Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Batting .000

I received my first holiday card in the mail today.

I love getting holiday cards (hint, hint to all that are thinking of sending one to the Yoys).

We have never sent one out in the past, but I've been feeling the pressure to conform.

I was motivated enough this afternoon to dress the Yoys up all matchy-matchy (my favorite!) and attempt a photo session in Little E's bedroom.

I literally said these words to Big E:

IF YOU SMILE FOR THE CAMERA I WILL GIVE YOU CANDY, CAKE, MONEY, AND THE UNOPENED TRAIN TABLE IN THE DINING ROOM!

My kids are what I like to call non-cooperating participants when it comes to picture time.

I took 126 pictures this afternoon over a period of about 10 minutes.

I also took about 12 years off my life.

I didn't get one usable picture.  I swear.  I'm going to go back over them later, but I glanced at them earlier and wanted to cry.

Big E kissed, smothered, bit, and kicked Little E in the oversized chair in Little E's room.

Meanwhile, I was making exotic noises trying to get them to 1) look at me and 2) crack a smile.

Anyone looking in from the street would have seen/heard the ruckus and most likely called child protective services. It was insanity at its best.

My throat is sore this evening from screaming, howling, growling, and other unfazing sound effects.

I have to stop and wonder, how can these evil beings belong to me?
 We'd wish you Happy Holidays, but we are too busy reading our books!

Happy New Year from our asses!

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Paging Nurse E

Mr. Yoy woke up this morning feeling a tad under the weather.

As I dressed Big E, I told him to go into our room and say good morning to Mr. Yoy, as he was not feeling great.

Big E ran into our room and asked Mr. Yoy how he was feeling.  Nurse E concluded that all Mr. Yoy needed was some lotion.

You see, Little E has been having major skin problems as of late and we have been using antibiotic and steroid creams, as well as tons of lotion on him.

Big E, being a human sponge, now believes that lotion is the cure-all for what ails you.

Maybe he is on to something.

He bolted out of our bedroom and returned to Mr. Yoy with a tube of Aveeno lavender baby lotion.

It was sweet that he was trying to help, but clearly he got his medical training in the Bahamas.
Cures dry skin as well as every other thing that could possibly go wrong with you.  And also tastes like sweet potato.

RECALCULATING!

Last night we met Mr. Yoy for dinner in an attempt to lift his spirits.

When I told Big E that we were going to pick daddy up at work, he confidently rattled off the directions to Mr. Yoy's work.

Get on the highway, get off at Northside, turn left.

He sort of had it right, but I think he was just giving me the directions for Goldberg's, which is, unfortunately, closed for dinner.

I won't be getting rid of my Garmin anytime soon.
RECALCULATING!  RECALCULATING!

Monday, November 28, 2011

A Sad Day for the Yoy Family

Today Mr. Yoy's brother passed away.  It was not unexpected, but it hurts all the same.

I mourn for the loss of Uncle M.  He was a quiet, but sweet and kind man.

I mourn for my husband and his brothers.

I mourn for my in-laws.

I mourn for my children who will never know their Uncle.

Uncle M loved the boys.  He was always the first to look at the thousands of pictures I sent out and email me back a funny comment.  He was an avid reader and fan of the Mrs. Yoy Blog.  He loved the daily updates of the doings of his nephews.  I am saddened that someone who took such interest in their lives won't be around to see how the Yoys turn out.

So I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell a story about Uncle M.

When Mr. Yoy and I first moved into our house 5+ years ago we had builder-grade landscaping in our front yard. It wasn't ugly, it was just nothing special.  Uncle M had a landscaping company and he offered to come up to Atlanta and help us out.

He sketched out a plan and we headed to the Home Depot Landscape store.  We spent hours there picking out plants and trees and mulch.  We loaded all of this stuff in the back of Uncle M's pickup and drove home.

He then spent the better part of the next two days in the hot Atlanta sun digging and digging and digging.

Apparently our house was built on a rock quarry, or at least it seemed to be, based on the quantities of rock we were pulling out of the soil.  It was serious blood, sweat, and tears, but after two days he had planted a row of hedges, three crepe myrtles, three hydrangeas, and a slew of rose bushes, all without complaining.

This was something Mr. Yoy and I could never have done on our own and Uncle M did all of the work, free of charge.  Yes, of course we helped (a little), but he was the brains behind the operation.

I was grateful when the job was complete and my front yard looked amazing.

