Thursday, May 31, 2012

Is this a 911 call?

I like e-mail.

I can respond on my own time, after I have given thought to whatever it is I want to say.  I can portray myself as calm and educated (thank you spell check).

Ditto for text messages.

Phone calls now scare the sh*t out of me.  Especially phone calls to people that do not know I am housing  two miniature terrorists.

I made a decision today.  I had been staring at some carpet samples for almost three weeks and I had finally chosen our new area rug.  My designer had taken the time to go to the store and narrow down my selection to 7 or 8 samples.  She also gave me the business the card of the lady who had helped her out.  It had her e-mail and her phone number.

Oh, carpet lady.  Do I e-mail you my order or call?  The Yoys were doing laps around the house on their ride along cars.  On a loudness scale, 1 being a whisper and 10 being my eardrums are bursting, I'd give them an 8.  They were pretty loud.

I manned up and decided to call carpet lady.  Surely I can keep my kids quiet for the seven minutes it'll take to place my order.  Like a chump, I asked the Yoys to keep it down because I needed to make an important call.

I moved into the dining room, hoping they would not follow me.

I was able to get a hold of carpet lady and gave her my selection.

The Yoys were surprisingly quiet.  Sweet.  Things are going to be fine.  Carpet lady will have no idea of the state I am in.

It's like they could read my thoughts.

Little E came running in with his patented blood curdling scream.  Big E was hot on his heels responding in his equally blood curdling scream.  It's like they were beluga whales communicating through their beautiful underwater song.  Except it is neither beautiful nor underwater.

I apologize and move to another room so I can hear what carpet lady is saying.  Unfortunately, my kids have Yoydar and they find me.  They continue with the screaming.  I take a deep breath.  I think I hear glass shatter.

Carpet lady thinks I am murdering my children.  It seriously sounds like death is happening in my house.

DO YOU NEED ME TO CALL 911?  OR MAYBE GEORGIA DEPARTMENT OF CHILDREN AND FAMILY SERVICES?

I'm so sure this is what she is thinking.

I apologize again.  She laughs nervously and tells me she used to work at a daycare and she understands.

While I appreciate her empathy at this juncture, she seriously cannot understand.

I'm on the verge of tears.  I'm frustrated.  Why can't my kids just sit quietly and look at books while I'm on the phone?

Yeah, yeah, I can hear you laughing through the internet.

Anyway, the rug is ordered.  I finished the call speed walking in circles around my house.  But from now on, I'm only using the telephone when my kids are asleep.
I wish I had it this together.

Monday, May 28, 2012

WHIKEA?

Mr. Yoy worked pretty much all day Sunday.

I stayed home with the boys and attempted to clean up and organize the house after having contractors out here all week.

By about 4pm, we were all going stir crazy.  Mr. Yoy asked if we wanted to meet him at Ikea around 5.  I was desperate to get out and I believe this impaired my judgement.

SURE, WE'LL MEET AT IKEA ON A SUNDAY AT DINNERTIME IN 90 DEGREE WEATHER, WHY NOT?

First up on our Ikea list was to return something.  It was a pretty painless process, but it was here that the decision was made (by Big E) for both boys to ride in the same shopping cart.  This would turn out to be a fatal error.

We headed to the Swedish food section to pick up our favorite, Swedish Fish.  We talked them up to the boys in the hopes the chewy deliciousness would keep them occupied and quiet for the duration of our visit.

WAIT, THEY ARE SOLD OUT OF SWEDISH FISH?  WHAT KIND OF IKEA IS THIS?

Good thing I had a back-up plan.  Snack cups for all!

As we approached the elevator, we tried to sell the kid play area to Big E.  We showed him the ball pit and all the kids playing.  He peered in, but in the end he wasn't sold.  He wanted to go with us.  DANG.

We meandered our way through the maze that is Ikea. Somewhere around the desks, Big E had to use the bathroom.  Shocking.

I pull him out of the cart and begin the process of finding our way to the bathroom.  Good thing I had puffs to drop as a trail, so we could make our way back to Mr. Yoy and Little E.

Just as we returned back to the desks, Mr. Yoy had to use the bathroom.  Off he went.

