Thursday, December 27, 2012

Big E: Worst Pickup Line Ever

Yesterday we hit up the pool at my parent's clubhouse.  It was kickin'.  Their neighborhood is full of old people and the pool was full of the old people's grandkids.

We took Big E and Little E to the kiddie pool.  It is about two feet deep and the size of a small square.

I forgot to bring pool toys because it's been about six months since I last thought about going into a pool and I was out of practice.

Thank goodness for Zoe, a rambunctious four year old who showed up with her grandma a few minutes after we had arrived.

I told Big E to go cozy up to Zoe because she had all the toys.

MY NAME IS BIG E.  I'M 4 AND I HAVE A BIG BOY BED.

She ignored him, as who wouldn't ignore the creepy kid who leads his introduction with details of his bedroom.

It's like he's been hanging out at Johnny's Hideaway with all the dirty, old men.

Oy.
Is this Big E's future?

Two More Yoys?

Last night we went over to my Aunt and Uncle's place for dinner.

They are proud grandparents to nine grandchildren and to encourage lots of visits, they set up a pimp bedroom for them, complete with double bunk beds in a nautical theme.

The Yoysers took one look at this room and decided they, too, should live there.

Forget about the closet full of toys to play with, all they wanted to do was climb up and down the ladders.

MOM, CAN YOU GROW TWO MORE BABIES SO WE CAN GET DOUBLE BUNK BEDS?

Let's all let out a collective crazy laugh.  Sometimes, Big E's reasoning skills skew a tad off course.

And, that's a lot of work and life-long commitment just to fill up some bunk beds.

HOW ABOUT WE JUST INVITE YOUR COUSINS OVER?

He processed that statement for a moment.

OK, THAT WORKS!

Phew, baby crisis averted.
These weren't them, but you get the idea.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Big E: Are You Going to Eat That? Part 3

I know, you probably can't believe this has become a trilogy, but it has.  I'm hoping this will be the end of it, but I'm sure this is just the tip of the iceberg.  I should just get accustomed to having sons who eat nasty things and call it a day.

We were having a lovely, expensive lunch during our day at Disney.  Our friends from South Florida joined us for our trip.  So this event had witnesses.  That I will see again.  Hopefully.

We sat down at our table and immediately Big E pleaded with me for something to eat.  He was starving to death right before our very eyes.  Even though he had housed a snack size bag of Smart Food popcorn like 15 minutes prior to us being seated.

I hastily gave Big E a box of raisins so I could get a whining reprieve.

MOM, I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY NOSE.

Honestly, I thought he was going to pull out a nasty booger.  Cause that's how he rolls.

To my surprise, he pulled out a raisin.  I half yelled/half laughed because his raisin trick truly caught me off guard.

I went back to chatting with our friends.

MOM, I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY NOSE, AGAIN.

Great, this must be his new schtick.  I tilt Big E's head up.  I see nothing.  This raisin must be lodged in his brain.  I immediately panic.  My stomach lurches.

Thank goodness Mr. Yoy is on it.

He grabs a napkin and demands Big E to blow his nose.

After three blows, the raisin came shooting out of his nose like a spitball out of a straw.  The sound it made will forever be imprinted in my memory.

Big E laughs, picks up the freed raisin and, of course, eats it.

That's my boy!


I'll be pulling these out of Big E's nose til eternity.

Monday, December 24, 2012

It's a Smell World After All


Mr. Yoy and spent yesterday in the Magic Kingdom.

The morning we spent with Big E, but as the day wore on and his energy level depleted, we made the decision to run him back to Mr. Yoy's childhood home, and return to the park for an adult evening.

Mr. Yoy and I had a fantastic evening in the park.  A little after 11, we called it a day.  We were both drop dead tired.

As we shuffled along with the crowds of people boarding the monorail to the parking lots, the collective crowd exhaustion hung over us like an impending thunderstorm.

We were about to board our selected monorail car, when the man boarding in front of us farted.  Loudly.

Not like an I-ate-too-much-fruit-today-and-one-slipped-past-the-gates-fart, but an intentional fart.  This man gave birth to his fart.

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!

The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them.  I think he was foreign, so I'm pretty sure he didn't understand me.  Hopefully.

Then he did it again.

This stopped us dead in our tracks.  There was no way we were getting in a small, enclosed, heated monorail car with fart guy.

We swerved to the next car which already had multiple strollers and screaming babies.  It was a marked improvement.



Uhhh, we'll take the next train, thanks!

Big E: Thanks for the Public Urination Ticket


On Saturday, we made the long trek down to Orlando.  We broke up the drive with a pit stop in Gainesville, so we could introduce the Yoys to the glorious campus of our Alma Mater, UF.

Mr. Yoy and I were militant about getting Big E to use the potty and we had, thus far, avoided a pee-castrophe.  For insurance purposes only, we had also put a pull up on Big E.

As we weaved our way through Lake County, we heard the SOS call from the back seat.

I HAVE TO PEE!  I HAVE TO PEE!  CAN I GO IN MY PULL UP?

I asked Big E to squeeze it tight and that we would exit the Turnpike ASAP.

As luck would have it, the next exit approached quickly.  There was just one problem.  You needed to have a Sunpass or exact change, there was no one manning the exit.  It turns out, the Yoys had neither.

As we waited our turn to approach the toll, Mr. Yoy and frantically searched our car, pockets, purses, behind our ears, anywhere you could imagine loose change.

We counted out our change.  $1.20!  Awesome!  Except the toll was $1.25.

SH*T SH*T SH*T, our pit stop was going to cost us a ticket.  If you run the GA 400 toll, it costs you like $20.  I was beyond upset with Big E as we had asked him thirty minutes earlier if he needed to use the restroom.

I know I could have let him pee in his pull up, in his car seat, but when we tried this in the NYC cab, he peed through his pants.  I did not want a urine soaked carseat cover for the remainder of our trip.

The tour bus in front of us was also having toll money issues.

Big E's pleas to use the restroom were escalating.

There was no one currently behind us, so I popped out of the van, pulled Big E out of his carseat and plopped him onto his portable toilet.  We pulled up to the toll and discovered we could grab an envelope and mail into the state a check for our toll.

So one problem was solved.

Now we had a kid on the crapper in the backseat as Mr. Yoy rolled slowly along the exit ramp until we could safely pull over.

Crisis averted.


Where were you when I needed you?





Friday, December 21, 2012

Big E: In Need of Some Bubble Wrap

On Sunday, we are taking Big E to Disney World.

As I mentally prepared for the amount of packing I need to do, I let my mind wander to things beyond my control.

WHAT IF BIG E COMES DOWN WITH A NASTY VIRUS AND WE CAN'T GO?

I seriously contemplated holding him from school today.  But who are we kidding, right?

Little did I know, it wouldn't be some plague at school that would be Big E's undoing.

The boys awoke extra early this morning.  Apparently, they wanted to make the most of the last day of the world.  Big E, in all his rapture, ran full speed into the banister post.

He came running into our bedroom silent crying.  Finally, I was able to extract from him the details of his story.

It was pitch black so I couldn't tell if he was bleeding.  And there was no way in hell I was turning the light on.  So we did what good parents do, we used the light from our cell phones to determine the extent of Big E's injury.

It was a shot to his eyelid.  And it was bleeding.  I patted it a few times with a kleenex and assured Big E he was fine.  Just call me Dr. Yoy.

Only in the morning light did I notice the swelling and light bruise.

Sweet.

WHO BROUGHT POST-FIGHT MIKE TYSON TO DISNEY WORLD?

Oh, that would be the Yoys.

Sigh.  There goes our family pictures.
Ouch!


Thursday, December 20, 2012

I Now Pronounce You Yoy and Blanket

Big E is obsessed with his baby blanket.

Approximately four years back, I made a rookie mistake.  The blanket that I registered for, which would become the centerpiece of my child's life, is white.  In my defense, this was before I had become a parent.  I couldn't begin to comprehend the ability my future kids had to ruin sh*t.

Fast forward to 2012.

