Wednesday, March 28, 2012

It's about to get medieval up in here...

Big E had turned into Alfalfa.  Each morning, I would have to wet his hair down to try and camouflage his need for a haircut.

Today, I ran him by Tommy's after school to finally get his hair under control.

As usual, he kept wiping the cape, which was draped over him to protect him from hairs, on his face.

By the end of the haircut, Big E looked like he had a full beard.  He had managed to coat his face with all his hair clippings.  The barber handed me a wet towel to wipe up Big E's face because the air blower wasn't working.

I tried my best, but eventually I conceded to a bath once we got home.

Next to the cash register, they keep a bowl of tootsie pops for the kids.  Big E knows the routine.  He thanked the barber and asked for a lollipop.

There was a 0% chance we were leaving without one, but I hate giving him lollipops.  Big E drools down his hands, arms, shirt, everywhere in the unfortunate path of gravity.

I loaded the Yoys into the car and headed home.

Big E was a giant, sticky mess when we got home.  Even though we had stopped by to say hello to Mr. Yoy and, at that time, I had confiscated the pop and wiped him down with baby wipes, he was still utterly disgusting.

It was like he tarred and feathered himself.  He stole a page from the medieval torture playbook.

I instructed him to go immediately upstairs, strip down, and make his way to the tub.

DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!

I yelled in my meanest, serious, Mrs. Yoy voice.

Little E was about two hours overdue on a nap and was a disaster.  I brought him upstairs where I attempted a diaper change.  It was ugly, but I got the job done.

I tossed Little E into the crib and went to look for Big E. He was eerily quiet.  This always means he's either coloring on the walls or cutting his hair or stealing food from the pantry.

I walked into Big E's bedroom and there he was.  In bed. Covered in tootsie pop glaze and fine hairs.  He was still in his soiled school clothes.  And he was basically doing snow angels in his bed.  Which had clean sheets, courtesy of M-O-M.

GOOD-NESS!

I was defeated.  Can't something stay nice and neat and clean for more than ten minutes in this freaking house? This is rhetorical, as I already know the answer.

This

Plus This
Equals the toddler version of tar and feathering.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Gossip Yoy

We shipped Little E off to school today so it was just me and Big E bumming around.

I wanted to run some errands, one of which included picking out an anniversary present for Mr. Yoy.  

This Sunday will mark six years since the Gators beat George Mason and advanced to the championship game, I mean six glorious years since we were married.

I'm usually horrific about selecting presents, but Mr. Yoy has been dropping hints as large as an atomic bomb, so I figured I couldn't screw this up.

I did have one loose end.  His name was Big E.  And he gossips like a 13 year-old girl.

After a quick stop, I was in possession of Mr. Yoy's anniversary gift, with days to spare I might add.  I had this.

We picked Mr. Yoy up for lunch before we had to retrieve Little E from school.

Before the sliding doors of the big red bus could complete their smooth opening, Big E shouted out to Mr. Yoy.

WE GOT YOU A PRESENT!  IT HAS AN ALLIGATOR ON IT!

I turned around and shot lasers into Big E.

What a big mouth!  I even told him to keep it a secret, which in hindsight, was not my best move.

Mr. Yoy smirked.  LACOSTE!  Just last week he had shown me some shirts at Macy's he really liked.  They were full price and we are cheap, so it wasn't going to happen.  At least not then.

Mr. Yoy interviewed Big E to try and get the details.  I was mad.  Why doesn't this dang car come with an ejector seat?  I would launch both of them into oblivion!

I find solace in the fact that Mr. Yoy is W-R-O-N-G about his guess.  

I'm putting this in writing for you all to see.  It isn't a LACOSTE shirt.  

Check back next week for the answer to this riddle.
If Mr. Yoy keeps this up, I'm going to give him a real alligator and see how that turns out.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Lego my kid!

Today we took the whole Yoy crew to the newly opened Legoland.

Mr. Yoy had taken Big E alone last Saturday and had bragged about how empty it was.

This afternoon it was the opposite of empty.  It was complete and utter chaos.

Please remind me again why I go to any kid-themed place on the weekend?  Seriously?  Have I lost my damn mind?

