Monday, April 30, 2012

Mrs. Yoy: Rocking a Neckbrace

Little E snuck a toy car into his crib with him when I put him down for a nap this afternoon.

About twenty minutes into his nap, I heard him screaming.  This is pretty unusual for nap time, so I ran upstairs to see what the ruckus was about.

His car had fallen out the back of the crib and was lodged between the crib and the wall.

This kid was mad and this mommy needed him to be sleeping.  So I laid down on the floor and stretched my long-a** arms under his crib to try and retrieve his car.

In the process, I pulled a muscle in my neck.  I'm not being dramatic here.  I can barely turn my head from side to side.

I'm like Joan Cusack in her 16 Candles appearance.  I am H-U-R-T-I-N-G.

I curled up next to his crib.  My neck was throbbing.

To add insult to injury, I banged my head on a toy train also lurking near the crib.  Ouch.

Little E continued his screaming tirade.

I had to reach this stupid car if it was the last thing I ever did.

I repositioned myself on my belly and stretched under the crib again.  This time I got it.

I tossed the car back into the crib.

Little E smiled at me.

I tried to be mad at him, but I couldn't.

I'm off to rummage through the medicine cabinet in the hopes we've got something strong enough here to numb my neck pain.  Percocet, anyone?

Also, who do I talk to about getting injured on the job? Mr. Yoy?
Except I won't be drinking beer.  Make mine a white zinfandel.  Yes, I said it.

Maybe he'll be a stripper?

Big E has a major problem.

He loses the ability to pull up his undies and pants if he senses me within a 25 foot radius.

I've heard that when he uses the bathroom at school he will pull his pants up.

At home, I have yet to see this phenomenon.  Big E shuffles into our bedroom every night for me to pull his pants up post restroom and tuck him back in.  I might as well have a newborn at the rate of interrupted sleep I'm getting.

His pants "issues" have led to innocent people being flashed by my three year old.  He is indiscriminate when it comes to his audience.  Last week it was the Scott's Lawn guy.

After school today, Big E was running around in the big grassy space outside our synagogue.

I watched as his hand repeatedly grabbed his crotch.

Excuse me, when did I give birth to the second coming of Michael Jackson?

BIG E!  DO YOU HAVE TO USE THE BATHROOM?

Of course he said he didn't.  He was too busy running wild with his friends for an inconvenient bathroom break.

A few minutes he later he stopped dead in his tracks.

I HAVE TO GO PEE PEE!

I was completely shocked by this (dripping in sarcasm).  I told him to run back into school and use the potty.

I was chatting up some of the other moms, when I saw such a vision it took my breath away.

Big E came shuffling out of school, weaving his way through all of his classmates, with his pants down.

Sweet lord, he was flashing the whole school.

I ran over there and pulled up his pants before everyone noticed.

Everyone's kid is a type.

I've got the flasher.

Sweet.
From the 3+ years I've spent with Big E, he seems like a fairly intelligent person.  Why can't he figure this out?

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Beware of Yoys

I was just wrapping up dinner when I heard that dreadful noise.

DING-DONG!  DING-DONG!

The doorbell.

And two quick rings at that.  Like someone was anxious.

This was it.  They were here to rob and kill us.  Of course, I answered the door because I have to let them know the house is occupied.  That's my strategy.

Today's mystery door bell ringer was the Scott's Lawn guy.  He was thankfully not here to rob and kill us.

He probably thought it was the other way around once I opened the door.

Poodle Yoy was doing her best exorcist imitation.  She was already on edge after having the painter here today. She was beyond barking.  She was shrieking as I clutched her in my arms.

UH, YES MA'AM, I'M HERE TODAY TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT YOUR LAWN CARE.

Look, I know he's just doing his job, but by six at night, I'm dead from the neck up (credit to Lisa Lampanelli).

Big E, not to miss out on all the action, climbs off the throne and comes sprinting to the door.