I am even more grateful now.  You see, every Spring, when my flowers and trees bloom in unison and make our house look like the botanical gardens, I will think of Uncle M and the beauty he brought to the world.
Dedicated to Uncle M.  May his memory be a blessing.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Search and Rescue

I was performing my usual post-Yoy bedtime cleanup effort. Tonight, I was especially diligent because in a few, short days we have an olympic gold medalist staying at our house (for blogging purposes, I'll refer to him as Mr. Gold).

I'm not sure what I think will happen, but I'm petrified Mr. Gold will show up with white gloves and do a dust check on my baseboards.

I was organizing this sweet wooden fire/police station my brother and SIL sent to Big E for his birthday.  This thing is amazing.  It came from this catalog, One Step Ahead. It is like crack for moms.  Don't deny it, ladies!

The station came with a ton of furniture, including a toilet which I find fascinating.  Big E does, too.  In fact, it's his favorite piece of toy furniture, even though he refuses to use a real life one.  Irony at its finest.

It also came with two policeman and two fireman.  As I was lining up all the tough guys in front of the toy flat screen TV, I noticed we were down one fireman.

Blast!  We've had this thing a total of five days and Big E has already lost 25% of his manpower.  Plus, my brother and SIL are visiting next month and I didn't want to tell them that my kid is irresponsible with his toys and not worthy of such awesome presents.

It was now my mission to find the fireman.

First, I pretended I was a three year old.  This is getting easier and easier the more time I spend with my kids.  If they can get away with this sort of behavior, then I should be able to as well.

If I were Big E where would I stash the fireman?

I looked in all the drawers, book cases, filing cabinets, and trash cans in the room.  Nothing.

I checked under our china cabinet.  He was not there, but I did find a sippy cup circa 2009 filled with what was once water and now resembled Guinness.  This was headed straight to the trash.  Gag.

Next I checked under the couches and the coffee table.  No fireman, but I did find the "K" piece to his train puzzle that had been missing for some time.  Score!

Finally, I opened up all the seats in his fleet of cars.  There, jammed into the compartment under the seat, was a hair brush, a stuffed soccer ball, and the fireman.

I shouted out an excited YES!  Too bad I was by myself and had no one to high five.  I felt like this situation warranted one.

The house is currently clean and organized.  If only I could keep it that way until Mr. Gold's visit.

I'm sure the evil Yoys will be back to destroy all of my work tomorrow.

At least I can sleep soundly tonight.
Not Big E, but that is the fire/police station.

Privacy. What's that?

I am a modest person.  As a child during P.E. class, I mastered the "changing your clothes without showing an inch of skin" move.  I was amazing at it.

When I became pregnant with Big E, I did not realize that my modesty would soon fly out the window.

Fast forward to Piedmont Hospital. Big E was almost a month early, so Dr. Yoy decided to have a special team of nurses in the room when I delivered.  When she mentioned this initially, I thought it sounded like a fantastic idea.

So there I am, delivering a baby.  I'm not going to go into too much detail, but you are definitely in a compromising position.  In walks the preemie team, all seven of them.

For an instant I was embarrassed.  I wanted them to leave.  But it was weird, my modesty took a back seat to Big E's well being.  So what, now there were ten people in the room just staring at my parts.

It definitely didn't end there.  Post delivery all sorts of nurses, doctors, etc. are rummaging around your body.  I accepted my fate.

What I didn't realize at the time, was this was preparing me for having company 24/7 for the rest of my life (at least it seems that way).

I have not gone to the bathroom or taken a shower alone in three years.

Last night, Mr. Yoy was watching our sorry, sorry football team play.  He asked Big E if he wanted to join him.

NOPE!

Instead, he came with me to the bathroom where he proceeded to offer help, suggestions, and narration.

YOU NEED TOILET PAPER?

YOU NEED THE LIGHT?

YOU MAKE DIRTS?

Ugh, please, please, please.  Go watch football with Mr. Yoy.

I then made my way to the shower.  I needed to wash away the grime that comes with caring for two boys.

Why don't you go and watch football with daddy?

NOPE!

Instead, he stood at the shower door, pressed his face into the glass, and chatted my ear off.

IS THAT YOUR WASH RAG?

IS THAT YOUR SOAP?

ARE YOU CLEAN?

WHAT'S THAT? (none of your business)

I can't even remember what it is like to be by myself. And why am I always being interviewed?

Please tell me I'm not the only mom that feels this way.
It may not be Big Brother, but it is definitely one of the Yoys.

Friday, November 25, 2011

The Art of the Whisper

When do kids have the ability to learn to whisper?

The Yoys' bedroom doors are very close together.  When Little E is napping, Big E and I are often in his room or the bonus room.