Just as Mr. Yoy returned back to the desks, Big E exclaimed he had to go to the bathroom, AGAIN.  By now, the other customers thought we were part of the desk display.  We had taken up semi-permanent residence there.

I CAN'T SHOP LIKE THIS!  LET'S GO!

Mr. Yoy had hit his limit.  We all made our way to the bathrooms.

Next we headed downstairs to the textiles area.  Mr. Yoy was looking for a frame.

The boys were done with their snack cups.  Big E set his eyes on Little E.  It was torture time.  He began by trying to fold the cart seat that Little E was sitting in.  Little E would let out a shriek.  Big E would echo back in an equally loud and shrill shriek.

I threatened Big E.

IF YOU DON'T STOP TOUCHING YOUR BROTHER, MR. IKEA IS GOING TO KICK US OUT!

Big E didn't care.  He continued to bop him on the head and pester Little E.

Finally, I took Big E out of the cart to get him away from Little E.  This didn't solve my problem.  Big E grabbed the shopping cart and tried to push his brother around.

I don't know if you've ever pushed an Ikea shopping cart, but there is absolutely no steering on it.  You just sort of float around and attempt to not hit the other customers.

I spent the next ten minutes or so fighting for control of the cart.

I'M HUNGRY!  I'M HUNGRY!  I'M HUNGRY!

Big E played the hunger card.  He had just had a giant snack cup, so I knew he wasn't starving, he just wanted to leave.

So did we.  We just couldn't find our way out.

HELP!  PLEASE!  ANYONE? WE NEED TO FIND OUR WAY OFF THIS ISLAND!

By the time we reached check out, Big E was in tears.

WHEN DID WE ENTER CRIKEA?

I glanced around to see if people were staring at us.

I WANT TO GO TO A RESTAURANT!

Not to be outdone, Little E was shrieking like a mad man.

WHOSE KID IS THIS AND WHY CAN'T YOU CONTROL HIM?

Mr. Yoy's attempt at humor at this moment.  I contemplated running away.

We got the boys loaded up and tried to calm Big E down. He was inconsolable.  There was no way in hell we were taking these kids to a restaurant.  We were headed home STAT.

Mr. Yoy asked Big E where he wanted to eat.  In that instant, Big E had a moment of clarity, completely stopped crying/sobbing/shuddering and said clear as day:

JIM N NICKS.

Mr. Yoy and I both busted out laughing.

I WANT MUFFINS!

Oy.  I headed home with the boys and Mr. Yoy ran to grab some dinner for us.  At home.  Where no one else would be exposed to our children.

I noticed about half way home that silence had taken over the backseat.  I checked the mirror and sure enough, Big E was zonked out.  He was done.  I put him right to bed when we arrived home.

Ah, silence.  How I've missed you so.

The summer heat must have melted my brain.  This was a bad, bad idea.



Mansion Crashers

Saturday we attended a birthday pool party at Iron Yoy's beautiful Riverside Drive mansion.  The party was for Iron Yoy's three year old niece.  Let's get some technical terms out of the way here.

Iron Yoy is our old babysitter/good friend who competes in Iron Man competitions like they are 5ks.  She has done two, which is the same number of 5ks Mrs. Yoy has "run".

While Iron Yoy lives in a mansion, she does not own it. She rents out a room there from some rich lady, who was home during the party.  Apparently, rich lady does not love guests and/or children as she was scowling every time I caught a glimpse of her.

The Yoys are not accustomed to nice things.  We live in a very modest house and for the most part steer clear of expensive things.  With a 1 and 3 year old patrolling our pad, we know that anything nice is destined to be destroyed.  Why risk the heartache?

So here we were, high rolling in the infinity pool.  I was in the water with Big E.  Mr. Yoy was tasked with keeping Little E under control.  Little E hates the pool.  But he loves, loves, loves his mommy.  So most of the party he roamed around whining MAMA, MAMA!  He would calm down, only to start crying again once he caught a glimpse of me frolicking in the water.

Little E was in a dumping mood.  He dumped out a small box of grape nerds onto the beautiful stone floor.  I guess this is a step up from when he tried to ingest the entire box.  But he was quiet and he spent the next thirty minutes diligently picking up the nerds one by one and eating them.

YES, MY KID EATS OFF THE FLOOR. SO WHAT?