There were a few things I'm sure this guy didn't expect behind our front door.

I guarantee full frontal was one of them.

BIG E, PUT YOUR PANTS ON!

I say that like he can pull his pants up.  I know he can't.  I just don't want this guy to think my kid is a moron.

In the background I hear Little E harmonizing with the dog.  He is strapped into his highchair, but has managed to free one arm and the tray, so I'm just waiting to hear him make his fateful leap.

I tried being polite with the Scott's guy.  I explained to him that we already employ a weed person.

He confidently strides over to my lawn and picks a weed from the edge of my flower bed.

THIS WOULDN'T HAPPEN WITH SCOTT'S!

Oy.  Really?  Does it have to be this dramatic?

I play the husband card.

I HAVE TO TALK IT OVER WITH MY HUSBAND.  HE'S AT WORK.

He pulls out a pen.

GIVE ME HIS NUMBER AND I'LL CALL HIM.

Ah, I see we have ourselves a true salesman.

I CAN'T GIVE YOU HIS NUMBER.  HE'S REALLY BUSY.

Truthfully, Mr. Yoy doesn't deal with the lawn stuff.  It is all me.  I just want to break up with this guy as easily as possible, but he isn't taking the hint.

WHEN DOES HE GET HOME FROM WORK?  I'LL COME BACK.

At that point I wanted to break into a combo maniacal laugh/cry.

HE DOESN'T GET HOME UNTIL REALLY LATE AND I'VE GOT THESE TWO MONSTERS TO FEED, BATHE, AND PUT TO BED.  ALONE.   ALMOST EVERY NIGHT.

He keeps hammering away at me.

THE SPECIAL IS ONLY GOOD TODAY.  BLAH! BLAH! BLAH!

I tuned him out and focused on the golden phrase that my mom used over and over again on me as a child.

IF YOU HAVE TO KNOW NOW, THE ANSWER IS NO.  (This is a seriously amazing parenting phrase.  I can not wait to use it on the Yoys).

Then, I said it aloud.  And it was done.

I smiled, grabbed my half naked kid, and went inside to clean up the food Little E had thrown all over the floor.
This is an actual door mat.  I must own this.



Monday, April 23, 2012

Everything's Bigger and Better in NYC

This past weekend Big E and I flew up to NYC to visit my brother and sister-in-law.

I'm happy to report that nothing traumatic happened on either leg of the trip.  In fact, Big E passed out about two minutes into the flight home and remained in a coma until the wheels touched down in ATL.

Saturday afternoon we took Big E down to the Chelsea Market to get his Elmo cupcake that he's been clamoring for ever since my brother texted me a picture of it a few months back.

I showed it to Big E and he lost his mind.  That is all he has been talking about.  If I needed him to behave, this was my golden ticket.  I just had to mention "The Elmo Cupcake" and Big E became a perfect angel.

As we walked into Ruthy's, Big E's eyes grew as wide as saucers.  His mouth gaped open.  This was it.  And he knew it.

We settled into a small table and watched Big E murder his cupcake.  Murder is really the only way to describe it. This cupcake was huge and easily 500 calories.  Big E had inhaled Elmo in his entirety in about seven minutes.

We left the scene of the crime and made our way to my sister in law's favorite NYC gelato place.  Of course we were going to have some.  We were on vacation, so I even asked Big E if he wanted a scoop, even thought he had just eaten enough sugar to fuel himself for the next five years.

He turned it down.

SHOCKING.

We waited in line and each ordered a scoop, with the exception of Big E.

As soon as he saw us all eating the gelato he wanted in on that game.

It was too late.  We weren't getting back into that painfully slow line.

Big E started crying.  Whining.  Hyperventilating.

We quickly left Chelsea Market and made our way to the street.  The plan was to get dinner as we were doing things in reverse.  Cupcakes.  Ice cream.  And finally, pizza.

Big E had other plans.  He threw a major tantrum.  It was epic.