I was watching Little E as he marveled at the amazing miniature Atlanta built by the folks at Legoland.  It is pretty dang cool, if I may say so without sounding like a total geek.  Plus everything was at Little E's eye level and he was in heaven.

Big E and my mom, dad, Mr. Yoy, two Uncle Yoys, an Aunt Yoy, and cousin Yoy were in the main play area.

Just picture ten million Legos, ten million little kids, and every virus known to man.  That is the perfect summary of Legoland.

Big E had entered the giant playhouse.  I was able to drag Little E away from the model of Atlanta to check out what every one else was up to.  I walked up to see Big E on the second level of a three level maze.  He was stuck in this one compartment.

A few older kids tried to help him as they passed by.  Big E was like a deer in the headlights.

We were all waving and cheering him to move onward. I'm not sure if he could hear us through the plexiglass, but I could understand him.

It may have been the panicked look on his little face.

Or maybe the fact I could read his lips.

HELP ME!  HELP ME, MOMMY!  HELP ME!

My poor little Yoy was stuck.  If I didn't do something quick he was going to require years of therapy to help him overcome his fear of indoor playgrounds.

After stifling a giggle, or two, because let's all admit that this is sort of funny, I found an employee of Legoland and told him we had a man down.

Orange and blue polo shirt.  About three feet tall.  Blinded by fear.

The employee pointed to Big E.  I confirmed.  Yep, that's my kid.

The employee then graciously snaked his oversized body through the playground and counseled Big E out of his little compartment of fear.

Big E then disappeared into the remainder of the maze.

I wondered if we'd seen the last of Big E.

About a minute or so later, I spotted him running towards the exit.

MOMMY!  MOMMY!

And just like that he was safe and sound and back in my arms.


A Lego replica of the ATL.  The building in the middle is where Mr. Yoy and I met and the story of the Yoys began.


Tuesday, March 20, 2012

ICE ICE BABY!

Another day, another trip to Costco.

This time, we dragged a visiting Grandma Yoy along.

After we had piled our cart full of things we marginally needed, the Yoys and I waited by the exit for my mom to get her iced coffee fix.

The food line was moving S-L-O-W, but finally, the lady in front of Grandma Yoy received her heaping cup of fro-yo and was headed our way.

I was eyeing her yogurt.  Dang, that looked amazing.  I tried to turn away, but it had me in a trance.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one.  Big E was also eyeing the fro-yo.  Only he took it one step further, as always. As the lady approached our cart, Big E broke into song.

ICE ICE BABY! (first loudly)

ICE ICE BABY! (then in a creepier whisper version)

Da.Ding.Ding.Ding.Da.Da.Ding.Ding.

The woman laughed at Big E and even gave him a wink, but none of her frozen yogurt.

I'm sure she was wondering why a three year old had Vanilla Ice on the brain.

Before you go judging me AGAIN, in my defense, I would like to state that Sirius Radio 90s on 9 plays the hell out of some Vanilla Ice and you can't deny the hook.

Plus, I grew up in South Florida.  (That, alone, should be an excuse for almost anything.)

Word to your mother!

Big E WISHES his hair was this glorious!

Thursday, March 15, 2012

It Began With Warm Weather

Today we hit 80 degrees in the ATL.  I consider this sandal weather.  Not just for my tired looking winter feet, but for the Yoys.

They are both mega sweaters.  Keeping them in socks and sneakers is just not an option.  Their little feet become mini furnaces tucked away in their shoes.

Mr. Yoy asked me if I wanted to swing by for dinner.  A light bulb went off in my head.  I could run the kids by the shoe store before we hit up Zoe's for dinner.  They are right next door to each other!  And that way Big E wouldn't have to squeeze his feet into last summer's water shoes, which is what he wore today.

I love it when a plan comes together.

I was getting ready for our 5pm departure, when I checked the store's hours on their website.

Dang.  They close at five.  Who closes at five, anyway? Back up.  Who in the HELL would take their little kids shoe shopping during dinner time.  Two big thumbs pointed back at myself.  I WOULD.

So, we had to reformulate our plan.  Mr. Yoy suggested the Sears at Cumberland Mall.  Then we could just hit up the food court.  HIGH-CLASS YOYS, I know.