Big E's once white, soft, and fuzzy baby blanket has been transformed to the human equivalent of a meth head.  It is worn, missing vital parts, and no matter how many times I wash it on the sanitize setting, it remains dingy brown/gray in color.

Today is a homebound day.  The weather is cold and rainy.  I am taking this opportunity to do as much laundry as humanly possible.

This includes Big E's beloved blanket.  Total wash to dry time is about 70 minutes.

Total number of times Big E has asked for his blanket back during this period is about 70.

Seriously, if there were a love contest between me and the blanket, I would lose. Hands down.  I am a marginal force in his life compared to his darn, dingy blanket.

I'm already concocting a blanket exit strategy, but I fear it will be many more years before it will be executed.


The elephant is missing his yellow ear and gray body.  Big E has worn them away.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Big E: Are You Going to Eat That? Part 2

This is a follow up to yesterday's gnawing on ear plugs blog.

Last night, as my lavender-scented, freshly bathed son was brushing his teeth, a giant, stringy booger escaped from his nostril.

Of course, I overreacted, because even after four years of boogers, they still skeeze me out.

DON'T MOVE, LET ME GRAB A BOOGIE WIPE!

I flung open the bathroom closet door, ripped open the flap, and frantically began pulling out boogie wipes.

Unfortunately, I was too late.

Big E had used the bathroom mirror to retrieve the majority of his booger with his finger.  He eyed it like the biggest piece of Publix birthday cake ever.

I watched in horror as he ate it.

Seriously.  I just gagged.  Even almost a day later, the thought still rolls my stomach.

BIG E!  YOU DO NOT EAT BIG BOOGERS LIKE THAT!  

I launched into a diatribe about boogers and how they are full of germs and dust and other environmental hazards.

He looked at me sincerely.

OK, MOM.  I'LL ONLY EAT MY SMALL BOOGERS.

I dropped my head in defeat.

Ugh.  Boys.





Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Big E: Are You Going to Eat That?

Today's daily confession:  I wear ear plugs to concerts.  Because, while I enjoy live music, I also enjoy hearing.

On to my story...

I hastily cleaned out the bottom of my purse this week.  The throw away pile, which included my used ear plugs, was still on the kitchen island when Big E climbed up on the bar stool next to me.

I was engrossed in trying to explain to my parents how to visit the app store on their new smart phones and download Skype.  A typical evening would include Skyping with my folks during the boys' dinner, but since my parents did something deadly to their home computer, we haven't been able to Skype.

If you have ever tried explaining computer stuff over the phone to your baby boomer parents, then you will understand why I didn't notice what was going on a few feet away.

I glanced over at Big E, who was unusually quiet.  He was fumbling with my foam ear plugs.  They had been squished down to about 1/3 of their normal size.

I caught a faint outline of a tooth mark on the swelling ear plug.

First, I suppressed the urge to gag.

BIG E, DID YOU PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH?

He looked like a cat with a canary housed in his mouth.

NO, MOMMY.

BIG E, DID YOU PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH?

Again, same guilty look coupled with a few bats of his long and lustrous eyelashes.

NO, MOMMY.

BIG E, DID YOU PUT MY USED EAR PLUGS IN YOUR MOUTH?  I WON'T GET MAD, JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH.

Finally, he confessed.

YES, I DID.

I'll just add used foam ear plugs to the long list of horribly disgusting things Big E has attempted to eat.
Ear Plugs:  It's what's for dinner!

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Warning: Sweet Brother Story

I warned you.

Get your awwwwwwws ready.

Yesterday I took both Yoys to the dentist for a cleaning.

Big E earned two coins to put into the toy vending machine as a reward for sitting still during his x-ray and cleaning.

Little E earned zero coins.  Not because of his abhorrent performance, but because the toys can be small and they don't want a two-year-old choking to death in their office.  Little E instead received a tub toy.

That didn't mean Little E wasn't interested in the toy tower, because he only had eyes for it.  I thought for sure we'd have a war on our hands once Big E retrieved his two, much cooler toys.

But then something weird happened.

Big E used his two coins to get TWO super bouncy balls.

ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR LITTLE E!

Big E handed over the ball without hesitation.

I plotzed.

I wanted to run up to Big E and hug him for being so sweet to his brother, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

THAT MAKES ME WANT TO GIVE MY SON A BROTHER! - The Receptionist

My kids were actually providing the opposite of birth control.  I can guarantee you that has never ever, ever happened.  Ever.

My Sweet Yoys

Yes, I brought my baby to Weight Watchers

Wait, don't judge me.  Yet.

My meetings are every Wednesday morning when the Yoys are at school.

Little E awoke this morning with a touch of emphysema, so I kept him out of school.  

This week Mr. Yoy and I had a very full social calendar.  We went to many parties and ate many bad things and drank many glasses of wine (mostly me). But I was very diligent with my exercising and staying on plan the rest of the time, so I really wanted to go to my meeting and see my weight loss.

My original plan was to weigh in and leave.  Last time I popped in for a weigh in with Little E, he thought we were at the doctor's office and cried the whole time.  I had low hopes it would be different this time.

But it was.  

After weigh in (BOTH OF US, BUT NOT AT THE SAME TIME!), Little E walked right over to the meeting area and sat in a chair.  I guess we were staying.

I told my meeting leader we'd see how Little E did, but we'd probably be leaving shortly.

I told Little E he needed to be quiet.

I BE QUIET.  I BE QUIET.  I BE QUIET.

Little E told me all about how quiet he was.  The irony was not lost on me.

SNACK CUP!  SNACK CUP!

Great, now I was the chick breaking out goldfish crackers during a meeting filled with hungry people.  As Little E chomped away, the aroma of cheddar waifed through Weight Watchers.  Stomachs rumbled.

READ THIS!  READ THIS!

He handed me the Weight Watchers weekly pamphlet.  Why won't Little E just listen to our leader and then I wouldn't have to read it?

But we made it, and everyone complemented Little E on his behavior and speaking ability.  

Boy, did we fool them!
Everyone welcome our newest member, Little E.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Big E: Fast Track to School Expulsion


Big E attends a Jewish preschool.

To psych the kids up for Chanukah, Big E's class made the equivalent of an advent calendar out of orange and blue (GO GATORS?) construction paper.

I have had the talk with Big E about not celebrating Christmas.  I'm not sure he fully understood the ramifications, but he didn't cry or shout WHY ME!? so I'm feeling pretty confident heading into December.

Big E is obsessed with The Octonauts, a tv show on Disney Junior.  The show is doing a Christmas special that they are constantly advertising.

Below is the daily conversation I've been having with Big E.

BIG E:  MOMMY, HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL IT IS CHRISTMAS?

MRS. YOY: WE DON'T CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS, REMEMBER?

BIG E: BUT CAN I STILL WATCH THE OCTONAUTS CHRISTMAS SHOW?

MRS. YOY:  OF COURSE.

BIG E: SO HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL IT IS ON?

I think his main focus is the tv show.  But he understands that the show will be airing on Christmas, so that is why he keeps asking about Christmas.

He mentioned to me casually that he was going to ask his teacher to make a chain (aka advent calendar)  to count down the days until the new Octonauts Christmas episode airs.  I tried to downplay it all and hoped that was the end of it.

Until Mr. Yoy walked him into school today and Big E ran up to his teacher to relay an urgent message.

To recap, Big E asked his Jewish preschool teacher to make him an advent calendar to count down until Christmas.

Yep, he did that.

All Mr. Yoy could do was watch in horror.  Like a bad car accident.


Big E's Chanukah count down.

Big E: Children's Cherry-Flavored Tylenol Junkie


MY FOOT HURTS!  MY FOOT HURTS!

Twice, Big E has woken up over the past two nights to this ailment.

I ran through my mom ideas.

IS YOUR FOOT ASLEEP?

IS IT CRAMPING?

ARE YOU HAVING GROWING PAINS?

I'm unsure he understood any of it, so in the end I offered him some medicine. He was really amped about that.

Last night, before I could even give him the medicine, he declared his foot was fine.  But he still wanted the medicine.

Normally, I'm in tune when Big E is faking something.  But he comes into our room with such tears and heartache that I almost believe him.