In a whisper, I'll say to Big E:

Please whisper, Little E is napping.

Big E responds in full, if not extra amped-up-on-purpose, volume:

OK, MOMMY!

No-whisper, like mommy is doing right now.

OK, MOMMY!

Ugh, I give up.  Is it really hard to teach this concept?  I'm being honest,  I really don't know when toddlers can learn to control the volume of their voice.

Til then I'll be praying I finally discover the mute button somewhere on Big E's body.

Or maybe earplugs for Little E.
Where is it?

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Another Million Dollar Idea

This came to me today on my drive home from lunch.

I was bogged down in thick Atlanta Thanksgiving traffic. Yes, here in Atlanta, Thanksgiving traffic starts Wednesday morning.

We were on the verge of Little E's nap time.  He was starting to get edgy.

The slower I drove, the louder Little E's cries became until it evolved into full-on screaming.  Oy.

LIGHT BULB MOMENT!

I wish I had lights and a siren like an ambulance or fire truck that I could flip on in crying emergencies that would allow me to zip home.  I promise I would use it sparingly and only when the Yoys had a true meltdown emergency.

For a moment, I congratulated myself on such a good idea, but then was brought back to reality by Little E's hysteria. Poor little guy.  He just wants his bed.

I reached back with my crazy long monkey arms and tried to soothe him.  It was no use.  He had crossed over to the dark side.

I spent 45 minutes in the car with a screaming Little E.

Now excuse me while I go down a bottle of Chardonnay and try to unwind from the drive.
This looks just like my van.  All I need is the siren!

Poor Planning

Today I met Aunt Yoy at Jason's Deli for a pre-Thanksgiving feast.

Aunt Yoy arrived first and pulled three highchairs over to the table.  I was impressed given her wounded state.

I walked in barely holding onto my kids and the diaper bag.  I was a frenzied mad woman.

Little E was reaching over my shoulder and grabbing snacks out of my bag while yelling at me to open them. He doesn't actually talk yet, but I assume he's trying to say:

OPEN THESE DANG APPLE CRISPS, MOMMY!

I throw Little E into one highchair and Aunt Yoy throws Big E into another.

We both order and sit down to wait for our food.

Right over Aunt Yoy's shoulder, directly in Big E's line of fire, is the frozen yogurt machine that dispenses free yogurt for all.  I pray he doesn't notice the thousands of people walking up and pouring themselves giant swirly cones.

The food arrives, Big E eats about three bites and then zeros in on his target.

I WANT YOGURT!  I WANT YOGURT!  I WANT YOGURT!

Ugh.  We should have faced him the other way.  I partially blame Aunt Yoy for the unfortunate configuration, but also blame myself for not being more aware of our situation.

As you can imagine, the rest of the meal went as follows:

I WANT YOGURT!

FINISH YOUR LUNCH!

I WANT YOGURT!

EAT YOUR PASTA!

I WANT YOGURT!

I WANT A GUN!

Obviously, he finally wore me down.  But in my final act of defiance I poured him the absolute smallest amount of yogurt possible.  It was payback for ruining our lunch.

And I didn't even get to enjoy one of these...

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The "S" Word

Santa.

Now that Big E is three he is very aware of the upcoming holiday season.

The lights!

The music!

The decorated trees!

The fat, old guy in a red suit that brings you lots of presents (sounds way better in theory than on paper)!


It is the rite of passage for any Jewish child.  And no, it is not a bar mitzvah.

It is the moment he learns he is different.

Christmas IS the most wonderful time of the year.  As a 35 year old, I still suffer miserably with Christmas envy each December.  I peer out my front window and look at all the lights and the glittering trees peeking through my neighbors' front windows.  Oy.  If only.

Big E has already mentioned Santa to me.  I ignored him. I don't know if I am ready to go into it.  I feel like this conversation may be even harder than the birds and the bees.

WHY DOESN'T SANTA COME TO MY HOUSE?


Yes, we are the Chosen People, etc, etc, but no child wants to be different.  I guess it is a blessing that he is at a Jewish pre-school so he isn't being inundated with Christmas things.

As a child growing up in West Boca, there weren't too many of us Hebs floating around.  I always had to be my class representative.

I hated that my teacher made us all sing the dreidel song to offset the 27 Christmas songs we were learning in music class.  Please, don't humor me.

I hated standing up in front of my class and explaining Chanukah.  Especially after I skipped all that Sunday School.

UMMM....YEAH CHANUKAH HAS EIGHT NIGHTS....I THINK.