I WANT ICE CREAM!  I WANT ICE CREAM!  I WANT ICE CREAM!

As we walked along the sidewalk, even the aloof New Yorkers couldn't help but notice Big E.

My three year old was pining for ice cream while the three of us noisily enjoyed our gelato.

MMMM.  THIS IS SO GOOD.  DELICIOUS!

I WANT ICE CREAM!  I WANT ICE CREAM!  I WANT ICE CREAM!

The New Yorkers didn't say anything to us, but their eyes said it all.

WHAT A BUNCH OF SELFISH A**HOLES!

I didn't feel like explaining to everyone that walked by that my crying child just ingested the biggest cupcake of all time.  And that I actually offered him the gelato and he declined.

Instead, I let them judge me.

YEAH, YEAH, I'M THE MEANEST MOM EVER.

Now excuse me while I get back to my biscotti gelato.  It really was that delicious.

As Aunt Yoy would say, the icing to cupcake ratio was excellent!


Thursday, April 19, 2012

Less than 24 hours...

Until Big E and I hit up NYC.

I'm already getting nervous about the flight.

Mr. Yoy flew with him last month, and with the exception of their plane being struck by lightning, mid-air, things went smoothly.

I am not a great plane passenger.

If Big E was not accompanying me, I'd spend the duration of the flight gripping my armrests, waiting for us to crash or get hijacked or some other dreadfully unlucky event.

But now I have to be Mrs. Yoy, the cool and easy going traveler.

Maybe I'll be Mrs. Yoy, the cool and easy going and just a tad drunk traveler.

Below are the list of things Big E will be forbidden from doing on the plane:

1) Talking

2) Using the bathroom

3) Drinking Water

4) Kicking the seat in front of him

If he can follow these four cornerstones of toddler plane etiquette, everything should be A-ok.

In any case, pray for me.  I mean us.
Big Apple meet Big E.  Hopefully you guys will become fast friends.

Monday, April 16, 2012

And Baby Makes Five

This past weekend I learned of a Mrs. Yoy rumor floating around town.

Apparently, I'm pregnant with my third baby!  And it's a boy (excuse me while I have a moment of non-pregnancy induced dry heaving).

Imagine my surprise when I heard this.

GREAT, I MUST LOOK REALLY BLOATED!

That was my first thought.  I glanced down at my belly area.

Am I the only mother out there that can instantly look about five months pregnant while pushing her stomach muscles (ahem, fat) out?

It is not lost on me that looking pregnant could be helpful in certain situations.

1) Traffic tickets (although I still scored two during one stop while I was in my first trimester with Little E)

2) Bathroom priority

3) Overall human kindness you experience while pregnant

Anyway, for the record I'm about six pounds heavier than I was when I became pregnant with Little E.  I affectionately call it my Karen Carpenter weight.  No one told me at the time, but I had become a tad too thin. That's what you get when you combine Weight Watchers and nursing, by the way.

THAT IS THE RUMOR FLOATING AROUND ABOUT ME?

My second thought.

Why couldn't it be something truly interesting and juicy like:

DID YOU HEAR MRS. YOY IS HAVING A TORRID LOVE AFFAIR WITH RYAN REYNOLDS?

YES, THEY MET WHILE HE WAS IN ATLANTA FILMING A MOVIE.

Mr. Yoy and I talked about it, had a good chuckle, and then decided that everyone must be confusing me with Aunt Yoy who is indeed pregnant with a baby boy.  It was probably just a case of the classic game, Telephone, gone awry.

At least that is what I'm going to drill into my brain while I do ten thousand sit ups and fantasize about a mommy makeover.
One of my proudest Weight Watchers moments.  

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Unanswered Prayers

Friday night we went to our Synagogue's monthly Tot Shabbat.

My kids love it.  They load up on kosher food, enjoy some great music, and run around like maniacs until I drag them kicking and screaming into the van.