Sears was a bust.  Apparently, if you wear an XW shoe, you need to shop at a children's shoe store or online. Thanks to Mr. Yoy for passing down the fat foot gene to our kids.  I wear an 11N, so clearly their brick feet do not come from me.

Mr. Yoy then suggested we look for a dress for our upcoming staycation at The Mansion on Peachtree.

Seriously?  With the kids in tow?  I poo-poo'd the idea immediately, but was sucked into Francesca's by their pretty spring dresses.

The Yoys had eaten, but it was coming up on 8 o'clock and the warning sirens were faintly sounding.

Mr. Yoy then name dropped White House|Black Market, which I freaking love.  How could I resist?

As Big E ran through the racks of expensive clothes, I hurriedly grabbed two sizes of a dress I liked.  I grabbed Big E and took him in the dressing room (big mistake). Surprisingly, there were numerous women in there to be audible witnesses to what happened next.

As I pulled my jeans and t-shirt off, Big E began the much dreaded narration.

MOMMY, YOU'RE NAKED!

I heard the lady in the stall next to me stifle a giggle.

It was funny, I know.  But I was most certainly not naked. I had on undergarments.  I quickly corrected Big E.  I gave him the job of holding all my stuff, but he was too easily distracted.

I grabbed the smaller sized dress first.  Always the optimist, I know.  I wiggled, and I'm using that term loosely, into the first dress.  I was so preoccupied with Big E, that I didn't take the time to realize that this dress was not intended for my body.

When it came time to take the dress off, I couldn't.  It was stuck.  Holy sh*t!  I'm in this dressing room with my kid who won't stop talking and I can't get this dress off.

I casually call for Mr. Yoy and ask him to wheel Little E into the dressing room.  Now we are all in there.  This is turning into quite the party.

I'M STUCK!

Mr. Yoy gives me his famous smirk.

THANKS, JERK, HELP ME!

I'm full on panicking.  I'm embarrassed.

I have visions of the stylish sales lady cutting the dress off of me and then ringing it up for the $129.  She then hands me a receipt and a request to never step foot in the store again.

But thankfully, after much maneuvering, Mr. Yoy helped me get this dress over my shoulders.  I'm too scared to even try on the bigger size.  And, I've pulled some muscle near my collarbone, to boot.

Mr. Yoy did bring in another dress that he liked, and it looked much more user-friendly.  So I tried it on.

YOU LOOK FANTASTIC, MOMMY!

Thanks, Tim Gunn.  How did you get in my dressing room?

We agree on the dress and get the heck out of there. But not before Big E notices the giant mirror.  He steps in front of two ladies trying on clothes.

THIS IS THE BIGGEST MIRROR EVER!

Please.  Shoot me.  Now.
My new dress!  

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

I'll Take My Baby Medium Rare

Have I completely lost my mind?  Have I lost the ability to parent?

I think the warm weather melted my brain.

I took Little E on a walk this morning.  I pulled out the old school, single walking stroller from our complete collection of strollers.

You know what I'm talking about.  You easily have seven different types of strollers for each possible occasion.  It is a sickness.  An epidemic.  I know.

We had just had some serious rain and the sun was playing peek-a-boo with our neighborhood.  So we headed out.  Sans sunscreen.

I seriously cannot believe I did this.  With Big E, I lathered him up for a trip to the mailbox.

Not Little E.  Not my much forgotten second child.  We walked up and down the Atlanta hills for 60+ minutes. The stroller has a sun shade, but depending on which direction we walked in, he may or may not have been covered.

After a quick lunch we ran back out to pick Big E up from school.  And that's when I noticed it.

My poor Little E had a stripe of sunburn on the sides of his sausage arms and on one side of his face.

I'm a failure.  I felt horrible.  I just aged Little E's baby soft skin by two years.  Bad mommy moment.

I guess it could have been worse...

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Big E: A Jailbird?

Big E committed his first crime today.  I always pegged Little E for the future criminal, but I had it all wrong.

I took Big E to the Aquarium to meet up with one of his many lady friends.