IF YOUR FOOT KEEPS HURTING WE ARE GOING TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL AND HAVE IT OPERATED ON.

Maybe some mind games would flush out his lies.

OK, MOMMY.

So, mark surgery of the list of things this kid is concerned about.

Hopefully tonight he won't go for the trifecta.


Please, sir, may I have some more? (In a bad British accent)





Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Poodle Yoy: Pet Unsmart

I have a high maintenance dog.  She is an old, partially-blind, poodle.  She eats poo diapers like they are Willy's Burritos.  And she needs to get her hair done about every six weeks.

So every six weeks I take her over to Petsmart for some pampering.

The drop off is cake.  I take her on Wednesday mornings, right after the Yoys depart for school.   I run in.  I sign some stuff.  I run out.

The pick up is the polar opposite.

The dog isn't ever ready until after I've picked up Big and Little E from school.  I have to take the whole circus to the store.

It's not like we are going to Target.  We are going to a place filled with animals. Sometimes there are big dogs shopping with their owners.

There are toys and treats at dog and Yoy level.  I'm always on guard for Yoy-lifting.

Before we can even pick up the dog, we have to do the tour of doggie daycare, the fish, the rats (for reals?), and the birds.

Simultaneously, I'm praying we don't encounter a hungry pit bull.

Finally, we pick up Poodle Yoy.  She is so happy to get out of doggy hell.  We pay our bill and make our way to the parking lot.

Today was special.  It was raining.  I've got both boys, not in strollers, and the dog.

Big E is holding part of the leash.  I'm holding the handle and Little E's hand. We are quite the sh*t show.

Please let us just make it across the parking lot.  I'll get over the fact that the dog's $60 hairdo is being flattened by the rain.

In all the excitement of being free of that place, Poodle Yoy slips out of her collar and prances across the parking lot.  I know I JOKE about her demise, but I certainly didn't want it to happen here, in front of the boys.  I'm not ready to start them in therapy, YET.

POODLE YOY!  POODLE YOY!  COME BACK!

Normally this dog is up my butt.  Not today.  She's prancing through the parking lot like she is competing at Westminster.

Big E is still gripping the leash, he hasn't noticed his dog is headed for the hills. Somehow, Little E has attempted self-strangulation in the slack of the leash.  I want to cry.

I quickly decided on which child to save.

I wasn't about to let go of my children, but I really didn't want to stand by and watch the dog become roadkill.

***SHAMELESS MINIVAN PLUG***

Thank goodness for the minivan.  I pressed the button and both doors slid open. Poodle Yoy took one look at Big E's portable toilet, licked her chops, and jumped right in.  Crisis averted.

I would like to point out that no one offered to help during the chaos and therefore I would like to revise my city's slogan.

Atlanta: the city too busy to hate help Mrs. Yoy.


Fancy Girl



Friday, November 30, 2012

Little E: The Tracks of His Tears

Little E had to have his blood drawn this week to rule out some underlying possible causes for his chronic hive situation.

To say I was apprehensive about taking Little E to get stuck with a needle was an understatement.  The kid bursts into tears whenever we enter any room that resembles a doctor's office.  He went bat-sh*t crazy at the vet.  Poodle Yoy on the other hand, was the calmer of the two and she even nervous pooped on the floor.

They ushered us right back when we arrived.  I signed away both our lives and the nurse asked me to sit in the chair and then pull Little E up onto my lap.

I'm not going to lie.  I'm a wuss.  Right after I had my babies I had lost some of my wussiness.  After going through a chunk of unmedicated labor, my pain threshold went through the ceiling.

Novocain for pulling teeth?  FOR THE WEAK, I SAY!

But two years out, I've reverted to my old self.  I held Little E close to me.  I pinned down one arm.  The nurse pinned down the arm the blood was being taken from.  Another nurse jabbed Little E's doughy arm with the needle.  I closed my eyes and looked away.

He let out an instant scream.  But, surprisingly, it subsided as fast as it had arrived.

I let out a huge sigh of relief.  This was not going to be a bloodbath, literally.

WHAT'S THAT?

Little E was very interested in what was going on.  Maybe he'll be a doctor!?

PAINT?  PAINT?

Sweet, my kid thought the vials of his blood were paint.  Maybe he won't be a doctor!?

And then it was over.  The nurse pulled out the needle and bandaged up his arm.

And then I heard the last words I wanted to hear.

SHOOT, I NEED MORE BLOOD FOR THE LAST TEST ORDERED.

I tried to keep my cool, but I really wanted to rip this lady's head off.  Whatever happened to attention to detail?  Especially when you are working with a two year old.

She had to go back in.  This time it would be on the other arm.

Poor, sweet, Little E.

He again cried momentarily but was then distracted by the sink, the kleenex, and the soap nearby.

Again, it was over.  At least the blood portion of our program.

The next part gave me the best laugh I've had in a really long time.

I needed to collect a urine sample from Little E.  And he's not potty trained.  She gave me this contraption that I have to stick to his boy parts and it is attached to a plastic bag.

She actually gave me three in case the first try doesn't work out.

MMUUUAAAAAHHHHH!

First try, my a**.  I guarantee this will not happen.  I'm better off stripping him down and following after him with a cup.

Anyway, if you happen to encounter a toddler with heroin track marks on his arms and some weird catheter bag thing happening, don't be alarmed.  It's just Little E.

Ouchie.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Paging Dr. Santa

During our morning mall visit, Big E ended up visiting with Santa.

It's not like he sat on his lap and rattled off a list of toys he wanted for Christmas, or even took a picture.  He just walked up to Santa with his friend Lady P.

Big E can identify Santa, but he doesn't understand the back story.

So after Lady P finished talking to Santa, my son got his turn.

SOMETIMES I HAVE A COUGH.

Holy moly, Big E thinks Santa is his doctor.  He is clueless!  Ha!

Maybe I've been granted another year of Santa reprieve.

In any case, I'm experiencing my annual feelings of envy.




My Hulk Impersonation

This morning we met some friends at our local mall to escape the nasty fall weather.

We played, ate lunch, and played again.

Big E used the bathroom as we were finishing up lunch.  It wasn't a code red emergency, so I was thankful.  Normally we end up racing to the bathroom like we are on an episode of Supermarket Sweep.

As Big E and his friends were climbing in and out of all the coin operated vehicles, I saw him grab his bottom.

Panic bubbled up in my throat.

BIG E, DO YOU NEED TO GO TO THE BATHROOM?!

He did.  And, even worse, it was a poo-mergency.

We were located dead center of the mall with restrooms located on each end of the mall.

I scooped Big E up, as I felt running would not help his cause, and took off.  I slowed down to ask a woman working at the cookie kiosk where the closest bathroom was.

Sweet lord, I had to run all the way down to the end AND down an escalator.

At that moment, I pictured myself as the Incredible Hulk.  Big and muscle-y and green and mad.  Carrying a limp body.

I was also wearing knee high boots, skinny jeans and a jacket.  I had not dressed appropriately for my mall jog.  I was sweating my a** off.  My main goal, at that moment, was not to look like a hip, mom-on-the-go, but merely to keep Big E from having a bowel movement on the industrial mall carpet.

I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!

In case anyone was curious why I was sprinting through the mall, Big E made sure to broadcast his intentions to all who would listen.

As we hit the top of the escalator I had to stop to compose myself.  I have a minor fear of falling down an escalator, so I had to make sure I could hold Big E and grab the railing.

I'm happy to report that we made it to the bottom AND the bathroom.

I've said it before, but I'd like to reiterate it.  I DO NOT get paid enough for this job.  In fact, I should be receiving some sort of combat pay.

By the way, this show scared the crud out of me as young child.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Best Buy. Not Best Mom.

I'm forever second guessing my parenting abilities.  Am I rearing wonderful human beings or are they both going to be serial killers?  I guess I'll know in about 15 years.

In the meantime, I find solace in other parents' obvious lack of judgement.  At first read, I sound like a royal b*tch, but really it is deep rooted in my insecurity as a mom.