Friday evening was a particular lovely night.  After the service, all the kids were running around outside in the Holocaust Garden, uplifting, I know.

Mid-stride, Big E froze and declared the four words I HATE HATE HATE to hear in public.

I HAVE TO POOP!

All that running had done the trick.

I ask a friend to look after Little E so he doesn't take a swim in the water fountain and begin the bathroom sprint with Big E.

We run down the hallway with the pictures of the old Rabbis and ancient artifacts.  I feel like they are watching us.

I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!

I'm praying he isn't interrupting the regular services.

We buzz by an older lady walking in the direction of the restroom.  Since I'm already praying, I pray this lady isn't also headed to our destination.

We walk in and it is deserted.

I rush Big E into a stall while he does the dance.  I hoist him up on the toilet.  He looks up at me and smiles.

Then I hear footsteps and a stall door shut.

Dang.  We are not alone.

I know what's coming next.  My favorite part. The narration.

First he whispers.

i'm doing it.

Then louder.

I'M DOING IT, MOMMY!

It's not like he was having a baby, it's just a BM.

I try to shhh Big E, but it was no use.

I DID IT!  I MADE DIRTS.

IT IS YELLOW AND ORANGE FROM MY CARROTS.

Please, please, please stop describing it.  We are not THAT kind of family.

I hear the lady washing her hands.

We exit the stall.

Time to face the music.

I smile politely at her.

She doesn't say anything to us.

THANK GOODNESS!

I couldn't tell if she was completely mortified by Big E or just shocked into silence.

Either way, I was relieved to exit the scene of the crime and release him into the herd of children running rampant in the garden.
If things are awkward now, I just can't wait until Mr. Yoy introduces him to the urinal.  Oy.


Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Attack of the Killer Pigeons

After our visit to the Georgia Aquarium, I let the Yoys run wild around the big grassy area between the GA and Coke.

Those boys have endless energy and if 30 minutes of them acting like maniacs and scaring homeless people makes for a more manageable afternoon, then I am all for it.

As always, there were nasty pigeons and little finches eating up the scraps from the nearby snack spot.

Big E had found another little boy to run around with. The two boys were slowly circling a Pigeon.

THEY'LL BITE YOU!

Big E alerted the other little boy to their impending attack and subsequent doom.

The little boy's face registered a look of panic and he ran off.  His puzzled father was left to comfort the little boy.

BIG E!  THEY DO NOT BITE!  STOP SCARING YOUR FRIENDS!

Look, I am the first to say I hate pigeons.  They rate extremely high on my skeeve out scale.  But I'm pretty sure they are not attack pigeons.  Unless you are a piece of bread.

This isn't the first time Big E has pulled the biting card.

Where is he getting this stuff?

Does he sneak out of his bed at night and watch a double feature consisting of The Birds and Piranha?

Maybe I'm raising the next Eli Roth?  Mr. Yoy would be so excited!

On a related note, our visit to NYC next weekend is going to epic if Big E thinks the pigeons will attack him.
In my son's sick world, this is what would happen.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Put the Lotion in the Basket

Little E was blessed with many wonderful traits.

When he is not whining, he is actually the more affectionate of the Yoys.  He hugs and open mouth kisses like a champ.

There is one area that Little E has struggled with since birth.  His skin.

Baby acne.  CHECK!

Eczema.  CHECK!

Mysterious roaming rashes.  CHECK!

He most always has some sort of rash/breakout on some part of his body.

Little E's bedtime routine consists of a full body coating of a few different creams and topical medicines recommended by his doctor.  He knows the drill and each and every night we go to war over the process.

I thought that putting him into pajamas was a battle.  Ha! I now laugh at that!  I wish I was just putting him into pajamas.

It starts with him trying to roll off his changing table.  I almost want to let him make the leap so that I can tell him I told him so.  But then I snap back to reality.

Then the screaming.  Good lord, does he scream.  I recheck the bottle.  Is this acid or is this Cetaphil?  Nope, it's just Cetaphil.  Good to know.  Good to know.