Every time we passed by the dining area, the kids called for cake.  Look, I get it.  Cake is freaking amazing, and I, too, would like to eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And a late night snack.

As lunch time approached we finally broke down and headed into the cafeteria.

I did not have a stroller today as it was just me and Big E.  Little E was enjoying his first day of school.

Like a heat-seeking missile, Big E ran straight up to the dessert table.  You see, at the GA Aquarium they have a giant table full of desserts.  It sort of reminds me of a food challenge on my favorite show, The Biggest Loser. There is every tempting, sugar laden food you could imagine.

So I guess I can't really blame Big E all that much.  He is majorly impulsive.  He is three.

As I yelled out his name, Big E sliced through the crowd of hungry people and grabbed a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing.  Good choice, by the way.

I yelled for him to put it back.  He looked me straight in the eyes and pretended not to know me.

And then he did it.  He licked the icing.

If this were a knick knack store, the sign would say: IF YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT.

Today, the more appropriate sign read: IF YOU LICK THE ICING, YOU BUY IT.

I was irritated with Big E.

In general, I don't let him go willy nilly on desserts. Especially, a reasonably priced $6 aquarium cupcake.  The thought crossed my mind to pay for the cupcake and chuck it in the trash as a lesson to him.  But I didn't think he'd particularly understand the lesson, and I'm pretty sure that would have resulted in AQUARIUM ARMAGEDDON.  And I just wasn't feeling up to that challenge today.

Next time, I will be more prepared.  No more cupcake-lifting for Big E.
It's gravitational pull was just too strong for my little guy.  And it was eye level.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Houston, we have a problem!

This weekend, Big E and Mr. Yoy are flying to Houston to visit family.

This will be Big E's first trip on an airplane as a toilet trained human.  I'm not even flying with him and I am nervous as hell.

This will definitely be a preview of our flight together to NYC in April, so I'm curious to see how everything goes down.  I'm also thankful it is Mr. Yoy and not me, who has the honor of taking Big E on his diaper-free maiden voyage.

In my dream sequence, Big E would use the restroom ten seconds before it was time to board and he would be fine the duration of the flight.  Of course, he would not be allowed to ingest any fluids starting two days prior to his trip.

What you may call dehydration, I call planning.

But let's not forget the worse case scenario.

This would be a bad case of shy bladder right before Big E boards the plane.  In a panic, about five minutes after take-off, he absolutely has to go to the bathroom and I have to plead with the flight attendant to let us use the bathroom before we have a real plane emergency.

Of course, we will have a super b*tchy flight attendant who will refuse to let my son go to the bathroom and accuse us of being terrorists.  Then Big E will pee all over himself and the seat, which I guarantee won't be the worst thing on it.

Or we make it into the tiniest bathroom on the planet and Big E freaks out.  We end up spending thirty minutes in there while I plead with him to go and he cries and wets his pants.

Oy.

Like I said, I'm glad it isn't me taking the first flight with him.

And I hope Mr. Yoy skips this entry so he doesn't back out on their togetherness trip.
Hoping to avoid this place, altogether.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Big E: DUR-TAY

Tonight Big E consumed in no particular order:

1) chicken nuggets
2) juice box
3) fruit salad
4) hamentashen (cookie)
5) ice cream cone
6) milk

I know this seems like a whole lotta crap, but this is Purim, or as I am from now on referring to it, Jewish Halloween.

Big E also rummaged through a ball pit, think Chuckie Cheese, and bounced himself silly in no fewer than five bouncy houses at our synagogue's Purim carnival.

It was a wild and crazy night for that little Yoyser. Which is why it may come as no surprise that this kid was sawing logs a mere two seconds after I buckled him in his car seat.

Oh what to do, what to do?!

Do I wake him?

Do I just throw him in bed?

Do I let him spend the night in the big red bus?  They do that in the commercial, by the way.

Normally I WOULD just throw him in bed, but this kid is seriously disgusting.

Think about all the germs he has accumulated on his food/play bender.  Think about the melted ice cream that ran down his hands and then crusted and dried between his fingers.  Think about the boogery kid wiping his face all in the ball pit.  I snap myself out of it before I fall down the germ abyss.

