The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

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

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. NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! My mom, my dad

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

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. HUH? Big E came running up the stairs yelling something over and over. THERE'S A BEE ON MY TRAIN TRACK! COME SEE IT, MOMMY! He is now rattling the gate and yelling at me

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

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. I'M SCARED! NO FIRETR

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: Mom? 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.

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 doe

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: HI TOMMY! 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! T

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 naggi

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 ma

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.

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 wa

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 s

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 ru

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 Keepe

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 &a

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

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!