It's not that Chanukah isn't a fun and wonderful holiday. It's just that I feel like it has been blown up to compete with Christmas and there really isn't any competing.

Yeah, you can say we get eight nights of gifts.  But as a child, nights six, seven, eight were filled with such gems as a thesaurus, night light, and maybe a keychain.  I promise it doesn't equate.

I'm hoping to dodge the Santa bullet for at least one more year.  Maybe next year he will be able to understand a little better.

So while everyone is opening their presents, eating their delicious meals, and singing amazing holiday songs, the Yoys will be pouring over our take-out Chinese food menus and deciding which movie we will hit up.

Happy Holidays!
I guess it doesn't help that I watched Elf while delivering Big E.   I freaking love that movie!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Carrot Test

Big E is forever claiming he's hungry.  Every time I open the refrigerator or the pantry (even if it is to just throw out trash) he declares his starvation.

I have no idea if he is, in fact, experiencing the signs of hunger or if he is just conditioned to say this.

Instead of just endless snacking all day, I have come up with a genius way of telling if the little guy is truly hungry.

Always on hand here at the Yoys is a giant tub of steamed carrots.  Not what you had in mind for a snack? But what if you were so hungry you'd eat just about anything, including steamed carrots.

So this is my trick.

Today I was putting away groceries and Big E was whining that he was hungry.

I offered him steamed carrots.  He countered with goldfish.  Just like the guy on Pawn Stars, I gave him a worse offer.  That is what you get for trying to bargain with Mrs. Yoy.

Steamed carrots or nothing.  End of story.

I WANT CARROTS!

Either he is really hungry or he is just desperate, but either way he just scarfed down a whole bowl full of veggies.

And he just told me I'm pretty.   The carrots are clearly improving his vision.

Victory is mine!
Carrots:  My litmus test.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Hide and Seek

Bath time around here usually starts with an ill-timed game of hide and seek.  As soon as I turn the water faucet on, Big E heads for the hills.

Maybe I've seen one too many suspense movies.  Or maybe I'm just on edge from the recent crime wave in our 'hood, but for whatever reason, when I go searching for Big E, I get a little jumpy.

I cleared our walk-in closet, the laundry room, and under my computer desk.  These are all Big E hiding spot favorites, and tonight he was not in any of them.


Where is that little booger?

I walked into his bedroom.  His closet door was cracked. BUSTED!  I had him now.

As I crept up to the door (imagine creepy music playing) my heart began to race.  I am not sure why.  Who did I expect in the closet?  Martin Burney?  Maybe.  I took a deep breath and flung the door open.

Nothing.

Right at that moment Big E popped out from behind his rocking chair and yelled:

HI MOM!

I jumped out of my skin.  Seriously, my vertical was very impressive.  I wished my high school basketball coach was there to witness it.  She was always trying to get me to jump more than two inches off the ground.

I turned around to see his smiling head peering around the side of the chair.

Big E, you scared the jeepers out of me!


He seemed very proud of himself.


I have to admit, this was only half as scary as the night he channeled Hannibal Lecter.

I'm off to count the additional gray hairs I earned tonight.
Hoping I find Big E instead of this guy in my house.

My million dollar idea

We went to the aquarium this morning.  While I think the kids enjoy looking at the fish, I get the feeling they could take them or leave them.

I took they Yoys to a less populated upstairs area to eat lunch.  Big E ran wild with his friend, Lady P, while Little E crawled around.

Then it dawned on me.  Why bother taking them to the art museum, zoo, aquarium, etc?

I need to buy a giant warehouse.  Carpet it, add some lights, a water fountain, comfortable seating for the moms, and a bathroom and we are in business.

The kids don't really care where we take them, as long as there is a giant carpeted space for them to run around.

Forget Kangazoom, Monkey Joe's, or any other of those bouncy house, climby places.  They are teeming with germs, anyway.

Come to my giant carpeted warehouse and let your kid run until they drop.

How did I not think of this sooner?
Just add carpet and watch the magic happen.

Big E's existence: one giant time-out

Big E is turning three this week.  He is losing his baby-ness and turning into a little boy.  It is bittersweet for me.

There are some positives of him being older.  He UNDERSTANDS everything I say to him so communication has moved far beyond crying, grunting, and pointing.

On the flip side, while he understands what I am asking him to do/not do, etc, I'd say he listens to about 10% of what I'm saying.

Frustration doesn't even begin to describe my daily interactions (or maybe more appropriately named, battles) with Big E.  He saves his absolute worst behavior for me, like it is a special gift or something (where can I return it?).