After Little E's mission was complete, he was a hot mess. His face was a perfect combo of dirt, sunscreen, sweat, and purple candy.

MAMA!  MAMA!  MAMA!

He walked around haunting the other party guests.

Little E moved on to a bag of Fritos.  They were at his eye level, so it was inevitable that the chips would be his next food target.  Mr. Yoy asked if Little E could eat them.  At this point, I just wanted him to be quiet, so I agreed.

Little E sat down on a step and dumped the whole bag out on the ground.  He smiled at me and then dug in. Rich lady made an ill-timed visit out to the pool.

WHY IN THE HELL IS THAT BABY EATING CHIPS OFF MY SUPER EXPENSIVE STONE FLOORING?  WHERE ARE HIS PARENTS?

If she spoke to me, this is what she would have said.

Dinner was served next, but in true Yoy fashion, the boys wouldn't touch the delicious grilled chicken and salad. Tears.  Both of them.  It's like I was asking them to eat toxic waste.

Thank goodness for Iron Yoy.  She used her magic powers (birthday cake bribery) to get Big E to eat a few bites of chicken and pasta.

Finally, it was cake time.  The Yoys had been waiting their whole lives for this moment.  I gave them each an adorable lady bug cupcake.  It was chocolate and delicious.

Both boys sat down right on the ground under the table and inhaled the cupcakes like they've never eaten sugar before.  It was like watching a competitive eating contest. Look, I'm all about fast eating, but this is dessert.  You need to savor.

I glanced at the ground.  It was a graveyard of chocolate crumbs.

Little E jumped up and reached for another cupcake.

UH, NO WAY BIG GUY.

Little E broke out in his 47th crying fit of the afternoon.

Since my kids had thoroughly trashed the place, I felt it was time to slink out.

Clearly the Yoys and mansions don't mix.  It's like drinking and driving or driving and texting.

The Yoys in 30 years.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

The Next Great Stall Tactic

Big E has introduced a new bedtime stall tactic into the mix.

MOM, I HAVE 60 QUESTIONS TO ASK YOU.

He will appear out of his room many minutes and sometimes hours after I thought he was asleep and announce our impending interview.

Tonight, Big E pulled the question card while I was tucking him in.  Thankfully, he only had ten questions for me to answer.  Ten I can handle.

MOMMY, WHY DOES THE SUN STAY OUT ALL DAY AND THE MOON ALL NIGHT?

He leads with a real brain buster.

I dig deep.  What do I remember from my Intro to Astronomy class at UF?  If only I had purchased the textbook instead of A+ Notes.

I take a calming breath and blurt out some mess about the Earth, the sun, and rotation.  Why do I feel like I'm being graded?  Like he would know the difference anyway...or would he?  Wait, am I sweating?

He seems pretty satisfied with my answer.  I give myself an A++.  It's the end of the day, I'm worn out from being in the sun, and I'm about two chips away from being in a Mexican food coma.

MOMMY, WHY DO ALL MY TOYS BREAK?

Oh, this one I have, EASILY.

Big E, all of your toys are made in China.  They have no quality control and are made with materials that are probably toxic.  But they are inexpensive, so everyone turns a blind eye.

CHINA?  OHHHH.  He says it so knowingly.  I laugh.  Little does he know they will own our entire country in about 50 years.

MOMMY, WHY DO I HAVE TO SLEEP IN A BIG BOY BED?

I explain that he is now a big boy which he, in turn, vehemently denies.

I WANT TO SLEEP IN YOUR BED.  THERE ARE MONSTERS IN HERE.

I assure him there are no monsters and he retorts that Mr. Yoy told him there were.

Thanks for THAT, Mr. Yoy.

At this point, I decide our evening's interview is O-V-E-R.

GOOD NIGHT, CARL SAGAN!  I flip the lights off and get the heck out of there.

I have less than 12 hours to study up on the general knowledge questions I will be asked in the morning.

Wish me luck!

Maybe I need to keep a copy of this tucked under Big E's mattress.  Just in case...



Friday, May 18, 2012

The Definition of Insanity

Repeating the same action over and over again and expecting different results.

This theory is easily applicable to every day life.

For instance, downing 2-3 Willy's burritos per week will not encourage my weight loss.  Even if I did talk a stroll around the block this morning.

