Wednesday, February 29, 2012

A Haunting in Georgia (more specifically my bathroom)

Mr. Yoy and I have finally come to terms with the fact that we will probably be living in our house until the end of time.  The Atlanta housing market's abysmal performance is second only to Detroit.  Not great company to keep, I know.

We are looking to spruce up the Yoy house after six years here.  I think Mr. Yoy is just sick of hearing me complain about things, but whatever gets the job done.

Tonight I was in the shower.  The hot water was beating down on my shoulders.  I was unwinding from another day of Yoyser madness.  This was my daily moment of relaxation.

My eyes scanned the bathroom.  I was dreaming of all the things I would rip out of my cheesy, builder grade bathroom.  My mind wandered.

MOM!

I jumped and let out a small scream.

I turned around and there was Big E.  With his pants around his ankles.  Big E has mastered most things about potty training, he can name, by species, most trees in our front yard, but for whatever reason, he can't pull up his pants after he uses the restroom.

I wasn't expecting a visit from Big E.  Lately, he's been pretty good about staying in bed when I tuck him in.  I guess I had become complacent.

Once my heart started fully functioning again, I asked Big E what he was doing.

I WANT TO WATCH YOU SHOWER!

Ok, Mr. Creepy.

He stood at the shower door and peeked in at me.

So much for a relaxing shower.

I cut the water, grabbed my towel, and stepped out.

I WANT TO HUG AND KISS YOU!

Well, how can I be mad at that?

I threw on my jammies and quickly ushered Big E back to his bedroom.

After a round of hugs and kisses I had him tucked back in.

That was 20 minutes ago.  Here's hoping it sticks.
Creeeeeeepy!

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

INSANE YOY WALKING!

Today I met a friend and the Yoys' former babysitter, for the sake of the story we will call her Ironwoman, for lunch at Zoe's.  The parking lot a little before 1pm was crazy busy.  I would have had better luck trying to find a parking spot on the street in NYC.  I ended up parking about two miles away.

Fortunately for us, we picked up Ironwoman while snaking up and down the rows, so she assisted in getting the Yoys into the restaurant.

We had a 40 minute time frame to eat, as Ironwoman had to get back to work for a meeting.

Lunch was delicious and both boys were very good, even if they did smear their bodies with egg salad.

As we left the restaurant, Ironwoman headed to her very close parking spot.  Internally, I was cursing her good luck. We parted ways.

Big E was running down the sidewalk, which is fine as he knows not to run into the street.  Little E was having a moment of independence and was drunkenly walking alongside me.  He would take no help from me.  We were moving at the speed of snail.  I had nowhere to be and was enjoying the window shopping.

Then I heard the words that strike fear into my heart.

I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!

Ugh, really?

Our nice stroll suddenly became an exercise in speed and maneuvering.

I grabbed Little E.  He screamed like I was a kidnapper. This may be useful in future situations.

I had the following items in my two arms:

1) An 80lb baby
2) An 80lb diaper bag
3) My drink from Zoe's
4) The book that Big E was carrying but could no longer hold now that he was concentrating on not crapping himself.  I, by the way, had to lean over with the above three items to grab the book that he dropped during his moment of BM realization.
5) The car keys

INSANE YOY WALKING!  I was yelling at Big E to hold up before we crossed the street to the parking lot.  My hair was in my face.  Little E was crying.  Big E was yelling about his poop.  My arms were aching.

People were walking by me, but pretending not to notice the distress in my voice.  In my eyes.

It came time to cross the street.  I had no free hands. But I had a free roaming three year old.

I told Big E to grab onto my coat and not let go.  Not for a second.

I took a deep breath and stepped off the curb.  Either we were going to make it to the car or I was going to drop everything in the middle of the street.  I was praying for the former.

We get to the big red bus, and I have to say again, I was so glad to have it.  I was able to press the sliding doors button without adjusting anything or anyone.  I yelled at Big E to get into the car.

Before I could even strap Little E in, Big E was sitting on his portable toilet taking the biggest man dump ever.

I get Little E into his car seat and walk around to the other side of the car.  Big E is standing in the door way, pants down, for all of the Peachtree Battle shopping center patrons to see.

I get him wiped, dressed, and buckled in his car seat.

I fished out a poo bag and removed all the nastiness from the car.  I looked around to make sure there were no judgy Buckhead mommies around and I dashed back across the street to throw the bag into the trash.  It was either that or drive home in a hot box.