Deep breaths, Mrs. Yoy, deep breaths.

I've had my GERMERVENTION, so I'm much less insane when it comes to germs.  Thanks to airplanes and cheerios for that!  But I still felt anxious about the thought of putting him in his bed unbathed.

I sat at the bottom of the stairs and peered into the dark garage.  I could see nothing.  I could hear him snoring.  I was tired.  Why won't someone make this decision for me?

After talking myself down from letting him sleep overnight in the car, I unbuckled his limp body and carried him upstairs.

As a compromise, I took off his ball pit, bouncy house clothes and put on his jammies.  Big E lay on the floor like a rag doll.  Half sleeping, half talking about how tired he was.

I took a deep breath and threw him into bed with the promise to burn his sheets and related bedding in the morning.

I said I'm much less insane, but I'm not completely cured.
The Ball Pit: Behind Walmart, the dirtiest place on the planet.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Check Me Out (Already)!

Today I took both Yoys to Publix.

I know, whatever horrible things happened there, I had coming to me.

Surprisingly, the Yoys were very well behaved.  We had a rad race car shopping cart and even though it was only 9:45, I drove by the bakery and let them get sugar cookies.  I am becoming SUCH a pushover.

We had made it through the store and we were waiting in the only open checkout lane.  There was only one person in front of me, so it was no biggie.  At least that is what I thought.

Unfortunately for me, the checkout lady was a carbon copy of the Target Lady Kristin Wiig plays on SNL, minus the wicked Midwestern accent.

She was commenting on everything she scanned and chatting up the customer in front of me.

I quickly scanned my cart.

There were no tampons, control top pantyhose, or Metamucil.  Whew, good call on my part.

SO YOU ARE HAVING YOUR PERIOD?

SO YOU ARE HAVING A FAT DAY?

SO YOU HAVEN'T TAKEN A CRAP IN FOUR DAYS?

She finally got around to scanning our items.

She grabbed my reusable University of Florida bags.

HERE COME A BUNCH OF ALLIGATORS!

I smiled politely.  Duh, we are GATORS not ALLIGATORS, but I'm too annoyed to correct her.  My kids were starting to simmer.  Please, let's speed this up.

LET'S GO GATORS!  LET'S GO GATORS!  LET'S GO GATORS!

Big E began cheering.  Um, Big E, this isn't 2006.  We have NOTHING to be cheering about.  Quiet down before the man behind us in the UGA sweatshirt begins heckling us.

I swipe my credit card and begin to relax.  We will be out of here in less than a minute.  We have survived.

WHOOPS, I FORGOT TO SCAN YOUR BROCCOLI AND CAULIFLOWER!

After a few minutes of her deciding the best course of action, I decided to just pay cash for the veggies and retreat.  Damn you, veggies!

Hopefully, I won't have to take both of them to Publix for a long, long time.  But if I do, I know to avoid this lady.  I'll be hitting up the self checker if she's my only choice.
WHOOPS!  I FORGOT TO SCAN HALF YOUR ITEMS!  WHAT SHOULD WE DO NOW?



Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Dreaded Parent Teacher Conference

Today we had Big E's parent/teacher conference.

This phrase has taken on a new meaning since I had children.

It is hard to explain how personal, as a parent, you take criticism and comments about your child.

I realize that parenting only gets you so far, and then the child's personality takes over.

For those of you that have met Big E, you know he is a mini Mr. Yoy, at least in personality.

He is very outgoing and friendly and gregarious.

So why am I so worried about a parent/teacher conference?  Surely Teacher Yoy sees the same qualities I see in him, right?  Or am I wearing "Mommy Goggles"?

Here are my top five fears in no particular order:

1) Your kid picks his nose during class and eats his boogers.  The kids all call him booger eater.

2) Your kid hits other kids.  The kids all call him Rocky.

3) Your kid is dumb.  The kids all call him Snooki.

4) Your kid can't pull his pants up after he uses the bathroom.  The kids all call him gangsta.

5) Your kid is terrible at P.E.  The kids all call him Jewish.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Big E received a glowing review from his teacher.