On our way home from Thanksgiving dinner, we made a pit stop.  Mr. Yoy decided it would be awesome to check out all the Black Friday maniacs.

We swung by Best Buy a little before nine.  The line was tremendous.  People were camped out.  I've seen such madness on the news, but to witness it in person was amazing.

As we slowly cruised by and stared at all the people two things struck me.

1)  There were more people in line to buy a door buster then when I voted for president a few weeks back.  Sad.

2)  There was a mother sitting on the sidewalk with her infant in a bouncy seat and she was bouncing the sh*t out of this baby.  It wasn't freezing cold, but it certainly wasn't the best place for a baby.

I had a moment.

I may not be the most patient, loving mother on the planet, but at least I didn't drag my newborn out to buy a $39 blue ray player.

It wasn't until later that I learned that Best Buy didn't open until midnight.

Poor baby.

Best Buy.  Maybe not Best Mom.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Big E: Back to Normal

So my last entry was a little sappy.  Sorry for that.  I guess I was still on an endorphin high from our morning excursion of do-goodness.

Don't worry, though.  That ended in like five seconds flat.

Our cleaning people were here this morning.  Oh, how I love coming home to a perfectly clean home.  We came upstairs so I could put Little E down for his nap.

As I was changing Little E's diaper, Big E took it upon himself to completely unmake his freshly made bed and drag all of his sheets, pillows, and blankets under his bed.

Five hundred curse words consecutively ran through my head, although I rattled off none of them aloud.

WHY?  WHY?  WHY?

At first, he stonewalled me.

I DON'T KNOW.

Oh, I know.  Because you want to drive your dear, sweet mother insane.

I went downstairs for a minute to grab a drink (non-alcholic, of course) and cool off.  I was feeling so frustrated.

I tried again.

WHY?  WHY?  WHY?

Finally, he came clean.

He was doing a monster check.

Hmmm, maybe we need to take it easy on the monster thing.

I asked him to remake his bed, which turned into an hour exercise for him.  One hour closer to bedtime, that's all I have to say.

Monster Hunting

Happy Thanksgiving from Big E

Raising a kid is hard as hell.

For those of you that haven't yet swam in the parenting pool, you are lucky in a way.

Once your baby is born, everything you do shapes this little person.

I've watched in pride (and sometimes horror) as things Mr. Yoy and I have done as parents presents itself in my kids' actions and comments.

We have many hopes and dreams for the Yoys, one of which would be to have compassionate, philanthropic children.

I read an article recently that children receive more pleasure from giving than receiving.  I discussed it with Mr. Yoy and we decided to do a food drive in lieu of gifts for Big E's 4th birthday party.

I'm not going to lie.  The first ten or so times I mentioned it, Big E was not super jazzed about it.  He wanted TOYS!  Which, by the way, we in no way need.

We talked about the food drive to Big E and eventually he came around, or at least stopped complaining about it.

The day of his party arrived and his friends did not disappoint.  We had bags upon bags of food to donate to the Atlanta Community Food Bank and we were so excited to do it.  Some were even in Neiman Marcus bags which gave me a good chuckle (nice touch, by the way, but not at all surprising).

Mr. Yoy, through his many connections, arranged for us to meet the big boss at the food bank.  We went over this morning and were able to receive a tour of the facilities (which were insanely huge and organized) and hear a little bit more about the Atlanta Community Food Bank.

I was beaming with pride as Big E carried cans from our trunk and placed them in the food bin.  He was so happy to help.

I'm not sure if he fully understands what it means to be hungry just yet, but I feel like we are giving him a good foundation and an important life experience.

Hopefully we can make this a yearly event and that Big E grows up to be an aware and caring young man.

On the other hand, it is Mr. Yoy and me raising these kids, so you never really know...

Big E dropping his cans into the bin.

Monday, November 19, 2012

The Yoys: Party Rocking

Kids birthday parties are pretty lame (this excludes the drop-off kind).

Don't gasp at me.  This is a safe, honest place.  You can admit it without judgement.  I'll never tell.

Mr. Yoy would be happy if he never had to go to another birthday party again. This includes our own children.

I begrudgingly plan the Yoys' parties.  Little E didn't even have a 2nd birthday party.  Don't feel sorry for him, he won't remember it anyway.

On the spectrum of kids' party planning ranging from not giving a sh*t to insane, over planning maniac, I'd like to say I fall somewhere towards the more relaxed side of things.  In fact, I pride myself on it.

Yesterday we held Big E's birthday party.  There is an awesome old mill by our house which has been converted into a park and playground.  The only wild card is the weather.

Luckily for us, we had a beautiful day.  We brought in Big E's music teacher, ordered some deep dish pizza, and publix cake, and we had ourselves a party.

Reasons I know we hosted a throw down:

1) Some little girl I didn't even know (and her dad) spent the majority of the music portion of the party dancing with Big E and his friends.  Yes, we had a party crasher.

2) Contraband vodka.

3) Friends without kids showed up.

4) Guests hung around after cake cutting.

5)  The moms at school pickup reiterated what a great time they had yesterday.  (FYI, Jewish girls don't say things to be nice, they tell you the straight-up truth).

6) I didn't bother with goody bags and no one complained.

7) My son took a 3.5 hour post party nap.

8) We collected a massive amount of food for the Atlanta Community Food Bank.

I planned a great party with pretty much zero effort.  I am amped.

This victory is dedicated to all the lazy moms out there!  It is possible, ladies!

Big E's 4th birthday food bank drive. 


A trail of Big E's friends running wild at the park.  

Big E: Sidewalk Troll

I've been spending many afternoons slowly deweeding my flower beds.  They were so neglected, that I can only do a little at a time before I want to stab my eyes out with my gardening tools.

Big E is my constant gardening companion.  He (attempts to) rake, sweep, and pull weeds.

He also greets all of my neighbors as they meander by on their afternoon walks.

One neighbor walked by with his two big dogs and his little girl.  I'd say she was about a year younger than Big E.

I watched in horror as Big E made himself into a human gate in the middle of our sidewalk.

SAY PLEASE AND I'LL LET YOU BY.

She just stood there and stared at him.  She wasn't saying sh*t.

SAY PLEASE AND I'LL LET YOU BY.

Nothing.

I began encouraging Big E to let her pass.  Her dad was halfway up the hill with the dogs.  He also was  encouraging her to keep walking.

SAY PLEASE!  SAY PLEASE!

I carefully untangled my arms from the thorny rose bushes and removed Big E from the sidewalk.

NEXT TIME BRING YOUR TOLL MONEY AND WE WON'T HAVE TO DO THIS.

Big E didn't actually say this, but I wouldn't have been shocked if he did.

This kid is making ALL kinds of neighborhood pals.



Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Mrs. Yoy: I'd Like To Thank The Academy

Big E was especially wound up this evening.  In the midst of book reading, usually a calm time for us, he was jumping on the bed and steam rolling Little E.

I abandoned Clifford about 3/4 of the way through because I was getting seasick on Big E's bed.

I grabbed Little E first and tossed him into his crib.  He's easy.  He can't climb out.  He goes right to sleep.  Tonight, he is my favorite son.

I tuck Big E in.  I can tell from his tossing and turning he is not ready to sleep.  But I so am.

I close his door and sit down at my desk.  I hear his feet hit the floor and about thirty seconds later he opens his door.

Always strategizing, I pick up my phone and dramatically act out a fake phone call to my mom.  I realize how lame this is, but I'm desperate.

YES, MOM, I DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD FLY UP TOMORROW BECAUSE BIG E WON'T GO TO BED.

AND I'M CANCELING HIS BIRTHDAY.

AND I'M CANCELING EVERY OTHER FUN THING HE MAY EVER DO IN HIS LIFETIME.

AND ALSO CHRISTMAS.

OK, BYE MOM.

Big E is very alarmed by my faux telephone call.  He runs over to me and hands me his mattress tag, which he felt the need to rip off after I had tucked him in, and runs back to his bed.

TUCK ME IN!  TUCK ME IN!

He begged to go to sleep.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

Winner of tonight's round goes to Mrs. Yoy!
If he comes out again, I'm going to go nuts with the police tape and his door frame.