I sat down in the car and I laughed/cried.  Why does this crazy sh*t keep happening to me?  I need to just lock myself in the house and be done with it.  I'll see you all in 2028 (when Little E leaves for college).

Then I called Ironwoman.  I could have really used an extra set of hands.
My new nickname.

Monday, February 20, 2012

The Yoys: Providing Birth Control For All

I've been told by some of my childless readers that my blog has caused them to push back the timeline of having a baby.

My response to this comment has and always will be:

MY JOB HERE IS DONE.

You see, before I became pregnant, all of my mommy friends would go on and on about how fabulous and amazing and fun and great being a mother is.  Yeah, you know who you are.

I'm not going to lie, being a mother has its amazing moments.  Moments that make your heart leap out of your chest or make you cry with joy.  I can look at a picture of my sons seconds after I put them to bed and be brought to tears.  I love, love, love those little boogers.

For the most part, I try to omit these moments from my blog.  No one wants to read about that.  They want the train-wreck stuff, which I happily provide.

What all you childless people don't realize is that all the "motherhood is awesome" talk is a BIG, FAT, SCAM. Your friends are sabotaging you.  They realize their awesome, care-free lives are over and they want everyone else to suffer their fate.

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO GO TO PUBLIX AND NOT HAVE TO RUN UP AND DOWN THE AISLES LIKE YOU ARE ON AN EPISODE OF SUPERMARKET SWEEP?

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO CHEW AND TASTE YOUR FOOD AT MEALS?

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO TAKE A SHOWER WITHOUT AN AUDIENCE?

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO GO OUT ON A DATE WITH YOUR HUSBAND AND NOT REQUIRE THREE MONTHS LOGISTIC PLANNING?

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO SLEEP EIGHT HOURS OF UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP?

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO GO OUT AND HAVE A DRINK WITH YOUR FRIENDS?

WHY SHOULD YOU BE ABLE TO TRAVEL?


I'm here to spread the real gospel.  It ain't pretty, but it's the truth.

I wish someone would have been open and honest with me about motherhood before I took the plunge.

It is flipping hard.  Really hard.  Like some days I seriously want to crawl into bed after I put my kids down and cry.  Out of exhaustion.  Out of frustration.  Out of isolation.

I try my best to put a humorous spin on it for you guys, but it is some serious sh*t.

Anyway, that is my PSA for this evening.  I'm off to watch my peaceful, sleeping Yoysers.

Just out of curiosity, what do you miss most about not having children?

What are you most afraid of when you do finally bite the bullet?
What I'll look like when my kids head off to college.

And there goes my safety net...

Since the start of the whole Big E potty training process, I have tucked a pair of pull ups into his underwear at night.

At first I thought I was fooling him.  But he's three now and knows everything, so he quickly caught on to my ruse.

Big E gets up every night to use the bathroom.  This is evidenced by two things:

1) His little potty is always FULL of urine when I check on it in the morning and

2) We (mostly Mr. Yoy) hears Big E shuffling into our room in the middle of the night so one of us can pull up his pants and then tuck him back in.  He can work an iPhone, but can't pull up his pants.  AMAZING.

Anyway, tonight we grabbed dinner with our cousin and then dropped him off at his hotel.  It was around 7:30 so the chance that I'd arrive home with two awake Yoys was iffy at best.

Around the time we passed Mr. Yoy's office, the usual barrage of questions coming from the second row began to taper off.  By the time we reached the next stop light I knew I was in trouble.  I began to hear the soft snoring of Big E.  I flipped on the lights just to confirm, and sure enough he was out.  Like dead to the world.

I began an internal argument.

Should I wake him and put on the pull ups or should I just make a seamless transition into his bed?

Oh, what to do, what to do?

I was leaning towards just letting him sleep.  His pull ups are dry in the morning, but I just have this fear of entering his room tomorrow morning and being witness to a urine disaster.  Or even worse, the middle of the night.

There could potentially be urine everywhere.  He would definitely be crying.  I would definitely be tired.  A bath and laundry would be involved.  Oy.

I called Mr. Yoy.  His vote was to let Big E sleep.

I decided that was the game plan unless he popped right up after we got home.

I unhooked him from his car seat and he gave me one dirty look and then rolled his head back.

Big E was done for the day.

So now it's just a wait and see game.

Everybody send dry thoughts our way.

I'll let you know tomorrow how this experiment turned out.

Friday, February 17, 2012

We've Graduated!

What's that?  What's that?  Mommy, what's that?

This is typical Big E commentary coming from the back seat of the big red bus.