Another example, the Yoys at their school's weekly Shabbat service from 12:15-12:45.

Yes, I'm aware it is only 30 minutes.  Surely my kids could keep their sh*t together for 30 minutes.  Guess again.

I actually stopped going at some point during the year because they were both so disruptive.

Then I started creeping in the back of the room a few minutes after Shabbat started so I could observe Big E. The amazing thing is, when I'm not there, he sits comfortably in his teacher's lap and is a perfect angel. What in the hell?

Today, I sent Little E to school, which I don't normally do, but I needed a few hours to myself.  I arrived for Shabbat, but the Yoys weren't in the room yet.

I grabbed a chair and waited for them.  Big E ran in first.

MAMA!  MAMA!

What a greeting!  He ran over and put his head in my lap.

Next came Little E, or as Mr. Yoy and I refer to him, Big Baby.  Think, the big baby doll from Toy Story 3.  This is Little E.  All he says is MAMA over and over again.

In ran Little E.  His face erupted into a huge smile when he saw me.  He started running. MAMA!  MAMA! MAMA!

They both tried to climb up into my lap, it was then that I made a deadly mistake.  I moved to the floor.

First, they fought over how much room each had in my lap.

Big E soon moved onto practicing his gymnastics moves in a very tight space.  Oh yes, please excuse Mary Lou Retton, he feels the need to do a somersault right now.  I grab his flailing feet to prevent any injuries.

The remainder of the program consists of the two of them running back and forth across the room, wrestling, tackling, yelling, and just being horribly disruptive.

I whispered in my meanest Mrs. Yoy hiss:

IF YOU DON'T SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW WE ARE LEAVING!

Big E looked right through me.  Like I was dead.  He continued on his tyrant.

Again, I told him we were going to leave.  Another teacher asked him to sit down.  I had had enough.

I checked my watch.  Twelve more minutes of this if we stay.  I called it.  I got up and walked out.

Big Baby followed me immediately.  MAMA!  MAMA!  MAMA!  I strode down the hall.

Big E followed in tears.

I WANT TO PLAY WITH MY FRIENDS!  I WANT TO STAY!

I was raging mad.  I was so frustrated.  I know he is only three, but good lord, why can't he listen?  Just once?

I headed for the doors with the two whiners.  Big E didn't follow me into the parking lot.  He stood in front of school.

FINE.  STAY.  I'M LEAVING.

He began crying.  I grabbed his hand and got them both into the car.

I WANT TO WATCH TV!

Yeah, right.  I'm so mad, you'll be lucky if you get dinner! (I thought to myself but didn't say that one aloud).

On the way home,  he apologized profusely.  He announced he wanted to take a nap.  He peppered me with questions.

I stayed silent.  I was literally too angry to talk to him.

I know that this is a common complaint from parents, but I am feeling defeated.  How do you get them to listen?  I'm seriously going to lose my damn mind.
Stamped on my forehead.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Take Your Yoy to Work Day (or maybe not)

Mr. Yoy asked if I could bring the boys by for dinner and take a look at his new office with all of his pictures professionally hung.

I, of course, obliged as I am always looking for something to kill time before bedtime.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO DRIVE INTO THE HEART OF BUCKHEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF RUSH HOUR?

or

WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY AT HOME FROM THE HOURS OF 4-7PM WHILE YOUR KIDS SLOWLY DRIVE YOU INSANE?

This mom would take traffic any day of the week.

So we headed off to Terminus.

We made pretty good time, by the way, until we hit Piedmont.  What a cluster!

We hit up Mr. Yoy's office first.  It looked fantastic!  Big and Little E seated themselves next to the window and ogled the women at the three hotel pools within view.

No wonder Mr. Yoy asked for binoculars for Father's Day.  (That was a joke)

We walked over to Ru San's for some sushi dinner.  I give them props for blasting their music.  It makes me much more relaxed as there is something louder than my children.  But I take away props for seating everyone in one small corner.  We were much too close to some of the other diners who were there sans children and I'm sure muttered SH*T! when we were sat next to them.  I would!

The boys were ok at dinner.  Little E complained his way through dinner and Big E had ants in his pants.