I look at his sweet face and remember what a good baby he was.  Seriously, he was insanely good.  Don't worry, I'm getting it back in spades with the one-two combo of his current behavior and Little E constantly being on his period.

I feel like I'm always yelling at him or telling him no or being a mean mommy.  I hate it.  I want to be the fun and playful mommy.

I know that at this age he is exploring his independence, but I'm about one "NO, I'M NOT!" away from dropping him off at a fire station.  Is there an age limit for doing that, just wondering...

Anyway, I'd love to hear any suggestions for taming a three year old monster.

Or, if you'd like to take possession of one.
Big E, my wild thing.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Bedazzled by Little E

Have you heard of the BeDazzler?  You may remember it from the onslaught of infomercials.  This little miracle machine attached rhinestones to all sorts of fun stuff like shirts, socks, and jeans.

This machine has probably seen its time.  But, back in the 1980s, these things were in high demand.

This past week, Big E made an art project which included the adhesion of rhinestones to a plastic cup.  His new cup was proudly on display in his room.

This morning, we were rushing to get ready to leave for a book fair.  The Yoys were in Big E's room reading books and playing.

I looked at Little E and he had that look I know so well. He was storing something in his mouth.

With the help of Grandma Yoy, we pried his jaws open and there on his tongue were two little rhinestones, sparkling away, begging to be eaten.

Good-ness!


I reached in there and fished them both out.  Little E put up a good fight.  At one point, I thought I had lost part of my finger.

I always comment on how different the Yoys are.  And this is another example.  Big E rarely ate random objects. Little E puts everything in his mouth.  The good news is, he doesn't like to chew.  He is more of a dissolver.  This gives me some time to extract dangerous and deadly items from his mouth.  I just have to always be on the lookout for that telling Little E face.  Then I know it's time to open his mouth up and receive my surprise.

I do give Little E credit for trying to decorate his tongue. I wish I would have taken a picture.
Sort of what Little E's mouth looked like when we pried it open.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Revenge is a dish best served cold...

If you are looking for a feel good story, here it is readers! This is dedicated to everyone who read about our dental trip this morning and was fooled into thinking Big E was an angel.  Or maybe I should dedicate it to anyone ever frustrated by the lack of good customer service.  In any case, enjoy!

Tonight I took my mom and the Yoys up to the mall to walk around and grab an early dinner.  Post dinner we passed by my ex-most favorite clothing store in the world.

We are exes because their store manager was a royal b*tch to me about 8 months ago after I had been a loyal customer of theirs going on 15 years.

For those of you that know me, you are aware of my giant stature.  My ex-favorite store was the first to offer tall sizes in their pants and jeans.  I no longer had to custom order my 36 inch inseam khakis from the overpriced J-Crew catalog.

But my ex's coupons kept on coming in the mail and as I walked by the store windows day after day, I longed to try on pants that actually fit me.  Tonight my mom nudged me to go in.  She would walk around with the Yoys in the stroller and let me browse.

Well, looking wouldn't hurt.  It's not like we are getting back together.

Before I knew it, I ended up with an armload of clothes to try on.  What AM I doing?  My mom strolled the Yoys back to the dressing room because they were getting "edgy".

Big E begged to get out of the stroller so mom sprung him loose.  He wanted to come in the dressing room with me, which was fine.  I already shower and go to the bathroom with an audience, so trying on clothes is cake.

As soon as I shut the door, Little E went insane. Apparently he, too, wanted in on the dressing room fun. We were beginning to make a scene.  My mom grabbed our purses and Little E and all four of us ended up in the dressing room the size of an airplane bathroom.  Talk about a good time.

I'm frantically pulling clothes on and off.  Little E has a constant whine going on.  It's like white noise to me, but I'm sure everyone within earshot was wishing we'd leave.

Then Big E had a poonami and slowly we were being hot boxed to death in our little dressing room.

Little E was holding on to the chair with his sippy cup in his mouth.  He lost his balance and plunged to the floor. In the process he impaled his tongue with the straw. Now he was really screaming.

For the love of pete!  Can't a girl get some new sweaters?

In the middle of his screaming fit, Little E dropped out his remaining dinner from his mouth.  He stores food in his cheeks.  It is a habit we are trying to break before he chokes to death.

I quickly grab a few tops that I think I like.  We have got to scram.  We rush out of the dressing room. Unfortunately there were 4+ ladies waiting to check out all with incredulous looks on their faces.  They had heard everything.

Whatever.  You try being a fashion forward mom.