It's a pretty straightforward question and I can usually answer honestly and to the best of my ability.

But something has happened over the past few days.

He has stopped asking me what everything is and moved on to the question dreaded by every parent out there.

Why?  Why?  Why?

Over and over again.

I DON'T KNOW, GO ASK ANNIE LENNOX.

I'm sure that answer wouldn't pacify him.

Now, instead of rattling off things such as:

TRAIN.  STOP LIGHT.  FOR SALE SIGN.  HOOKER.

I have to say things such as:

IT'S DELIVERING FOOD TO BOYS AND GIRLS ALL ACROSS THE COUNTRY.

or

IT'S SO ALL THE CARS DON'T CRASH INTO EACH OTHER AND BURN UP IN AN INFERNO.

or

THEY ARE MOVING BECAUSE THEY ARE LIVING OUTSIDE THEIR MEANS.

or

YOU PAY THEM FOR S*X.  (just kidding on that one)

I am so close to rattling off the phrase I heard as a child more times than I can count.

BECAUSE I SAID SO.

I don't want to say it.  But Big E is going to make me.  He keeps pushing and pushing and pushing.

And then I'm going to hate myself.  I will be a cliche.

This Used To Be My Playground

Today, I met Aunt Yoy at the Chastain playground.  After a day of rain, the Yoys were clawing at the door to get out and play.

This was my first attempt at the playground with two mobile Yoys.

Chaos.  Ultimate chaos.

I may have seemed calm and collected on the outside, but my mommy radar was on high alert.

Big E was attempting every apparatus like he was competing for the all-around in gymnastics.

Every time I looked up he was somewhere else.

Slide.  Swing.  Tunnel.  Good lord, take a breather!

The only place he wasn't, was close enough to me so that I could help him if he got stuck on something or lost his balance.  He was on his own.

Plus, I have this irrational fear that he'll be kidnapped.  I know he'd probably be returned after about 10 minutes of his nonstop chatter and questioning, but it still makes me anxious.  I repeatedly scanned the crowd for potential creepy people.

Little E was busy exerting his own independence.  His main goal was to go down the slide.  By himself.  Every time I snatched his teetering body from the top of the slide he went insane asylum crazy on me.  His screams echoed off the perfectly manicured golf course.

The only thing that comforted Little E was me picking up that sack of potatoes and holding him as he slide down the slide.

Little E moved on to the rings.  He wanted me to pick him up and let him hang from the rings.  I'm not sure you can appreciate how heavy he is, but my arms were burning.

I was sweating.  I definitely should earn some Weight Watchers activity points for this outing.  What in the HELL was I thinking?

Little E bites the dust.  Repeatedly.  He is a new walker and the mulch is doing a number on him.  He is covered in little splinters.  And he is wet from yesterday's rain. Oy.

My eyes dart around the playground.

Big E.  Not kidnapped yet.

Little E.  Hasn't fallen over the side of the poorly planned cliff at the edge of the playground.

Diaper Bag and wallet.  Haven't been stolen yet, but this is always a real possibility.

After about 40 minutes of pure parenting torture, I surrendered.

Let's eat lunch.  I deserved a big glass of wine and a cookie after that.

As I drove home, I checked that off the list of things I'll never do again.
You can see the rings in the background.  I'm pretty sure I couldn't even swing from those things, I'm not sure why Little E thought he could do it.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Pajama Day

Today Big E had pajama day at school.  Sounds phenomenal, right?  What if I told you it was a pajama AND pancake day.  Now you want in, huh?  Yeah, me too.

I WISH it was socially acceptable to wear pajamas all day long. Yes, I know some people do it, but those people end up embarrassed on What Not To Wear or the talk of the carpool line.

DID YOU SEE SO AND SO WEARING THAT NIGHTIE AND MATCHING SILKY ROBE TO PICK UP HER KID?

Well, maybe I'm not talking about THAT type of pajamas.

I'm talking about the best fuzzy, flannel, goodness you can imagine.  With slippers.

Oy, a girl can dream, can't she?

On second thought, these suckers may hinder my ability to drive the big red bus.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Valentine's Day

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.  The ultimate made-up holiday.

Oh, I buy into it, don't get me wrong.  I sent cards to all of my family and Mr. Yoy bought fillets to cook for dinner tomorrow night.  Now that we have kids, we don't get to go anywhere fun, especially on a "holiday".  Think about that the next time you have the urge to start a family.

This being my Valentine's post, I feel the need to profess my love.  Not to Mr. Yoy.  Not to the little Yoys.  Not even to the dog.