On our walk back to Mr. Yoy's office, Big E asked if we could spend some more time with daddy.  It was so sweet, that I agreed.  Plus, they both took two hour naps and there was no way they were going to fall asleep anytime soon.

We made our way back to Mr. Yoy's office and the boys immediately went back to the window.  They smeared their sushi hands all over the glass, so that it appears that Mr. Yoy now has special frosted windows in his office.

The Yoys then discovered the textured glass on one side of Mr. Yoy's desk.  Now THIS was a goldmine.

They smashed their faces into it from each side.  They were like distorted versions of themselves.  They were giggling uncontrollably.  It was getting louder and louder.

Mr. Yoy sat at his computer replying to emails, unfazed by the disaster that was unfolding.

Sniff.  Sniff.  Little E must have dropped a bomb in all of the office excitement.

We had swiftly turned Mr. Yoy's office into a loud, dirty, hot box.  I changed Little E's diaper as fast as I could.

Big E thanked me for letting him see Little E's poop. Weird, but polite.

I told Big E we were leaving.  He negotiated four more minutes.  Then another five.  Good lord, he is just like his father!

When I attempted to put Little E in the stroller he went insane.  He did not want to part ways with the glass desk.

Big E, for some reason, also wanted to be in the stroller, which NEVER HAPPENS.  He also started crying once we had Little E locked in.  Yes, it took both parents to get him in there.

With two crying Yoys, Mr. Yoy could not get us to the elevator fast enough.  As the elevator opened, we both shot each other a smirk.

HOW IN THE HELL COULD WE HAVE CREATED THESE TWO DEMON BABIES?

We were both thinking the same thing.  Except he got to stay at work and I had to go home with them.

As we descended in the elevator the screaming continued. How did we end up on the Tower of Terror at Universal Studios?  We may not have been free falling, but trust me, this elevator ride was terrifying.  I prayed that we didn't have to stop on another floor.

I finally had the Yoys in their car seats and we were headed home.

Big E felt the need to do a post-mortem on his behavior. I always find this humorous.

MOMMY, HOW WAS I AT SUSHI?

I'm never really sure how he wants me to respond.  Is this on a scale of 1 to 10?  Or is he looking for more of an essay thing?

MOMMY, WAS I A BAD BOY AT DADDY'S OFFICE?

This is a much easier question and answer.  A resounding YES!

Half crying, he asks if he can go back to Daddy's office to apologize.

I stifle a laugh.  I get so frustrated with his behavior, but then two minutes later he has me smiling and laughing. It's a skill, it truly is.
So many swimming pools...

We have ourselves a game, folks!

Today, the Yoys received a mid-day bath.

Big E was dirty enough when I picked him up from school. Mysterious stains clung to his once navy t-shirt.  But as dirt overachievers we were not done.  I then took him to an hour long class at a local art school where he glued, painted, and glittered.  After that he was really dirty. Like, he could easily be inducted into the dirty hall of fame (on the first try).

In general, I like to put the Yoys to bed squeaky clean, but mid-day baths do have one redeeming quality.

They are done mid-day.  Before all of my energy and patience has been consumed.  Then, when bedtime comes, it is one less thing on my list.  Although, I do have to spend the majority of the afternoon keeping them indoors and away from food, paint, and anything else that could potentially require a SECOND bath of the day.  THE HORROR!

Getting back to my point, we were in the bath.

Things were moving along right on schedule.  I had finished cleaning them up and it was now playtime. Playtime consists of Little E playing with toys and Big E grabbing each and every single toy away from Little E. Then Little E cries out for me to intervene and make things right in the tub world.

It is really pitiful.

But today something new happened.

Big E took away the Thomas bath toys Little E had been clutching in his sausage fingers.

Little E began crying.  He was mad.  I watched as his eyes searched the tub for a revenge vehicle.  It came in the form of a giant boat floating past.

Little E picked up that boat and threw it at Big E.

TARGET!  DIRECT HIT!

For a split second, I was so, so happy for Little E.  After 21 months of constant torture and bullying at the hands of his big brother, he FINALLY fought back.  Little E had had enough of Big E's sh*t!  I have been waiting for this moment.

Crying.  This time from Big E.  I'm not sure if he was truly hurt, but at the very least his ego was.  It's not that I want to see either of my children injured, I'm just saying Big E may have had that coming.