Next up he starts throwing all the jars and tubes of lotion back into the basket on his changing table as fast as I can take them out.

WHY DON'T THESE TABLES COME WITH STRAPS??

WOULD MR. YOY BE MAD IF I PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE WALL WITH MY OWN HEAD?

Once I get his body covered, I move onto his face.

This is my favorite part.

I scoop my finger into the Eucerin jar and pull out a glob of goodness.  For whatever reason, Little E tries to eat it. He's like a baby bird following my finger around.

Trust me, I'm sure it doesn't taste good.  This is coming from the girl who accidentally licked her deodorant in college because it smelled like candy and was jokingly eating it.

Except I misjudged.

And it tasted horrid.  So I don't recommend it.

Anyway, I do my best to smear Little E's face. Sometimes it gets in his hair, eyebrows, up his nose, and occasionally his mouth.

But I'm done.

Until I have to put his pajamas on.
I guess it could be worse.  I could be dealing with this guy.

Also, for those that are keeping track, this is my SECOND Silence of the Lambs reference.

Sweet as Sugar

Tonight, Big E and I were seated at the bar stools eating our dinner.

MOMMY?

I glanced over at Big E and expected him to ask for water, cheese, fruit slices (the candy kind, of course), or some other random request.

YES, BIG E?

He looked at me with all the seriousness he could muster and said these wonderful words:

I MISSED YOU ALL THE TIME WHEN I WENT TO THE LAKE WITH GRANDMA AND POPPY.

I literally wanted to reach over and eat HIM for dinner.

How can he be so sweet one moment and a full-blown terrorist the next?

At that moment, I didn't care.

THANKS, BIG E, I MISS YOU ALL THE TIME, TOO.  (A semi-true statement)

And by the way, his trip to Lake Oconee was about three weeks ago and I have no idea what triggered him to spill his emotions tonight.
A big hug from my little Yoyser.

Hands off Mrs. Yoy!

Yesterday, I was having a rough afternoon.  I was exhausted from the weekend and feeling a tad under the weather.

Not feeling 100% is incompatible with being a mother.  It just won't work, no matter how hard you try.

I powered through their dinner which was served promptly at 5pm.  These kids were going to bed early.

As the Yoys munched away on their dinners, I straightened up the house.

By now, the downstairs resembled a war zone.  Mr. Yoy's Lego pyramids he had built to show how good us Jews were at building them, had since been obliterated into pieces and were strewn about.

I AM SO TIRED.  ONLY ONE MORE HOUR.  I AM SO TIRED. ONLY ONE MORE HOUR.

I kept repeating these phrases to myself.  I had to make it.

I finally had most of their crap put away.  I know I am so Type A, but I hate coming downstairs in the morning to a disaster.  I just can't handle it.  It has to be neat.  If only for a minute.

I returned to the kitchen area to find that Little E had made it rain green beans.  Like all over the place.  And Poodle Yoy, who is nasty enough to eat sh*t diapers, won't touch them.  I guess she draws the line at green beans.

I AM SO TIRED.  ONLY ONE MORE HOUR.  I AM SO TIRED. ONLY ONE MORE HOUR.

I took a deep breath and bent over to clean up the green bean graveyard littering my kitchen.

And then I felt it.  Little E's turkey lasagna (I know, it is Passover) covered paws.  He was patting me on the back.

HI!  HI!  HI!

I immediately jumped out of his reach and took off my favorite Target cardigan sweater.

There, like a hand print at Grauman's Chinese Theater, was Little E's print in red sauce on my favorite sweater.

Really?  Come on!

I AM SO TIRED.  ONLY THIRTY MINUTES.  I AM SO TIRED. ONLY THIRTY MINUTES.

I made the executive decision to penalize Little E thirty minutes for that play.  There ARE rules you know, and wiping nasty hands on my sweater is definitely against them.