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of something big.  Not only is it Valentine's Day, but it is also the anniversary of when Mr. Yoy finally caved and bought me my beloved minivan.

I have to say, I love it more now than I did a year ago.  

Yes, it has some love scratches and dents, most of them self inflicted (damn you Piedmont Hospital parking deck!), but I see none of that when I look at the big red bus.  I see love.  

So I thought I'd give you the top ten reasons why I love my minivan.

1) It warms my butt when I am cold.

2) It holds all fourteen of my open water bottles, Coke Zero cans, and whatever else I may be drinking at the time.

3) It has blue tooth which allows me to listen to Big E's crappy music via my phone at all times.  Sometimes I get to listen to my music, which makes me happy.

4) It has a backup camera which allows me to see behind my big red bus.  It has erased my ability reverse any vehicle without such camera.  

5) AUTOMATIC SLIDING DOORS!  AUTOMATIC SLIDING DOORS!  AUTOMATIC SLIDING DOORS!  Need I say more? Oh, but I will.  I am able to have Little E in my arms, a 50 lb diaper bag hanging from my elbow, a drink in hand AND still be able to load the Yoys.

6) I could rent out the cargo space to a family of four to live in.  This really could happen.  I even have a portable toilet back there.  All they would need is running water. And maybe some privacy curtains.

7) It has sunshades on all the passenger windows.  No more hanging those ugly suction things on your window. You could pull them up or take them down as you need.  

8) It has a separate little mirror so I can watch the Yoys without turning around.  Like a real bus driver! It makes me legit.

9) It is red.  The red is a constant reminder of the love Mr. Yoy must feel for me to purchase a car he absolutely hates.  It took him awhile, but he finally started driving it. Mostly because I'll let him listen to the ESPN Fantasy Sports Sirius station when he drives.

10) It has like ten thousand airbags.  Not that this gives me a license to drive like a texting sixteen year-old, but there is something comforting knowing the bus has some of the greatest safety features and ratings out there. Why shouldn't I have the best for my Yoys?

Ok, I'm done professing my love for an inanimate object. I fear I'm starting to sound a little bit like Brick Tamland from Anchorman.  I LOVE LAMP!

I hope you all have a wonderful Valentine's Day with whoever or whatever you love!

What a beauty!


Big E washing the Big Red Bus.


Thursday, February 9, 2012

Big E: What a creep!

Big E has a BIG mouth.  He is always saying odd and awkward things.  Sometimes to me.  Most of the time to complete strangers.

I'm not pointing fingers here, but I think he takes after someone whose name rhymes with Blister Boy.

During his bout with pink eye a few weeks back, he told the guy taking our order at the Figo counter that he had pink eye.  He was not contagious at this point, but I'm sure this guy was super jazzed to have the Yoys dining at his restaurant.  I imagine him bringing out the hazmat suits after we were finished eating and sterilizing the hell out of that place.

Then, Big E called me a piece of plastic.  Up until a few hours ago, I just chalked it up to him missing a few marbles.

What happened a few hours ago, you ask?

We were watching Toy Story 3 for the 78th time (I make a chalk mark on the inside of our armoire every time it is viewed) and Lotso called another toy a PIECE OF PLASTIC.  I was so relieved.  Maybe Big E isn't the weirdest person on the planet after all.  (For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of watching Toy Store 3, this story will be lost on you)

But this evening he took a step towards the ominous.  He looked up at me, post bath, all lavender scented and cute, and said with such seriousness:

OUR HOUSE IS GOING TO FALL TO THE GROUND.

Um, what?  What did you just say?

OUR HOUSE IS GOING TO FALL INTO THE GRASS.

Thanks for that, Nostradamus.  Do you know about some major earthquake slated to strike upper Georgia in the next few days?  Are you some sort of early detection system?

Not that I wouldn't be ok with our house falling over.  Of course, I'd like our family and pictures to not be inside when it happens, but we have insurance for everything else, and maybe we could move somewhere I felt safe in my own home.

Big E is asleep now, and I'm going on record saying if he declares any more creepy disaster predictions, I'm giving him back.  To Piedmont Hospital.  Or anyone else who will have him.

For the top ten Nostradamus predictions, check this out.  Glad to see the ultimate destruction of the Yoy house didn't make it.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Places I HATE to take my kids

There are certain places kids just don't belong.

Some people would say small children belong nowhere in public.  I may, or may not, have been one of those people before I birthed the E's.