My hope is that Little E continues to stand up for himself and that Big E learns to be kinder to his brother.

I am aware of how unrealistic this is, but I'm just stating this as my hope.

The reality is they will probably wrestle and break all of my furniture, etc. until they leave for college in about 15 years.
My future.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Off with his thumb!

Big E will be three and a half next week.

He kicked the pacifier habit long ago.

But he has developed an even harder habit to break.  He is a thumb sucker.  Big time.  His calloused thumb serves as a constant reminder of my parenting fail.

HOW DID I LET THIS GO SO LONG?

At his dentist appointment yesterday, I learned that he has developed a 30% overbite from his relentless sucking and his teeth were flaring out on the side he favors. Awesome.

Big E's dentist and I both feel like we need to break the habit now, as I'm sure he will already need years and years of orthodontic work based on his genes.  Why complicate things even more?

During the day, I constantly remind him to pull his thumb out.

He shyly smiles and does, but I know he can't help out.  He probably doesn't even know he is doing it.

Tonight I tucked him in, and explained that if he went a whole week without sucking his thumb, I'd take him to the toy store and he could pick out a special treat.

He seemed really happy about the prospect, then immediately put his thumb in his mouth.

UH, BIG E?

I motioned to his thumb.  He pulled it out.

I'LL START TOMORROW, MOMMY!

Smart kid.  But, I still made him take it out.

I peeked in on him about thirty minutes after I put him down.  His thumb was snuggly tucked into his mouth.

Aside from going all French Revolution on him, can you think of a less emotionally scarring way to break Big E of his thumb habit?
Big E's future teeth if he doesn't cut it out.  Also, pictures of teeth scare me, but I'm not sure why.

Regression Analysis

Ok, people.  It's time to pull out your Statistics 101 notes from school and have a discussion on a little topic known as regression analysis.

If your mind immediately jumped to independent and dependent variables, please close out of my blog immediately.  We can no longer be friends.

I'm referring to Big E.

For months this kid was air tight.  He had zero accidents after day one of potty training.  I was all braggity braggity brag about him.

OH, POTTY TRAINING.  THAT WAS A PIECE OF PUBLIX CAKE.  SO SUPER EASY. BLAH BLAH BLAH.  I DON'T KNOW WHY EVERY OTHER MOMMY IS SO INTIMIDATED BY THE PROCESS.

Dang, I should have shut the hell up.  I should have known I'd have to eat my words.

There are two sides of Big E.

Big E away from home is all about going to the bathroom.

We could be in the dirtiest Walmart ever and Big E will absolutely have to use the bathroom.  Even if he just went thirty minutes ago.

Last week I had to take Big E to the bathroom in Costco. This also meant I had to take Little E.  So all three of us were in a stall.  Little E sat down on the floor.  I gagged as I balanced Big E on the toilet.  Big E released approximately one teaspoon of urine.  I would have slammed my head against the stall, if I hadn't been in a public restroom.

I complain to my mom and I can FEEL her smirking through the phone.  Apparently, I had an affinity for Winn Dixie restrooms as a toddler.  Payback is a b*tch!

The other side of Big E comes out at home.  He'll go hours without using the restroom.  When I see him grabbing his crouch, I ask him if he has to use the restroom. Sometimes he'll go, sometimes he'll tell me he doesn't have to go.

Yesterday, he was engrossed in his learning books and by the time he made it to the bathroom, he unloaded all over the rug.

Today, he did the same thing, except I had thrown the rug out yesterday.  In hindsight, a rug in that bathroom at this juncture of time is a horrible idea.

We did a quick wardrobe change and I cleaned up the floor.  I was extra agitated because my cleaning people were here this morning.  Couldn't he have waited a few days before urinating all over the floor?

For the record, that answer is always NO.

Not an hour later he completely unloaded in the playroom and then yelled at me to not come in there.  He has yet to learn the tricks to manipulating his parents.

Of course, I ran right in there to a puddle of urine.  Ugh.

I've heard that regression is normal, but this is completely frustrating.

Do you have any helpful hints to combat his regression?

Or should I just go ahead and drop him off at the local fire station?  Hypothetically speaking, that is.
I imagine this is what is going on inside Big E's head.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

And for the grand finale...