Little E: Lost in Translation

Little E has been a late everything.

He waited until the last possible second to walk.  I had halfway dialed the physical therapist's number when he finally stood up and nakedly sashayed his way across Big E's bedroom.

Same for talking.  It has been caveman city here for quite some time.

Only in the past month or so has he begun stringing together words to form ideas.

It can be quite frustrating as he is trying his darnedest to tell me something and I am just repeating back nonsense to him.

DOUBLE?  DOUBLE DOWN?  DOUBLE DOWN ON ELEVEN?!

It occurred to me this evening as I was deciphering him, that conversing with Little E is like vacationing in a non-English speaking country.

I just keep repeating what I think he is saying louder and louder.  Because that is what I did in France.  I could have a megaphone hooked up to an amplifier and Little E and I still wouldn't understand each other.

His response is usually a lot of NOs which progresses to a high pitch scream.  Also, like the French people.

I'm hoping this is a short lived phase and we can graduate on to my favorite phase, the why phase.
Our daily discussion topics.  I think.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Hammurabi's Code

Last night we had a lovely dinner at Ted's Montana Grill.

And I'm not being sarcastic.  The boys were really well behaved.  It was like being in a Twilight Zone Episode starring our family.

Towards the end of our meal, Big E crawled under the booth to sit next to Mr. Yoy.  While it seemed sweet at the time, his true motive was to posture himself next to all the table goodies.

Like a Jimmy Buffett song (Mr. Yoy do I need you to approve this part?), Big E was just looking for a shaker of salt.  I watched in horror as Big E put his mouth over the top of the shaker.  I never extra salt my food but at this moment in time, I had visions of all the nasty things that could be on the salt shaker. Including now, my kid's mouth.  I suppressed the urge to vomit.

Mr. Yoy quickly took the shaker away from Big E.  But he repeatedly reached for it.  So finally, in a fine parenting moment, Mr. Yoy (JOKINGLY, OF COURSE) informed Big E he was going to saw off his hand with the bison knife if he didn't stop reaching for the salt.

That ended Big E's salt obsession.

Big E climbed out of the booth and made his way over to our neighbor's table while Mr. Yoy paid the bill.  Because Big E has zero stranger danger, he chatted up some people he had never met.  I had no idea what he was telling them.  My guess would be some deep family secrets.  I rushed over, grabbed him by the shoulder, made some comment about my over friendly kid, and herded him towards the front door.

Mr. Yoy followed behind me by about a minute.  He walked out of the restaurant with the patented Yoy smirk.

OUR DINNER NEIGHBORS FELT COMPELLED TO TELL ME THAT BIG E SAID HIS DAD WAS GOING TO CHOP OFF HIS HAND WITH A KNIFE.

Sweet.  I was mortified.  Even worse was Mr. Yoy's stone cold response.

HAMMURABI'S CODE!  WE HAVE A VERY STRICT HOUSEHOLD.

And then he walked out.

The car ride home consisted of Mr. Yoy explaining to Big E the art of joking and sarcasm.  That went over well (at least I learned something).

I'm expecting the Georgia Division of Family and Children services to pay us a visit at any minute.


New house rules.  The Yoys better study up.  And find a translator.



Help! I'm Raising a 1980s Valley Girl!

Oh, the L word.

Care to take a guess?  It has infiltrated our daily dialogue.  Overuse of the word demands an automatic deduction of 50 IQ points.

And the disease has spread to Big E.

I only recently noticed his affinity for using LIKE.

It would be one thing if Big E were a Facebook post.  In that case, you can never have enough likes. But he is a mere, almost four year old.

Sometimes I have to laugh because I expect him to follow it with GAG ME WITH A SPOON! or something equally as relevant.

My giggles quickly morph into sobs, because there is only one person he would have picked that up from.

That would be the person he spends the majority of his life with, me.

So maybe I need to rename my blog.  The Valley Girl Blog.  It has a nice ring to it.

Anyhow, I have got to eliminate this word from my vocabulary.

Like now.

Get it?

Maybe I need to set up a LIKE jar.  It could be my New Year's resolution.  That and losing 50 pounds.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Clean Up, Lane Three

My brother is visiting from NYC.  On Monday after we picked Big E up from school, we headed over to Toys R Us so Big E could select his birthday present.

Mr. Yoy and I decided to buy Big E the Leap Frog tablet, so I could regain custody of my iPhone.

I figured Big E could pick out a game and we'd call our shopping trip a day.

Our trip to the check out line was derailed by a giant Little E poo and a Thomas the Train table.  We finally made it to the front of the store.  I checked my watch.  We had been shopping for almost 30 minutes.

I handed the Leap Frog slip of paper to the cashier.  Apparently, people steal these things, so you have to have someone dig one out of the warehouse when you are committed to buy.

The cashier radioed back to someone for the tablet.

Five minutes passed.

A second radio call.

The Yoys were done, even if we were at a toy store.  They began grabbing candy from the so thoughtfully placed shelves in the check out aisle.

UM, DIDN'T WE JUST GIVE ALL YOUR CANDY TO YOUR DENTIST?

Then they moved on to the little toys, hand sanitizers, and other impulse buys Toys R Us wants you to make.

Little E was screeching for no reason.

I began sweating.

I checked my watch again.

Fifteen minutes had passed and no one had appeared with the tablet.

I APOLOGIZE I CAN'T GET ANYONE TO HELP.

The cashier was not unaware of the Yoy hurricane currently sweeping register three.

MAN, CAN YOU HELP US OUT?

My brother finally stepped in.  He is not used to the ongoing chaos my children bring to any situation and he's had enough.

The cashier asks us to bring everything back for him to ring up in electronics.

When we make it back there, we see the Toys R Us electronics guy.  He's the one that's been ignoring our radio calls for a quarter of an hour.  I shoot him a death stare.

He is chatting with some guy WAY too old to be hanging out at a toy store salivating over video games.

The cashier makes a comment to his co-worker about not helping and heads back to find the stupid tablet.

FINALLY, he brings out the tablet.  We've been trying to check out for 30 minutes.  I know it doesn't seem like a long time, but think about the boys.  They are losing their minds at this point.  We probably should have bailed.

But my favorite part of the story is about to unfold.

As the cashier is ringing us up and putting an end to everyone's misery, nerdy video game guy approaches.

EXCUSE ME, DO YOU KNOW WHEN INSERT LOSER VIDEO GAME NAME HERE IS COMING OUT?

Yes, this guy left one employee and approached my cashier to ask him this all important question. The cashier had no idea.

I literally had to hug my arms to myself to keep me from punching nerd guy out.

GET A CLUE!  WE ARE HAVING A NUCLEAR MELTDOWN HERE!  WHO GIVES A SH*T ABOUT YOUR STUPID VIDEO GAME?!

I obviously did not yell this externally.  But internally I did and I gave him his own special death stare.

I will try and work on my internal anger issues.  Externally, I'll forever remain cool and composed.

This better be the greatest present ever.

Rain Rain, Go Away

Little E is FINALLY starting to talk.

It's not that I'm dying to have two motormouths, it's just I was starting to worry if he would ever talk.

He's got a few catch phrases that are sweeping the Yoy nation.

I DID IT!

NO NIGHT NIGHT!

NO TRAIN TODAY!

MORE COTTAGE CHEESE!

Pretty standard two year old conversation pieces, I know.

But then Little E took a ride on the scary train.

He started singing an innocent little tune, although I'm not sure where he picked it up.

RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY COME AGAIN ANOTHER DAY!

Except he sings it slow and in broken english.  And it is creepy as hell.

My brother spent the past few days with us and he may never be the same again.

It's like living with the ghost of Brittney Murphy.  Or that girl from Poltergeist.

I'LL NEVER TELL!!

Sometimes he mixes it up and does a slow jam monster version.

I really need to get this on video,  so I can embarrass him for years to come.

And lock my bedroom door at night.


I so hope it stops raining around here.  I cannot take a third day of this!

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Gettin' Butter Every Day

Yesterday, I met my old college roommate and her husband for lunch at The Flying Biscuit.