Included on this list I would put:

1) Fancy restaurants

2) My gyno visit

3) A bar

4) This place

My latest addition to the list would be at the veterinarian's office.

This morning I had to run Poodle Yoy over to the vet to drop her off for a teeth cleaning.  Big E was at school, but Little E was along for the ride.

 I thought I could just do a hit and run.  Sort of like the parents that can drop their misbehaving kids off at fire stations all across Nebraska, even if they are 16, I thought I would just run in and be done with it.

On a side note, I think Nebraska is really onto something, and if I lived there I would definitely incorporate that law into my daily discipline.

YOU DO THAT ONE MORE TIME AND I'M DROPPING YOU OFF FOR GOOD!

Anyway, my plans were thwarted by the receptionist.  She guided us to a room that I guess resembled a pediatrician's office to Little E.

As soon as the door closed, Little E went insane.

He was just at the doctor's last week for his checkup, so this is all fresh on his brain.  He was not game for any more vaccinations and he was going to tell me and everyone in the office this.

After he cried for a few minutes, the receptionist popped back in and told me we could wait out in the main area if the room was upsetting the baby.

ARE YOU SAYING MY CRYING BABY IS DISRUPTING THIS PLACE?  THEN JUST LET ME DROP OFF THE DOG AND GO!

That's what I thought.  But instead I said we'd be fine and I pulled out my secret weapon.  A snack cup.  Little E calmed down and I was able to tend to my other crying baby, Poodle Yoy.  She knew she was in for it.

We ended up waiting over ten minutes, which I was getting mad about, only for a technician to come in and try and up sell me on all this other stuff for Poodle Yoy.

Microchip?

REALLY, SHE'S ALMOST TEN.  IF SHE RUNS AWAY, I'M FINE WITH THAT.  BUT CONSIDERING SHE LIVES UP MY BUTT, I'M NOT TOO WORRIED.

IV?  Fluids?

IT'S A TEETH CLEANING, NOT OPEN HEART SURGERY.

Blood tests?

I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.

All my smart a** answers were kept to myself, but I was already dropping about $200 on her teeth, I wasn't about to get hosed for $300 more.

We left Poodle Yoy and safely navigated the waiting area without Little E being mauled by the giant Rottweiler waiting for his shots.

This afternoon will be even more epic when I return to pick up Poodle Yoy with both Yoys in tow.
I guess this could be construed as Little E's doctor's office.  All it needs is some nasty old books and that tissue paper on the table.  And hand sanitizer.  Lots and lots of hand sanitizer.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

My Nightly Battle

No, it isn't the urge to snack the night away.  Or even to stay up past 10.

The absolute, hands down, worst thing I have to do every night is put Little E into his diaper and jammies.

It sends me inches from the edge.

Oy, the screaming.

Oy, the wiggling.

Oy, the twisting.

Oy, the batting.

From his piercing screams, you'd think I was dipping him in acid.  Which I'm not.  I'm trying to put him in warm, fuzzy pajamas and a clean diaper.

I say yes, please, to both.

Why is this such an excruciating process for him?  And, in turn, for me?

Half the nights he ends up with both legs in the same pajama hole.  He then resembles a really angry mermaid. Almost laughable, if I wasn't being bludgeoned to death by my baby.

Sigh.
If I owned a pair of these, I'd be this excited, too.  

I am the walrus!

Bath time last night at the Yoys was going peachy.

I was in a fantastic mood as Mr. Yoy was coming home "early" so that I could grab dinner with the girls.

Both boys were playing nicely.  The bath was littered with hundreds of bath toys.  There was giggling, splashing, and just plain happiness.

Big E picked up his walrus toy, looked at Little E with his evil eyes, and bashed him right along Little E's hairline.

Ruh-roh.

I'll give you the good news first.  Fortunately for Little E, the toy walrus's tusks do not stick out like they do in real life.  It would have been a whole different story.  Think the walrus as a can opener and Little E's giant skull as a can of delicious chicken noodle soup on a cold winter's day.

The bad news is pretty obvious.  Little E went bananas. His forehead immediately turned a lovely purple-y red at the point of impact.

And just like that, bath time was O-V-E-R.

I know Big E is three and super impulsive, but I still don't understand what drives him to just whack his brother in the head.  Unprovoked.

Here's hoping today will be a nonviolent one.

This guy is not invited back to the bath tub party.






Monday, February 6, 2012

Gym Rats

Mr. Yoy joined the unmanned, almost always empty, high-end gym in the bottom of his work building.

On Saturday, he suggested we go over there and get a work out in.

