Friday, June 29, 2012

Small Girl, Big Opinion

Today was the last day of art camp for Big E.  All week they worked on a Picasso-esque painting of a cat.  Big E talked about his painting all week.  He was very excited to show me the finished product.

Big E was beaming with pride as his teacher handed over his painting.

OH, BIG E, IT IS WONDERFUL!

Now, I'm not sure how much help he had, but for a three year old, I thought it truly was awesome.

NO, HE MESSED UP SOME!

I looked down at one of his fellow campers.  I'd say she was about five.  I suppressed the urge to punch her in the gut.

I'm not a confrontational person.  Not even a little.  I say all sorts of nasty things in my head, but never release them to the general public, unless it is in my semi-anonymous blog.

IT IS NOT MESSED UP, IT IS BEAUTIFUL!  BIG E, I LOVE IT SO MUCH!

I quickly snapped back at her.  Big E's wide, proud smile faded to a very faint one.

YOUR PAINTING SUCKS WORSE, LITTLE GIRL!

Again, I didn't actually say that.  Because I am an adult and know better, allegedly.

I grabbed Big E, his painting, thanked his teacher and got the hell out of that over critical room.

Please tell me I'm not overreacting.  I was really mad. Don't rain on my kid's parade, just because your parents are poo-pooing everything you do.

And that was the end of my fight with a five year old.
Big E's painting.  I'd say it's better than a lot of stuff hanging in the art museum.

Why don't you drive off a cliff?

I'm not going to lie.  This thought occasionally runs through my mind when people say or do something I'm not super jazzed about.

This morning, as I prepared to load the Yoys up in the big red bus, Little E did just that.

He was riding around the house on one of the thirteen toy vehicles we have purchased/inherited over the past few years.

As Little E came to the threshold of the door that leads out to the garage, he had an Evil Kenevel moment.

He could stop, or he could gun it.  Down one, big step.

Much to my dismay, he gunned it.  I heard a loud, crashing noise and then wailing.

OY.

I ran over to Little E.  His body half underneath the front of the car.  No bleeding, so that was a plus.  He would definitely bruise, though.  Just in time for a visit from the extended Yoyser family.  Sweet.  Now they will suspect I'm abusing my kids.

Is it wrong that the one thing that popped into my head as Little E took his fateful leap was:

O'DOYLE RULES!

Yes, I just made a Billy Madison reference.  'Cause I'm awesome like that.
O'DOYLE RULES!  O'DOYLE RULES!

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Mrs. Yoy: Friends Wanted

I have seen Mr. Yoy a total of 8 awake hours over the past week, with the majority of it coming last night when we hired a sitter and went over to the Dwood Yoysers to visit with my brand new nephew.

Mr. Yoy is killing it at work.  He is working crazy long hours and with NBA players now trademarking their eyebrows, I may never see Mr. Yoy again.

Anyway, I'll admit it.  I'm bored.  And, a little lonely.  I try to put the kiddos to bed at a reasonable hour, and then I have a few hours to tool around the house.

I can only eat so much ice cream and watch so much Say Yes to the Dress before my brain begins melting and slowly slides out of my ears.

Tonight, I spent 30 plus minutes on the phone with a stranger that was contemplating buying my bar stools I had for sale on Craigslist.  We were chatting it up about how hard it was to find the right bar stools.

The ones I am selling are pretty nice, solid stools.  My one complaint is that they have wicker seats and if you look close enough, you can see the remnants of every meal Big E has eaten lodged in there since he began using the stools in 2010.

My patience for tweezing old food out of wicker bar stools currently stands at nil.  So, I am selling them instead.  I, of course, did not disclose this to Miss G, even though she was a lovely lady.

I did mention the stools once belonged to Mr. Yoy's ex-girlfriend.   Every time Big E passed gas or smeared something nasty on them, it brought me nothing but pure joy.  They've been in my kitchen since we moved in in 2006, taunting me, and I've finally been motivated to replace them.

Miss G and I agreed the stools should not be in my house any longer.  We chatted and chatted and chatted.  In the end, I told her the stools were probably going to be too short for her counter.  She thanked me for my patience and kindness.  I wished her luck on finding the right stools.

We said our goodbyes.  I may or may not have shed a tear.  I liked Miss G.

What is my point, you ask?

To all my friends out there, if you are also bored, or are sick of your husbands, call me.  I'll be here.  Watching TLC, where people with minimum wage jobs buy budget busting wedding gowns.