We left the dressing room a mess.  A little food, a little smelly, but a smile crept onto my face as I saw the store manager enter the dressing rooms.  I hope Ms. Nasty walks into that dressing room and gags.

VINDICATION IS MINE!

P.S. This is almost as good as my bridal boutique story, but I'll save that for another day.
Nothing says togetherness like trying on clothes with your whole family watching.

Look ma, no cavities!

Today was Big E's first trip to the dentist.  I was sweating it.  There were so many variables and so many things that could set him off.

1) The moving chair
2) The blinding light
3) The noisy toothbrush
4) The strange people looking inside his mouth

So, it is with great pride that this blog is not about how big of a disaster Big E was at the dentist, but how he was the greatest little guy ever.

It was eerie.  Tooth Doctor Yoy kept commenting on how great he was doing for not yet being three.  I felt like I was dreaming.

I kept waiting for him to bite the dentist or give his famous line:

NO I'M NOT!


I almost stuck my hand down the backside of his shirt to check for an on/off button.  I was convinced someone had taken the human Big E and replaced him with a robot named WORLD'S BEST DENTAL PATIENT.

They asked us to book our next appointment, so I guess we are invited back.
 Great Success! (Think Borat)

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Sweet Dreams!

I just tucked Big E in for the night.

On my way out of his room he wished me sweet dreams.

What a lovable little nugget!

It ALMOST persuaded me to let him stay up past his bedtime.

ALMOST.

Monday, November 7, 2011

I'M GONNA WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP!

This was definitely a top five mom phrase heard throughout my childhood.

Other greatest hits included:

1) I'M GONNA FIX YOUR WAGON! (still unsure of the meaning but implicated Grade A trouble)
2) IF YOU HAVE TO KNOW NOW, THE ANSWER IS NO! (good one!)
3) PIGS GET FAT, HOGS GET SLAUGHTERED (wait-we are Jewish)
4) SO BUTTONS (her response to whenever I said SO)

You would think I was being raised by sailors (one of them actually was) based on the frequency of my mouth washing.  I, apparently, had A LOT to cuss about as a young child.  I blame HBO.  

I think this threat will be nothing but idle for Big E.  

During our outside escapades this afternoon, Big E was attempting to blow bubbles.  I watched him ingest half a bottle of bubbles in the process.  The directions for bubble blowing do not include drinking the liquid, at least I don't think they do.

I checked the bottle and the bubbles are non-toxic.  So that was a positive.

Big E clearly did not mind the taste as he began chewing on the bubble wand.  The kid was practically burping up bubbles the rest of the day.

I'll have to come up with a new cuss word deterrent for when Johnny Schoolkid teaches Big E some unsavory words, as eating soap does not phase him.

Any suggestions?
Mmmm...bubbles.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

A glimpse of the Yoy future?

Today the Yoys went on an adventure to another country, Alpharetta, GA.

Mr. Yoy was participating in a charity softball tournament in the 'burbs.  We don't venture there often so we packed no fewer than three suitcases, food, milk, an outlet adapter (hey, you never know when you might need to blow dry your hair), and our Garmin.

After Mr. Yoy's team gave up a close one in round one, I decided it was time to take the little Yoys home.  Mr. Yoy would catch a ride home with one of his teammates.

Mr. Yoy walked me out to help me load up the bus.  And that's when he came upon it.

A pee-wee football game.  Those little boys in their football helmets, it was cuteness overload.

I have always maintained that my boys are playing baseball, not football.  I don't want to deal with the injuries that come along with contact sports.  This was swaying even my iron-clad decision of no Yoy football.

The outfits and the cheering fans were intoxicating. Along with the fall weather and the changing leaves, I felt like we were watching some sort of Northeastern Yuppie documentary.

IF YOU DON'T STEP UP AND PLAY HARD, OUR WHOLE SEASON IS OVER!!!

A screaming mad-man interrupted my dream sequence of Big E being the star quarterback.

It was their head coach.  And he was pissed.  Holy moly, these kids couldn't be older than 7 or 8 and they were being lambasted.

This snapped me back to reality.  I turned back to Mr. Yoy.

I don't even yell at our own kids like that.  I don't want some random coach to have all the fun.

Mr. Yoy was fascinated by the screaming coach and the fact that these little kids had just executed a Statue of Liberty play (I have no idea what this is, but Mr. Yoy was REALLY impressed).

So this is where Will Muschamp ends up after he gets fired from UF.


The quarter ended so all the action moved to the other end of the field.  We continued on to the car.