I arrived first with the Yoys and proceeded to set them up for lunch.  This is a major process and can take upwards of five minutes before you actually sit down.

My kids immediately zeroed in on the bowl with the pats of butter.  They each needed a pat of butter. The sugar packets would have been a better choice, in my opinion.  I tried reasoning with them, but as their volume ramped up to a rock concert level, I threw them each a pat of butter.

I can barely type that without gagging.  I watched in horror as they unwrapped and began eating butter.  Plain.  No bread.  No corn.  No nothing.

I could see the customers at the tables next to us looking in disbelief.  I could feel their judging.

TRUST ME!  I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU, TOO!

I wanted to yell at them.  I didn't.

About halfway through their butter appetizers, they both decided that butter was gross.

Sweet.  They finally came to their senses.

Big E moved onto his maze workbook and that was the end of the Flying Biscuit Butter Scene.

Fast forward twenty four hours.

I had just picked the Yoys up from preschool.  Big E was begging for his maze book.  I glanced back to the car floor where all of Big E's books go to die.  I didn't see the maze book.  He swore he didn't bring it into the house.

Aha!  I had thrown it in my diaper bag at the restaurant.  I dug down into my diaper bag and pulled out Big E's beloved maze book.  I tossed it back to him and he was happy.

A few minutes later I heard Big E grumbling about butter.

I turned around to see a butter face.

Somehow, Big E's half eaten pat of butter had made its way to the cover of the maze book.  It was now covering his hands, his face, and the harness of his car seat.  Of course, he was eating it.

STOP EATING BUTTER!

I still haven't gathered up the courage to look in my diaper bag.  I imagine butter streaks all over my stuff.

Maybe later.  After I survive Halloween and have had a glass of wine.
Imagine this, melted and smeared all over Big E.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Little E: Say Rash!

Tomorrow is picture day at school.

Normally, I would spend the evening obsessing over such gut-wrenching decisions as what color polo shirt should they wear and skinny jeans vs. khaki pants.  Oy, such choices.

But Little E has thrown me a curve ball.

You know that he has horrible, horrible skin.  I had almost forgotten, as the moist, warm summer months were good to Little E's skin.

Yesterday morning he awoke with a full body rash that included an unfortunate cluster on the tip of his nose.

Can I just say it?

SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T!

Cause that is how I felt.

He's been Cover Girl flawless for months.

I'd hoped by this morning it would be better.  It wasn't.

I took him to the doctor this afternoon to see if it was just his standard crappy skin flaring up and also to see if she had a instant magic cure for red splotches.  She didn't, by the way.

So now I'm desperate.

I'm not saying I'm GOING to do this.  But I'm also not saying that I'm NOT.

MAKEUP.

Would I dare go so far as to apply cover up to my sweet boy's face in the morning?

Stay tuned!

Ooooooo, I've got one!  Don't break out in a rash!

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

The Halloween excitement has boiled over at the Yoys.

The kids are BEYOND excited about trick-or-treating tomorrow night.

I see this as a perfect opportunity to bribe the boys.

If you don't INSERT DESIRED ACTION HERE, you are not going trick-or-treating on Wednesday.

Another Halloween side effect, a steady supply of candy in the house, which is highly unusual.  This has also been helpful in the bribery department.

On Saturday evening, we used the lure of candy to get Big E to load up in the car.  While he normally passes out on the drive home from Aunt and Uncle Yoy's house, the idea of a giant bowl of candy corn awaiting him at home kept him very alert.

When we arrived home, I unloaded the Yoys while Mr. Yoy pulled the car in.

I then gave Big E his "candy" bribe.

Why is candy in quotes you ask?  Because I gave him two pieces of dried banana and passed it off as candy.

MUUUUAAAAAAAHHHHHH (The evil Mrs. Yoy laugh).

Big E quickly scarfed down the banana.

Mr. Yoy walked in and headed to the pantry to give Big E his "candy" bribe.  I told Mr. Yoy I had already given Big E his reward.

So this is when we decided to conduct an experiment on Big E.

Mr. Yoy asked Big E if I had given him his candy yet.

NO, DADDY.

As he lied his face off, he nervously glanced over at me to see if I had heard him.

I stared at him in disbelief.  He lied to both of us.  And it had no effect on him at all.  I was too shocked to say anything.

Mr. Yoy eventually coaxed it out of Big E that he had already had his two pieces.  Big E relayed some half-a** apology to me, but I couldn't really digest it.

I know it is just candy, but he is already lying?  He isn't even four.  I can't begin to imagine how bad it could get come his teenage years.  Ugh.

I'm so sad and disappointed.

Any suggestions or comments from my experienced readers?

Thanks!


Saturday, October 27, 2012

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Until it isn't.

Which happened a few hours ago.

I had won the Atlanta Gator Club SEC ticket lottery earlier this year and purchased two SEC tickets. I knew the Gators were a long shot based on our prior season, but I never rule anything out.

See our own wedding scheduling conflict with the Gators' 2006 appearance in the Final Four. WHOOPS!

Just last week, I had reserved our sitter for the good part of the December Saturday that the game was to fall on.

I allowed myself to hope.

Yes, it is awesome and exciting to cheer on your team in the SEC championship game, but for me, it was far deeper than that.

It was a throwback to when I was fun and carefree.  I remember spending all day tailgating down at the Georgia Dome.  Drinking my fair share of cheap wine and mimosas.   Stuffing my face with all sorts of diet-killing food.  Taking tons of inappropriate photos that, thankfully, didn't end up all over Facebook. Spending the day with friends that I didn't get to see all that often.

Could this be?  Would I actually have a chance to go and do something fun again?

So right about the time Jordan Reed coughed up that touchdown ball, I wanted to cry (so did he).

Not really because we lost, because we always lose at some point.

Not even because it was such an ugly, ugly game.

But because it meant there would be no fun football game for me.  Not this year.

Thanks for that, Gators.  We are breaking up.  You really let me down.

On a related note, I've got two SEC tickets for sale.  I plan to take the proceeds and do some retail therapy.  Or maybe the spa.


Not even fake alligators dressed in fancy clothes can cheer Mrs. Yoy up.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Veggie Tales

My kids have cornered the market on the bedtime stall.

I've heard everything.

I'M THIRSTY!

I HAVE TO PEE!

WHERE DO WORMS LIVE?

But tonight, I heard a new one.

I'M HUNGRY!  I WANT A SNACK TO EAT IN BED!

A few points to note:

1) I COOKED for them tonight.  Like actually created something instead of using the microwave.  They chose to pick at it like baby birds.

2) There is only one reason I can justify keeping a stash of food on my nightstand.  I will admit that while I was nursing the Yoys, I would wake up in the middle of the night and be starving, like fat chick right before sundown on Yom Kippur starving.  I would lean over my nightstand (I'm anti bed crumbs), turn on my vacuum mouth and go to town on whatever goodies I had brought up a few hours earlier at bedtime.

3) This may be my final point, but it is the most impressive.  Big E already knew I wasn't going to let him eat just any snack.  It was going to be on my terms.  He ASKED for the steamed carrots I had cooked at dinner.  Sucker.  But I obliged.  I'm never going to turn down an opportunity to stuff my kid with nutrient rich vegetables.

SNACK!  SNACK!  SNACK!

They chanted in unison.

If only I was in a bar instead and they were chanting SHOT!  SHOT!  SHOT!  Now that would have been way more interesting...

Anyway, I put Little E in his crib as there isn't much he can do or say about it.  He was only asking for food because of his brother's bad influence.  He cried for two seconds and then he moved on.

I brought Big E a bowl of carrots.  He laid down in bed and began to eat them.

He ate half and put the rest on his nightstand.

FOR LATER, IN CASE I GET HUNGRY.


All tucked in with his bowl of carrots.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Mrs. Yoy: I'm Slamming!

This evening, I shuttled the Yoys over to have dinner with Mr. Yoy.

We opted for the deli in the bottom of the building.  It was a beautiful evening and we wanted to sit outside.

On one of the many trips I took rushing in and out of the patio door for things like multiple bathroom runs, trash dumps,  and drink refills, I slammed my ring finger in the door.