If you haven't already heard me complaining, Mr. Yoy left Friday on a mostly work, with a little bit of play, trip to Washington D.C.

He is currently in flight on his way back to the ATL.

I don't know why I'm feeling so relieved.  I still have Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday to get through before I will have some hands on help this weekend.

At least I'll be able to talk to someone older than Big E.  I'm growing bored of this week's hot topics which include stickers, goldfish crackers, and trains.

So here I am.  Worn out.  Moving dangerously close to completely losing my sh*t.  I've had zero help.  No parents, no babysitter, nothing.  Just me and these two little tornadoes.  From morning until night.  This explains why they've been going to bed at 6:30.

As we approached the end of the day, I was starting to feel hopeful again.  All is not lost.  I will survive.  As part of my abandonment therapy, I will spend gobs of money redecorating our house and my wardrobe.

The following is what went down between 5pm and 6:30pm, when I finally put the Yoys to bed.

5:03 PM: Big E pees all over the guest bathroom rug while attempting to pull down his pants.  This results in me doing my third load of laundry today.  (Side note, the rug completely fell apart in the washing machine.  RIP rug.)

5:06 PM: I bring Big E down a clean pair of undies, but no shorts as we have already done baths mid-day and will be switching to jammies shortly.  There is no need to blow through another pair of shorts.  I do enough damn laundry as it is.

5:07 PM: Big E goes crazy nuts over the fact that he isn't wearing shorts.

5:08 PM:  Mrs. Yoy locks herself in the guest bathroom so I don't go crazy nuts on my kids.  Big E is nipping at my heels and banging on the door.  I sit in the dark and take deep breaths.

5:10 PM: I tell Big E to sit in his chair, sans shorts, so we can eat dinner.  He whines a bit, but finally concedes.

5:30 PM: Big E announces his after dinner BM and makes a beeline for the stairs.  I follow him up to his potty.  He tells me he has already gone in his pants.  My heart sinks.  But he actually hasn't.  He takes a man dump.  We all applaud.

5:40 PM:  We are all back downstairs while I clean up the kitchen.  I notice an ant infestation and get to work on extermination.

5:45 PM: Big E yells that he is back in the downstairs bathroom and has pooped on his step stool.  This time he has.  I clean it up and run back upstairs for another pair of undies.  I return to find Big E flushing the toilet.  It backs up.  Sweet Lord.

5:46 PM: I harness my best plumber imitation and plunge the toilet.  I glance at my watch.  It IS too early to put them to bed.  Isn't it?

5:50 PM: We head to the playroom to kill some time. What is that smell?  Of course, Little E, not to be outdone, has left me a doozy.  Ugh.

5:51 PM: We all make the trip upstairs.  It is over for me.  I read a few books, straighten up their rooms for the cleaning people (it is a sickness, I know) and put the Yoys to bed.

I feel like I just completed a marathon, without actually running.

I'm tired.  Physically and mentally.  I need a break.

Would it be bad to check myself into the St. Regis for Mother's Day and lay in bed all day reading US Weeklys and watching rom-coms?

Also, I'd like to give a shout-out to single parents.  They are amazing, hands down.

After the week I've had, it better be.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

A Replacement Poppy

Yesterday, I met Aunt Yoy up at the train museum in Kennesaw.

We love the train museum for many reasons.

1) My kids would give any major appendage to play with trains.  They are not choosy as to what type.  Just give it to them.  Now.  Please.

2) The train museum has a large children's area which is almost always empty.  It's like our own private museum.  Me likey!

3) It guarantees a BM.  I don't know if they just get so excited it stirs up the digestion process or what, but it is a rather odd phenomenon.

As we entered the train holy land, we noticed a grandfather playing with his grandson, who had just turned three.

The two of them together reminded me a lot of my dad and Big E.  It made me smile.

I began talking to him about the train museum, his grandson, my crazy kids, etc.  He was very kind and patiently answered all of Big E's questions.  Barbara Walters better watch out.  This kid is gunning for her job!

We had been in the room about thirty minutes, which is apparently about the time it takes for Big E to completely warm up to a complete stranger.

The grandfather was sitting on the floor doing puzzles with his grandson.

