Not a peep from Big E yet. On the other hand, Little E has now been in his crib about 14 hours and I'm sure is thinking:

What in the world happened to my parents?

I'm just adding these hours of sleep deprivation to the accumulated deficit I've been working on since 2008.

When Little E leaves for college in 2028, I'm going to take the greatest nap ever.

Until then, I sustain myself on gallons and gallons of Coke Zero.
Eight hours?  What's that like?