The door closed squarely on my fingernail.

I rushed out to the patio and begin half crying/half hyperventilating.

I'm not sure I've ever slammed my finger in a door and if I have, it's been like 25 years.

The pain was gut wrenching.  I wanted to barf.

Mr. Yoy ran into the place to get me some ice.

The Yoys did one better.  They both ran up to me and kissed my finger.

Big E even asked how many kisses I needed to make my finger feel better.

ONE MILLION.

The enormity of the number startled him, as I don't think he was looking for a long-term commitment.

The point is, both my sweet boys came over to comfort me in my time of need.

Let's all say it together now.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I hope this doesn't affect my career as a hand model.

Things Just Got Heavy

There is a homeless shelter that we drive pass on the way to school.

We have driven by there approximately one million times since Big E was born in 2008.

Today it peaked his interest as we drove home from school.

WHAT IS THAT?

I always struggle with questions such as these.  Do I give him the hard facts?  Do I say apartments? He is almost four, but I'm not sure how much information he can process.

I opt for the truth.

IT'S A HOMELESS SHELTER.

Silently, I plead that that will end this line of questioning.  Next topic, please.

WHAT IS THAT?

Again, I debate launching into the definition of homeless.

IT'S FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO LIVE.  WITHOUT THE SHELTER, THEY'D HAVE TO SLEEP IN THE STREET.

He thought for a few seconds.  I could hear his brain cranking from the back seat.

BUT SLEEPING IN THE STREET WOULD BE SO HARD.

He's speaking literally, of course, but his words have such deeper meaning.

MAYBE IF THEY HAD PILLOWS THE STREET WOULDN'T BE SO HARD.

Now he is problem solving.

ALSO, IF THEY SLEEP IN THE STREET THEY WOULD GET RUN OVER BY CARS.

This is the street fear I have instilled in him.  YES!

It was so fascinating to hear his take on being homeless.

I explained to him the benefit of having the shelter.

WOULDN'T IT BE EASIER TO SLEEP IN THE SHELTER WHERE THEY HAVE A BED AND A ROOF?

He was quiet for a minute.

I SUPPOSE SO, MOMMY.

So serious.  So sweet.






Monday, October 22, 2012

Big E: Do Not Fly List

I hope you are reading these in order.  If not, go back and read the last one.  Then you can truly appreciate my mental state at the exact moment our cab pulled up to the airport.

I pay the cab, swing open my door and take the mounds of crap I am carrying out of the car.  I have only one possession left in the cab.

My son.  And his plan is to stay in the backseat and hitch a return ride to my brother's apartment.

I reach in for him and he scoots towards the far side.

At this moment I decide to leave him in the cab.  And one moment I later I remember that Mr. Yoy would be super pissed if we were down one kid.  Especially if that one kid was Big E.

I drag his reluctant self out of the cab.

He begins chanting his mantra.

I WANT TO STAY IN NY!

I MISS UNCLE D AND AUNT J SO, SO MUCH!

I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER.

The airport was busy.  I drag Big E to the kiosk to check in.  Then to the baggage drop off.

Everyone we pass is thinking the same damn thing.

PLEASE DON'T LET THAT KID BE SITTING NEXT TO ME ON THE PLANE.

Snot is running down his face.  He is eating it.

We finally make it to the security line.  He has stopped screaming, but he is doing that post cry shaky sob thing.

I pick him up as we wait.  He rubs his slimy face on my coat.

As we snake through the security line, I rub his back and try to calm him down.

It appears to be working.  I begin to unclench.  We are on the downside of this tantrum.

Big E perks up and solemnly looks at me.  I wait for whatever nugget of information he is about to emote.

I PACKED ALL MY GUNS SO I CAN SHOOT EVERYONE!!

My heart stopped.

WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?  DON'T SAY THAT!!!!

I glance around to see if anyone heard him.

He says it again.  Again, my heart stopped.

CAN I TAPE HIS MOUTH SHUT?

Ms. Nosy Passenger just on the other side of the security rope gives me a tight smile.

YOU BETTER HOPE THEY DON'T HEAR HIM OR YOU'LL NEVER GET THROUGH SECURITY.

Thanks, lady.  I'm aware.

I'm panicked.  Why did Big E choose this moment to channel his inner terrorist?!

I nervously ramble on about everything we did over the weekend, hoping to move Big E past his ominous threats.

We get to the front of the security line and I'm literally not breathing.

I'M NOT PUTTING MY BACKPACK UP THERE.  I WANT TO KEEP IT.

Then I blacked out.  I knelt down and have no idea what insane, panicked, desperate mom thing I hissed at him, but he conceded the backpack thing.

And just like that we were through.

And I began breathing again.

As soon as we were settled on the plane, Big E was asleep.

And when he awoke a few minutes outside of Atlanta, I had my sweet boy back again.

Sigh of relief.

There is nothing that will make a traveling parent happier.  

Big E: Future New Yorker?

The plan was to leave my brother's apartment around one on Sunday.  That would give us enough time to catch a cab and make the trek to La Guardia.

As our departure time quickly approached, I mentioned to Big E that he needed to use the potty as we were about to leave.

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE NY!

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE THE APARTMENT!

I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!

I WANT UNCLE D AND AUNT J TO BE MY NEW DADDY AND MOMMY!  (ouch)

It became evident to me, that the process of removing Big E from their apartment was going to require force.  Big E was not going to leave willingly.

Uncle D carried Big E out into the hallway so we could catch an elevator.  Not even the lure of pressing the elevator button could calm Big E down.

He was screaming in their quiet, swank, NYC apartment hallway.

For the record, my brother is visiting in like two weeks.  Big E will see him in two weeks.  We tried explaining that to him.  The concept of time is not a good life lesson to teach to a hysterical child.

I WANT TO SEE YOU IN TWO DAYS, NOT TWO WEEKS!

Over and over again.  Finally, my brother lied and said he'd see him in two days.  We were both desperate.

Two elderly ladies walked over.  They gave us both sympathetic eyes as we waited for the elevator.

Once I had maneuvered the luggage, our coats, and Big E into the elevator and the door closed, Big E began howling.  One of the elderly ladies offered me a lollipop to give to him.

I graciously declined.  Throwing a lollipop into this current sh*t show was not the direction I wanted to go in.

We got to the lobby and I was dragging my roller suitcase with one arm and Big E with the other.

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE NY!  I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!

The men at the concierge desk looked up to see what all the commotion was about.

HELLO.  MY NAME IS MRS. YOY AND IT APPEARS THAT I'M KIDNAPPING MY OWN SON.

The lobby was scattered with cool, hip New Yorkers who stared me down as I made my way across the shiny floor.  Big E's screams echoed deep into my soul.  I guess I'll never show my face here, again.

The door man hailed me a cab.  As I threw my purse, coat, and Big E's backpack into the cab, Big E made an escape attempt.

That little turd bolted back into the lobby.

I chased him down and literally carried him to the cab by one arm.  This was bordering ridiculous.

Once I had him in the cab, he continued his crying assault until we made it to Central Park.  Then his sobs turned to simmering whines.

I gave him my phone to play with.

I MISS UNCLE D AND AUNT J SO, SO MUCH.

He was so sad and sincere.

Most of the drama was due to sleep deprivation.  I kept telling myself that.  Two days of staying up late, waking up early, and walking miles and miles was catching up with him.

GET ON THE PLANE AND HE WILL NAP!  YOU WILL SURVIVE!

I was giving myself the world's biggest pep talk in the back of that cab.

Check out the next entry to finds out what happened when we finally made it to the airport.  It was epic. I promise.

I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!


Big E: First Male Ever To Ask For Directions

This past weekend, Big E and I had a mommy and me adventure up in NYC.

We honored/inconvenienced Uncle D and Aunt J with our presence for two days.

Friday evening, they took us to a delicious pizza joint in the basement of an old building.

It was close quarters down in that basement.  We were next to a table of students/waitresses/struggling actresses (my guess by their very loud and child inappropriate conversation).

Big E finished his meal first.

I'M DONE!