There was only one problem.  Our children.  Where would we stash them?

His solution: in between the free weights and the ab-machines.

Yes, that's right folks, we took all the Yoys to the gym.

As we pulled up to Mr. Yoy's building,  we prayed for an empty gym.

Mr. Yoy went in first to scope out the situation.  We were in business.

We turned the television to Curious George, handed them snack cups, and jumped onto neighboring treadmills.

The irony is not lost on Mrs. Yoy.

I brought my kids to a gym to get in a work out and I put them in front of a television and gave them goldfish crackers.  Diabetes, anyone?

It went smoothly for the first 24 minutes, thank you timer on my treadmill.

Big E figured out Little E's stroller wasn't locked.  He started pushing the baby around.  I could hear Little E's cries over the LMFAO blasting through my iPod.  I hopped off.

Big E quickly grew bored of torturing his brother and discovered a rack of rubber balls.  His eyes lit up.

Before I could explain that they were weighted medicine balls, Big E had grabbed the red one.

THIS IS HEAVY!

Yeah, no kidding.  Mr. Yoy and I are doing combo squats and chest passes with the yellow one and are this close to performing CPR on each other.

Little E had now ramped up to a steady whine.

Big E was stomping on the goldfish crackers that had missed the boys' mouths and were now littering the floor.

It was official.

The Yoys had struck again.

We made the executive decision to vacate the gym before any further damage was done to the once pristine gym.

If I had to give the Yoys a grade on their behavior, I'd give them a B-.

I would have preferred a longer workout, but something is better than nothing.  Extra credit goes to Big E for not throwing the medicine ball through one of the gym's many windows.
Mrs. Yoy running on the treadmill.  I look good, I know.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Idle Threats

I am stubborn as a mule.  This is a very important fact about Mrs. Yoy.

I will ALWAYS win the battle of wills with my children, although they may be unaware of this fact.

Today at lunch, Big E did not like his designated seat.  And by seat, I mean a highchair.

But like I always say, containment is key and the Sushi place was pretty crowded today.  So he was going to sit in his highchair.

Big E had other plans and began crying and screaming and making a scene.

Like most mothers, when your child is screaming in a restaurant, it is amplified by 1000x.  You cringe to think your sweet baby is interrupting the meals of everyone within a five mile radius and in that moment, the screaming seems way louder than it is.

Big E was very loud today.  I'm pretty sure he smuggled a megaphone in under his shirt.

First I told him if he didn't sit in his highchair we were leaving.

I finally got him in the highchair.

Then he cried because he wanted to eat Little E's homemade lunch, instead of wait for his sushi.  Big E loves sushi.  I was shocked that he even cared about Little E's food, but I think at this point we were on the train to Tempertantrumville.  What a sh*tty ride!

I again, very calmly told Big E if he didn't stop screaming and crying we were going home.

He amped up the crying.

So, I called it.  We were out of there.

I grabbed both Yoys out of their highchairs and carried one Yoy in my arms and dragged the other out by his arm.

I WANT SUSHI!  I WANT SUSHI!  I WANT SUSHI!

Big E wailed as we made our way down the aisle of tables out of the restaurant.  I'm sure everyone clapped once we were gone so that they could enjoy their meals in peace.

I couldn't even get Big E into his car seat, he was insane.

The owner of the restaurant came out to help try and calm Big E down and get him into the car.

I was at my wit's end.  I wasn't sure I wanted to even bring him home with me.

We finally made it home with Big E crying about how hungry he was.

At this point I was fuming mad at him.

I put Little E in his highchair and gave him the rest of his lunch.

I then walked away from Big E because I couldn't look at his tear stained face.  I was furious.  He had ruined my weekly girls lunch.  But I don't regret picking up and leaving.

I feel like if I don't follow up on statements like:

IF YOU DON'T STOP ________________, THEN WE ARE LEAVING!

then he'll never listen.  Or that he'll think public tantrums are acceptable and that I'm a pushover.  I am many things, but I am not a pushover.

I gave myself some time to cool off before I spoke to Big E.

I did find him eating raw pasta under our dining room table.  He clearly was desperate for some food.  I cracked a smile.

I brought him into the kitchen and asked him if understood why we left sushi and he did.  He apologized profusely.

I'll told him if he continued on his path of ignoring me, that I would be going to live with a new family that listens to their mommy.

He did not like that.

I'LL LISTEN, MOMMY!  I'LL LISTEN, MOMMY!

We'll see if he lives up to his end of the bargain.
Where I'm headed!