I managed to have Little E in bed by six.  Big E followed soon after.  And I finally took a much deserved shower.

Hallelujah!
Why did I choose Donald Duck you ask?  Only because I was dead set on naming my brother Donald Duck and I was super pissed at my parents when they decided on another name.  Traitors.

Pink and Yellow

Hey guys!  Sorry I've been super lazy about blogging.  I had 21 people over for Seder on Saturday night and I think I've finally recovered enough to begin writing again.

I have many stories to tell you.  Sit back and enjoy.

Saturday, Mr. Yoy took the boys out of the house so I could cook without begging children underfoot.  It was such a help!

As part of their four hour excursion, they stopped at Boston Market for some chicken.  The lady working there asked if the yoys wanted balloons.  Of course, the answer was yes.

She asked Big E what colors he wanted for him and his brother.

PINK AND YELLOW!

No hesitation there, Big E knew what colors he wanted.

The lady asked Mr. Yoy if it was ok if Big E had a pink balloon.

Really?

Have we come to this?

Are gender roles so ingrained in us that a pink balloon request by a little boy is enough to send this woman into a tizzy?

Mr. Yoy gave the thumbs up.

If Big E wanted a pink balloon, then a pink balloon he shall get.

A little perspective people, please.  It is a balloon.  And it is pink.

Has the world gone mad?

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Three Strikes and You're Out!

Another title for this blog entry could have been the religious trifecta.  You are about to find out why.

As you know from reading the hundreds of Mrs. Yoy blog entries, we are a Jewish family.  We are not religious zealots, but we observe our holidays and appreciate our rich culture and history.

Living in Atlanta is not like living in South Florida or New York.  While there is a substantial Jewish population here, it is not as prominent as it is in other areas of the country.  I know this.  I've lived here going on twelve years.  I've experienced a variety of awkward or funny things that people have said to me since I've become a Southerner.

But over the past few days there has been a spike in activity, due to the upcoming holidays this weekend.

Yesterday I came home and had a pamphlet about Jesus saving me stuck in my front door.  It was from the Witnesses.  They canvass our neighborhood A LOT.  I quickly called my neighbor to see if she also received one.  

The last time the Witnesses came by, they pointed to the mezzuzah hanging on my doorpost and wanted to have a conversation about being Jewish.  They even offered to come back with some pamphlets.  I politely declined.  My neighbor confirmed she had also received the pamphlet. Whew, I was not being singled out.

Today I ran to Publix, and even though I swore I wouldn't let it happen again, this lady checked me out.

As she scanned my Gefilte fish (barf) and jelly fruit slices she inched toward the topic.

This is how it went down:

PUBLIX CHECKER: So you and your husband are....? (In a hushed tone)

MRS. YOY: We are Jewish.  You can say it out loud.  It's not a dirty word.

PUBLIX CHECKER: So on Easter you...

MRS. YOY: This year I'm going to see the Hunger Games (YAY!)

PUBLIX CHECKER: So you don't celebrate?

MRS. YOY: No, we celebrate a different holiday.

PUBLIX CHECKER:  And it's called....?

MRS. YOY:  Passover.  It begins tomorrow at sundown.

PUBLIX CHECKER:  So it's like Good Friday?

MRS. YOY:  ____________________  Because I literally have no words.

I leave Publix feeling a little weird.  It's not like I'm a unicorn.  There are lots of Jews floating around Atlanta. How can I seem to be such a novelty to this woman?

On a side note, why does Publix have included in their Passover display Yarhzeit candles and not kosher for Passover noodles?  Discuss.

Fast forward a few hours.  We are home from the boys' school seder, which was a massive failure.  We had to leave early, as usual.

Little E is napping.  Big E and I are testing out new paint colors in his bedroom.

There is a knock on the door.

BARK!  BARK!  BARK!

Ninja quick, I grab Poodle Yoy and muzzled her yappy mouth and make my way downstairs.  