First of all, this wasn't an eating contest.  I asked Big E to wait while the rest of us finished up.

I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE APARTMENT!

I, again, asked Big E to wait while we finished up.

This was not acceptable to him.

JUST DRAW ME A MAP!

All who heard his comment busted into giggles.  Even one of the very dramatic actress/student/waitresses couldn't resist Big E's charms.

You'll be happy to know that while I entertained the thought of allowing Big E to go all Home Alone in NYC, I decided it was best to escort him back to the apartment.

After I relayed this story to Mr. Yoy, he drew his version of the map.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Publix Cupcakes: Collateral Damage

Tonight, I threw away two, perfectly edible, wonderfully delicious Publix cupcakes.

I can almost see the shock and awe in your eyes.

WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO SACRILEGIOUS?

I am a lover of all things Publix.  Publix bakery goods are on a whole other level for me.  But I was driven mad, you see.  I had no other choice.

I'm sure you can guess the culprit.

His name rhymes with Jiggy.

After an open-handed, Real Housewives kind of slap, to the side of Little E's cherub face, Big E scored himself three fat minutes in timeout at the bottom of our stairs.

He sat down and immediately began his negotiating.

MAKE SURE YOU START THE TIMER!

DO I HAVE TO STAY HERE?

DON'T LET LITTLE E TOUCH MY TOYS!

I reminded him of the timeout rules.  No talking.  No moving.  He broke both in world record time.

I asked him numerous times to sit back down and be quiet.

Every time he spoke I added another minute to his sentence.  At last count, Big E was due to serve 28 minutes in timeout.  This was going to really push back bedtime here at the Yoys.

I was desperate for him to listen to me so I used Mr. Yoy's leftover birthday cupcakes in my negotiations.

THE NEXT TIME YOU GET UP THE CUPCAKES ARE GOING IN THE TRASH!

I died a little inside when the words escaped my mouth.

And, in true three year old fashion, he stood right up.

But here is the thing about me.  I'm stubborn.  And when it comes to a power struggle with Big E, I always win.

I strode across the kitchen, grabbed the container of cupcakes, and made my way down the hall to the garage.

Big E leapt from time-out and began pulling on my clothes.

I was in my post-shower, comfy mom uniform.  Too big sweatpants, a tank top, and a flowy schmata to cover my tank.

Big E pulled my schmata off one arm.  I powered through.

I dramatically swung the garage door open.  This was happening folks.  I made my way to our green herby curby.

Big E was screaming.  He pulled at my sweatpants.  Down they came.

All I needed now was for Mr. Yoy to come home early for dinner, pop open the garage, and the whole neighborhood would have had quite a show!

I lifted the lid and tossed them away (tear).  And it was over.

THAT HURT ME MORE THAN IT DID YOU! TRUST ME!

Next time Big E is serving time, he'll follow the rules.  Snicker.


RIP.  You will be missed.  By my belly.




Sunday, October 14, 2012

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs

I have a confession to make.

At 15 years old, I flunked the driver's permit written test.  Twice. In one day.

There I said it.  Either I'm a really bad driver or just a terrible test taker.

In my 20+ years of driving, I will say I've never been in a car on car accident, although I've hit lots of stuff like parking deck posts, a parking meter or two, and possibly driven through the front of my garage wall like the giant Kool-Aid Pitcher (although I still proclaim my innocence on this one).

So I'm going to go with the whole terrible test taker theory.

Big E's new obsession is road signs.

I almost hate pulling onto 285 (besides the obvious hell-on-earth reasons).  Every sign, every mile marker, every exit sign.  Add in the current construction signs, and the boy's head is about to explode.

MOMMY, WHAT DOES THAT SIGN MEAN?

Some of them I know.

But I have to admit, it has been a few years since I studied up on my road signs, so I make a lot of sh*t up, therefore passing down to my son the very real chance of flunking his driver's test, too.

MOMMY, WHAT DOES THAT SIGN MEAN?

Maximum speed limit of 65mph as you drive over my c-section scar?

Big E: What A Prick!

Yesterday, we took the Yoys to get flu shots at their pediatrician's office.

Of course, we waited until the last hour of the last day of the doctor's weekend flu shot clinic.

I knew it was going to be bad.  I was just delaying the pain.

Earlier in the day, Big E had thrown a passionate and intense temper tantrum.  I timed it at 40 minutes.

That is the average time of my elliptical workouts.  I can barely breathe at the end of 40 minutes.  How is it that Big E can scream and cry and kick for that long and then turn it off like a faucet and be normal?  I find this fascinating and a little disconcerting.  Especially because he is just shy of four, and everyone said that age two was the worst for tantrums. LIARS.  ALL OF YOU.

Anyway, after his little fit, any sympathy I had for him and the impending flu shot evaporated.  He was on his own.

As we pulled into the doctor's parking deck, I could hear the panic in Big E's voice.

WHY ARE WE AT THE DOCTOR'S?

In that moment, I had to decide if I was going to tell him the truth or do a shot ambush.

I went with the truth.  Just FYI, honesty is NOT always the best policy with preschoolers. Tuck that little nugget away.

Big E went nuclear.

I DON'T WANT TO GET A SHOT!

He repeated this phrase approximately 236 times.

It fell on deaf ears.

Mr. Yoy somehow convinced Big E to walk into the office.  I thought we'd have to carry him kicking and screaming.

Once we reached the receptionist's area, Big E began to plead his case as to why he didn't want a flu shot to the women at the front desk.

They all tried to hide their laughter and smiles but it was pretty funny.  And pathetic.

I DON'T NEED A SHOT!

I WON'T GET THE FLU!

I WANT TO GO TO THE BIRTHDAY PARTY!  (We were actually en route to a birthday party. This was just a fun little pit stop.)

It was like watching a Mini Mr. Yoy work the judge in a courtroom.  It was uncanny.

He wasn't gaining any headway with the receptionists, so he moved on to the Grandma waiting with her daughter and granddaughter for a flu shot.

I DON'T NEED A SHOT!

He pleaded with the older women.

She sent me sad eyes.

DON'T FEEL BAD FOR HIM!  HE HAS EARNED THIS SHOT TODAY!

I didn't actually say that aloud, as I was playing the role of the sympathetic mom.

LITTLE E!  BIG E!

We were up.

Big E continued to make his case to anyone that passed by.  Kids.  Parents.  Nurses. Corpses.

It didn't matter.  He was hell bent on getting out of this.

The nurse walked in and Big E made one last heartfelt statement.

She smiled and asked which one of us wanted to hold him in our laps.

Mr. Yoy took the honor.

And in two seconds it was over.

All that drama.

All that wasted energy.

I'm sure you were wondering where Little E was in this story.  He was great until he received his shot.

Ignorance is bliss.
Ouch!




Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Stop Eating Sh*t. Both of You.

This post is mildly graphic.

For those of you raising little boys, you won't bat an eyelash.

To the rest of you, you've been warned.

Little E had a very nice BM right before bath time.  I'm not sure what he ate for lunch today, but whatever it was, it did the trick.

I cleaned him up and tossed him in the tub with Big E.

The boys were playing nicely.  For once.  It was a pretty uneventful bath.

Cue ominous music.

Little E rapidly drilled out about ten of the loudest, most powerful underwater farts I have ever seen/heard.  This is a very strong statement, as I've been giving these two guys baths for coming up on four years.

We all laughed, because they are two and three, and I'm just immature.

Little E immediately claimed it.

ME!

Yeah, no kidding.

I noticed that the water had became a little hazy.

I can neither confirm nor deny that anything besides air was emitted during Little E's bombing of the tub.  The tub is full of toys and I wasn't about to go poking around.

Either way, Big E decided to take a big gulp of bathwater and swish it around in his mouth like it was the best tasting mouth wash of all time.

Repeatedly.

I gagged.

BIG E, IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE THAT LITTLE E POOPED A LITTLE IN THE TUB. MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T BE TASTE TESTING THE TUB WATER.

As usual, he ignored me.

Not to be outdone, Little E began to lick the water.

More gagging on my part.

Enjoy your bout of E-Coli, children.