I watched Big E grab a book and bring it over to the man I will forever refer to as Replacement Poppy (RP).

WILL YOU READ THIS TO ME?

I immediately intervened.  I didn't want Big E to take away from RP's time with his grandson.

BIG E, I'LL READ IT TO YOU.  COME HERE.

RP graciously agreed to read the book.  I sat watching Big E.  I was amazed.

Without hesitation, he snuggled right into RP.  Big E rested his elbow on RP's leg and began to suck his thumb. He was in a trance.

Part of me found the moment to be sweet.  I know Big E misses his Poppy when he is in Florida.  I was grateful RP was being so kind to my child.

Part of me was scared sh*tless.  How does my kid not have any trepidation towards strangers?  I've seen it before, but he was much younger and unaware.

RP finished the story and Big E, unprompted by the way (YES!), thanked RP for reading him a book.  I also thanked him as I felt bad that Big E had just hijacked RP's playtime with his grandson.

I relayed the story to Mr. Yoy and we both agreed this kid needs some stranger danger lessons ASAP.  I hate to teach him to be wary of everyone, but unfortunately it has to be done.


Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Would you like to make a donation to (insert today's hot cause here)?

Let me start by saying I am no scrooge.

Mr. Yoy and I donate plenty in charitable contributions each year.  (Tax returns available upon request)

I just don't like being put on the spot.

For example, I went nuts on this guy a few weeks back who parked himself at a major intersection by my house for almost two weeks.  I drive through this intersection at least twice a day.  So, if I gave this guy a quarter every time I drove through, essentially this man has turned a public street into a toll road.

After ignoring him for many days, I felt obliged to roll down my window as I was the first car in line at the light and he was making crazy eye contact with me.

He gave me his spiel for his cause.  I politely declined. Then he made some sort of doubting statement to the tune of:

YOU CAN'T TELL ME YOU DON'T HAVE A QUARTER OR TWO IN YOUR CAR.

Then I told him to apply for a job at Georgia 400 (the nice and abbreviated version of what I said).

If it is not this guy it is Publix or Costco or H&M (tsunami anyone?)

Today it was the checker at Costco.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO DONATE TO CHILDREN'S HEALTHCARE OF ATLANTA?

Internally, I laughed like a total psychopath for many, many minutes.  I caused SUCH a backup in the line.

Externally, I gave my standard no thank you.

You see, last summer, Big E took a nose dive off a train. The sound of his skull hitting the concrete still resonates in my head.  It scarred me.  Big time.

I rushed Big E to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta (CHOA) where they had him in and out in under an hour.  He briefly saw a nurse who applied some neosporin and a bandaid.

Wow, what a positive experience we had at CHOA.  We SO love CHOA.

Until we got a bill.  For $800.

WHAT THE WHAT?

I know the US healthcare system blows big chunks, but this was ridiculous!!

Mr. Yoy did his best to fight the bill, but they weren't budging.

We agreed to a payment plan where we angrily paid $80 a month until we settled our debt.

We actually just made our last payment this month.

And now they want me to make a donation?

Uh, I think we've donated enough, thank you very much. And don't make me feel bad about it.

This is what I must look like.

No Farting at Jason's Deli

Last night we met Mr. Yoy for a quick dinner at Jason's Deli.

We grabbed the last of the available booths and settled in for dinner.

The boys were eating and actually behaving.

Mr. Yoy and I were reviewing our days.

I repositioned myself on the booth and my hot skin against the sticky vinyl made that familiar sound.

Big E's eyes opened as wide as saucers.

DADDY!  YOU PASSED GAS!

Big E yelled out for all to hear.

There were two things that prevented this from not being the most embarrassing meal we've had with Big E in his three short years.

1)  He wasn't in possession of a microphone.

2)  Our closest food neighbors were a table or two away.

BIG E, THAT WAS MOMMY'S LEG, NOT DADDY PASSING GAS.

I tried reasoning with him.  That went well.

DADDY!  YOU PASSED GAS!

He announce it again in case anyone missed it.

I tried to make the noise again to prove it was me, but we ALL know that never ever ever works.

So we busted out the birthday cookies for a distraction. That did the job.

On a side note, we are very classy here at the Yoys and we do not call it farting.  Passing gas is way more sophisticated.