And I don't mean that in a braggy brag type of way as I am not that kind of mom.  I mean that more in a WHEW! type of way.
Really the only thing accurate about this picture is that we were all sitting at a desk.  Even if the desk was made for three year olds and my knees were grazing my earlobes.  

I do have to say Mr. Yoy looks good with a mustache and I look amazing as a blond.


What a cheese ball!

Little E turned 19 months yesterday.  He is growing up so fast.

I remember when Big E was 19 months.  I was about 8 months pregnant with Little E.  Hmm...that's about all I can remember.

I can not recall a single milestone for Big E.

I really want to remember when he started tearing away bites from, for instance, a string cheese.

I think and think and think.  Nothing pops in my head.  All I remember is being fat and hot and b*tchy when Big E was 19 months.  He went days on end without a bath because I couldn't bend over with my belly.  Bad mommy moment, I know.

Today, I gave Little E a whole string cheese to waddle around the house with.  He was standing at the refrigerator begging like a dog, so I figured how much harm could I do?  He either takes bites or shoves the whole thing in his mouth and slowly dissolves it.

After a few minutes the cheese was gone.  Well, that worked.  So maybe he IS old enough to take bites.

Next up on our exciting schedule, a goodwill run.  I scoop up the Yoys and throw them in the big red bus.

As I was buckling Little E in, he opened his mouth and out came the most perfect, round, warm cheese ball I've ever seen.  This thing put fancy cheese balls I've been served at past parties to shame.  It was amazing.  It was like his mouth was its very own Easy Bake Oven.

How in the hell did Little E keep that in his mouth, so perfectly formed, for the ten minutes it had been since I first handed it to him?

First, I laughed.

Second, I gagged.

I was now holding in my hand Little E's homemade cheese ball.  It was more than I could handle.  Literally.
Seriously.  This is about the size of what Little E birthed from his mouth.  Barf.

My Milkshake Brings All The Yoys To The Yard

Big E is feeling a little under the weather today.

As a special treat, we ran through the CFA drive-thru for a strawberry milkshake.

Big E worked on his milkshake as we navigated the aisles at Target.  He MAYBE sucked down a third of the shake by the time we arrived home.

As a side note, I would like to say that if I had bought myself a shake, it would have been dead, murdered, slaughtered in about five minutes flat.  That's how I roll. But not Big E.  He savors.

Anyway, by this time the shake had morphed into strawberry milk so I put it in the freezer.

At lunchtime, Big E requested his shake again, so I obliged.

After lunch I was putting away the items we purchased at Target.  Big E was "assisting".  I ran upstairs to put some diapers away.

Nipping at my heels with his shake in hand was Big E. His bottom lip was quivering.

WHAT'S WRONG?

Half sobbing/half whining he finally told me he spilled his milkshake.  I peered over the railing to where I last saw Big E with the shake, and sure enough, there was a puddle of melted strawberry goodness on the floor.  At least it was on the wood floor and not on the carpet.

I assured Big E it was fine and I ran downstairs to wipe it up.

I made my way back upstairs.

Big E was standing in the middle of the bonus room with scissors dripping with strawberry shake and ANOTHER GIANT PUDDLE OF STRAWBERRY GOODNESS.  This time it was on the ottoman.

OY, YOY YOY!

One time, maybe it's a mistake.  Twice, you get an automatic ejection.  I grabbed the scissors from Big E, grabbed what was left of the milkshake, and headed for the trash.

See ya strawberry milkshake.

I WANT MY MILKSHAKE!  I WANT MY MILKSHAKE!  I WANT MY MILKSHAKE!

Tears.  Real, wet, serious tears were streaming down his cheeks.

I tried to reason with Big E.

IF YOU AREN'T RESPONSIBLE WITH YOUR DRINK, YOU CAN'T HAVE IT.

Why am I trying to reason with him?  I know how this ends.

I pulled out the big guns.

IF YOU DON'T STOP CRYING YOU ARE GOING TO TIME OUT.

He simmered down.

I WANT TO WATCH TV!  I WANT TO WATCH TV!

Well, considering I fed him a milkshake for lunch, television would naturally be the next horrible parenting move I would make today.  And I did.

Sometimes, I just need some silence.

Don't judge me.
Well, hello there!