Mr. Yoy was convinced that the boys wouldn't be hurt playing at this level.  I'm still unsure.  I guess we have a few years to decide, but I'm still leaning towards little league.
You think my screaming is bad?  Wait until you see the "stare"!

Friday, November 4, 2011

Take a little off the top

Today I took Little E for his first official haircut.  Sure, Mr. Yoy and I have done some trimming here and there, but his hair was getting out of control.  Mrs. Yoy knows when she is defeated.

We went to Pigtails and Crewcuts which caters to the younger crowd.  Little E sat in a firetruck chair for his haircut.

As soon as the lady spritzed his hair, Little E erupted.  He spun his head like the exorcist.  The lady was remarkably calm.  I tried to hold his head still so that she didn't pull a Van Gogh and take his ear off.

All of the other customers, moms and children alike, stared at my screaming baby.

I gave him animal crackers.  Maybe this would soothe him.  He jammed them all in his mouth simultaneously and then continued on his crying (and a little bit choking) rampage.

The lady kept asking me how much should she take off.

SHAVE HIS HEAD SO WE NEVER HAVE TO COME BACK HERE!

That is what I wanted to say.

Trim up his bangs, the hairs that are hanging over his ears, and the mullet in the back.

That is what I actually said.

What is the most startling to me is the striking personality difference in the Yoys.

As a baby/toddler, Big E rarely cried.  He did cry when he fell off the train, but that was a major fall.

Little E cries all the time.  He is so opinionated and has a bit of a temper, which I take no responsibility for.  I am the most even-keeled person I know.

Big E sat perfectly still for his first haircut.  He did not make a peep.  He did awesome.

How can they have the same genes and yet be so different?
Little E: no longer rockin' Ralph Wiggum hair.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Magic of Macy's (their slogan, not mine)

Tonight we picked Mr. Yoy up from work for a family dinner.  I wasn't aware of the incoming monsoon, so we were limited to places with covered parking.  Hello, Cumberland Mall.  More specifically, hello Jason's Deli (yum!).

After dinner we walked back through Macy's to the parking deck.  Mr. Yoy was browsing the men's section and was debating on buying some new Lacoste shirts. This man cannot get enough Lacoste shirts. I should take a picture of the Yoy closet.  It is amazing.

Our initial strategy had been to push Little E in the umbrella stroller and let Big E walk.  Once we hit the clothes racks in Macy's I was regretting this decision.

I could hear Big E giggling and running, but I could not see that little guy.  My mother alarm was on red alert.  Most likely, no one wants this kid, but what if there is some child predator shopping for cologne tonight?

Mr. Yoy was paying for his shirts and Big E came shooting out of a rack of clothes.  In the middle of his shirt was a circle of blood, about the size of a penny.

What in the heck?


Are you bleeding?


Were you impaled by a hanger?

I quickly tried to find the blood source.  No luck there.  I tell Big E not to touch anything.

Yeah, right.

He launched himself down the next aisle of clothes, this time Polo.

Please, please, please, please do not touch anything.  That stuff is EXPENSIVE.  I'm having flashbacks to when we went in that Buckhead boutique.

Yes, Mr. Yoy, your bill comes to $6,320.  Thank goodness we are having a sale! (says the imaginary Macy's employee after Big E bloodies up half the Polo department).

We make it out of Macy's without ruining any merchandise and with both of our kids in tow.

During his bath, I gave Big E the once over.  I still couldn't figure out what was bleeding.  Hopefully, it is his blood and not some random blood he encountered in Macy's.

Some things are better left to the unknown.
This was the first, and probably last time, Big E will wear this t-shirt.  Thanks a lot blood and chocolate fro-yo.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Diaper Bag: Friend or Foe

I could clean this thing out once a day.  I don't.

I usually clean it out every few weeks.  When it becomes overrun with receipts, dirty wipes, and wild cheerios, I know it is time.

Tonight I am looking for a receipt so I can make some returns tomorrow.

I started digging around.  Then I decided to put on my hazmat suit and really get in there.

Why can't this stupid bag stay clean and organized? There is some nasty sh*t happening in the far off corners of this bag and I just cleaned it out a few weeks ago.  It is so frustrating to me.

Half the time I've got it slung to my back and I'm frantically ripping open packets of craisins and dried fruit while simultaneously wiping Big E's dirty hands and talking on my cell phone.

Hmm...maybe THAT'S why!

The one thing I rarely find in there:

1) my wallet
2) my keys
3) diapers of the appropriate size
4) wipes
5) bags for dirty diapers
6) bibs

Noticing a common theme?  These are the items that should be in there and do, in general, come in handy.