My neighborhood strategy is this, while I hate answering my door because there is a chance the person on the other side is there to kill me, I answer it anyway.  There is a GREATER chance the person there is checking to see if anyone is home before they kick down my door, so I'm here to let my presence known.

There is a teenage boy at my door.  He nervously smiles and extends a flier advertising his church's Easter egg hunt this Sunday.  I'm sorry it had to be him, but it was.

Instead of taking the flier and saying thanks, I explained we were Jewish and don't celebrate Easter.

It's not like I told him to piss off, but it shocked him still. His hand remained extended with the flier, but he was unable to speak.  

I smiled and shut the door.  He rejoined the group of teenagers knocking on doors.

After, I felt a little bad about it.  I probably scarred him for life.  He'll never be able to enjoy Easter again.

I think I had just hit my breaking point.

I believe everyone has the right to believe or not believe in whatever they want.  And you shouldn't be bothered about it.  And you should be respectful.  That is it.  Even if, Mr. Yoy calls me a Libertarian.  

Anyway, thanks for letting me vent and I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday weekend, whatever you celebrate!

And if you don't have anything to celebrate this weekend, just have an awesome weekend!

I promise, I'll lighten things up in my next entry and blog about how insane the Yoys have been.  Because they have.
Do not disturb Mrs. Yoy.  I'll be gorging myself with Matzo over the next eight days.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Another Day, Another Disaster

I tried out a new playground with a friend and her two kids this morning.

Between the two of us, there were four little kids which equates to mass chaos.

Fortunately for us, the park was sparsely attended.  Big E and his friend, Lady E, were navigating the big wooden structure we coined "the castle".  They were having a blast.

Little E had also found a fun little play area for himself that was close to the ground, which I greatly appreciated. I did not have the fear of him falling off the top of the castle pulsing through my veins.

I had everything under control, for once.  I began to relax and enjoy the warm sunshine.

I HAVE TO POOP!

And, back to reality I snapped.  Big E was making a beeline for the van and his mini potty.  I asked my friend to watch Little E.

I had taken two steps towards my car when Lady E also exclaimed her urge to go to the potty.

Now there was trouble.  I doubled back to grab Little E's hand as we were all headed to the car.

I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!

Big E was jumping up and down at the van, not helping his cause.

Little E didn't want to leave the playground.  He played dead and collapsed into the wood chips.

GOOD-NESS!

There was no point in trying to reason with Little E.  He doesn't really talk.

I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!  I HAVE TO POOP!

I threw Little E into his stroller and ran him up to the van.

Mid run, I opened the door to my van, reason #29 why I love my van, and Big E climbed in.

As I arrived at the door, Big E yelled for me to help him pull down his pants.  If you've heard that commercial for the potty dance, I can attest that Big E was doing it. Majorly.

Just then, Little E decided he wanted out of the stroller, and since I didn't clip him in, in my rush to get Big E to his potty, you can only guess what happened next.

SPLAT!

There was Little E, face planted on the sidewalk, screaming bloody murder.

I picked him up and instantly a goose egg popped out of his forehead.  He had blood running down his nose from an earlier cut he had reopened.  I am definitely up for worst mother of the year.  I felt awful.

I MADE A BIG POOP!  WIPE ME!

For a second, I wanted to run away.  But I held it together, barely.  I took a deep breath and told Big E to hold on while I cleaned up his bloody brother.  Little E settled down after a minute of death screams, thank goodness.

I had flashbacks to when Big E jumped out of a train up in Kennesaw.  This time I knew not to take Little E to CHOA, as we are STILL paying off that medical bill.  Plus, his fall was amateur compared to Big E's belly flop off the caboose.

I got everyone cleaned up and calmed down and we even managed to have a picnic lunch and scare away the ice cream truck.

I just don't know if Mr. Yoy will trust me anymore to take the Yoys out alone.

Poor Little E.  I'm definitely on the hook for this one.