GET IT TOGETHER, MRS. YOY!
Oh, how I loved you when I first got you.  Now I can't wait to break up with you!

The Waiting Room Debate

***WARNING:  Blog may contain judgy-judgy mother statements***

Today was Little E's 15 month check-up.

Let me start by saying I love our pediatrician.  We share a first name and she went to Harvard and John Hopkins. How can you go wrong?

The office is in Buckhead with seven total doctors.  I'm not going to lie.  On most visits, that place is a total madhouse.  A few years back they remodeled the office and expanded.  It was after Big E was born, so it wasn't that long ago.

They broke the waiting rooms up into two rooms, by doctor, NOT by sick vs well visits.  My obgyn sends his kids there as well.  When I mentioned my gripe to him, he explained that they have done studies that have shown it doesn't make a difference if the kids are kept separate or mingled while waiting.

Which leads me to today.

We had an early appointment and for once it was pretty quiet.  There was one little boy in the Dr. K waiting area with me.

I wasn't around in the 14th century, nor am I a medical doctor, but I'm pretty sure this little guy was presenting with the Bubonic Plague.  He looked horrible.  His cough was horrible.  I wanted to wrap my healthy Little E in a blanket like he was one of Michael Jackson's kids.

With every cough I felt myself giving his mother the evil eye.  I couldn't stop.

I had to control the urge to shout:

HOW DARE YOU BRING YOUR KID IN PUBLIC LIKE THAT?

Oh, wait.  I AM at the doctor's office.

I was mostly irritated because he was old enough to know to cough into his elbow, but he wasn't doing it.  Nor was his mother suggesting he do it.  He was just spewing his Bubonic germs across the room towards us Yoys.

It was like a scene from Outbreak.  I bet you thought I was going to say Contagian.  But alas, I haven't seen a movie since the mid-90s, so Outbreak would have been the better guess.

Thankfully, they called Little E back.  We did have to walk through the Bubonic cloud of death to get to the exam room.

We met with Dr. K and I was thrilled to learn that Little E had only gained a few ounces since his last check-up and had grown two inches.  He was no longer a potential contestant on The Baby Biggest Loser.

Little E had a great check-up and as long as he doesn't come down with the Bubonic Plague in the next 24-48 hours, I'd say we had a pretty good visit.
The Yoys will be wearing these the next time we hit up Dr. K's.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Here comes the groom...

And he's still wearing diapers, sucking his thumb, and sleeping in a crib.

I know that eventually, Big E will outgrow the above afflictions.  He will not be an adult still wearing Costco diapers, at least I hope not.  That would make him one very small adult.

But still, these milestones are always present in my mind. Sometimes they mock me.

I frequently commit the deadly sin of comparing Big E to other kids his age.  Some are potty trained.  Some are in beds.  Some have pacifiers.

The potty training thing we tried back over Labor Day weekend.  See To train or not to train.  It was an epic fail. He started crying the second I showed him his big boy underpants.  Not even unlimited candy could convince him to give it a try.

Even now, if I mention sitting on the toilet he always replies:

I NOT A BIG BOY!

Sigh.

The crib thing is mostly my doing.  I just need to order him the safety rail and we can convert the crib to a toddler bed.  It's just the thought of Big E roaming the house at night gives me the shivers.  It's not that he's destructive or eats poison, it's merely the thought.  So I'm sacked out and sleeping away, what the heck is he doing?

Not to mention Big E is like a heat seeking mommy missile.  He finds me wherever I am.  In this case, it would be me cuddled in my bed and I'm sure it would end with me not cuddled in my bed.  I'm just not ready for that. Maybe I could gate him in his bedroom like a dog?

And finally, the thumb sucking.  It is a nasty, nasty habit. I'm always pulling his thumb out of his mouth.  It has callouses on it.  I almost can't bare to look at it.  We go for our first dentist visit next week and I'm sure I'll get an earful about that.  Even the nice man collecting our items at Goodwill (this is a sarcastic statement, beware) was nice enough to explain all the negative outcomes of thumb sucking.

While I know all of these things will be resolved in good time, the process of resolving them is making me anxious.  We are in such a good groove right now.  Big E is sleeping by 6:30 and he's not up until 7:30 the next morning.  I worry any or all of these things will jeopardize my nightly downtime or sleep.

But, as a mother, I also know there is some sacrificing. We'll get through it, I know, but it's not going to be easy.

At least it will make for some good blogs.
Big E's future wedding party