And if I don't know you, please leave a comment!  I always wonder if anyone is reading this...

Thanks!
Good choice, Randy, very good choice!





Thursday, June 21, 2012

Big E: The Opposite of the Craig's List Killer

The Yoy house is going through puberty.  There have been a lot of changes around this place.

Big E's crib got the see-ya and now he is sleeping in a full bed.

Mr. Yoy and I received a fresh coat of paint in our room courtesy of future Cousin Yoy.

The biggest change of all has been to our family room.  It looks like a totally different space.  I love it.

These changes have created a need to either back the Goodwill 18-wheeler up to our house, or do some major Craig's List selling.

I have chosen the latter as it is cash in hand, although exponentially more sketchy.

I hate selling things on CL.  For the most part, I am alone when I invite these strangers into my home.  Visions of the Craig's List killer dance through my mind.

Mostly, I am selling baby stuff, and it is usually a pregnant chick I'm dealing with, but you never know...

Anyway, today I had a woman rush down from Calhoun to buy all of Big E's nursery stuff.  Everything.  For $50.  It was the deal of the century!

When I answered the door, Ms. R stood their with her little baby boy she had just adopted.  It was enough to melt your heart.

Big E took to Ms. R immediately.

WHAT'S YOUR NAME?

WHAT'S YOUR BABY'S NAME?

WHY IS YOUR BABY WEARING A SWIMSUIT? (he wasn't)

I HAVE A BROTHER, HIS NAME IS LITTLE E.

THIS IS A PICTURE OF MY DADDY AT MY UNCLE'S WEDDING. (he went and retrieved this picture)

THIS IS ALL MY STUFF. (my personal favorite)

Ms. R laughed at Big E and asked him how old he was.

I tried to catch her eye and somehow, telepathically, communicate with her not to speak or make eye contact with Big E.  Once you did, it was over.

Too late for her!

Big E trailed her back to her car and spouted random facts about the Yoy family and himself.

I know I've said it before, but seriously, don't tell this kid anything you wouldn't want to read on the internet. Because that is where it will end up.

His parting words to Ms. R as she climbed back into her car:

HAVE A NICE TIME WITH YOUR BABY!

Big E may not be the next Craig's List killer, unless you actually CAN kill someone with kindness.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Night Swimming (not just a top 5 REM song)

Tonight I took the Yoys to Mr. Yoy's company softball game.  It was a 6:30 game, early enough that it could potentially work.

I pushed my luck a tad when we then went to Fellini's after their epic loss.

The boys were pretty good, given the time.

I buckled them in and headed home around 8:45.  I was tired, although they showed no signs of stopping.

I was willing to gamble my life's savings on them both falling asleep on the drive home.  They both were in desperate need of a bath, so I could not allow this to happen.  I rolled down their windows, cranked the radio, and fielded question after question from Big E.  I felt pretty confident I could keep them awake.

In between Big E's questions, I went through everything I needed to do tonight before I was able to meet my long, lost friend.  My bed.

Then I realized it was Tuesday night.  The cleaning people would be here in the morning, and I was pretty sure my house was a sh*tshack.  Panic pulsed through my veins.  I have so much to do and I'm so tired.  Lord, I sound like such a privileged whiner.

Upon our arrival at home, Mr. Yoy took the boys upstairs and I straightened up downstairs.  It still needed some major work, but getting them to bed was priority numero uno.

Big E was naked by the time I reached upstairs.  His clothes were strewn about like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs.

Little E was running around with his bath cups.  He was in a superior mood given we were about 2.5 hours past his normal bedtime.

I turned the tub on and waited for it to fill up.  I grew antsy, so I decided to clean up Big E's clothes.

MOM!  LITTLE E IS THE TUB!  WITH HIS SHOES ON!

He sang it in that oh-so-familiar tattletale tune.

SAY WHAT, WILLIS?

I ran in the bathroom.  There sat Little E.  Fully clothed. Fully shoed.  Laughing is head off.  In a tub half full of water.  Sweet.

I call for Mr. Yoy.

We laugh uncontrollably for about 30 seconds.  We are so proud.

Little E will be two next month.  For the past four months, I've had to drag his naked body into that tub.  He wants nothing to do with it.  Tonight, something must have piqued his interest.  Maybe it was the giant duck watering cans my mom bought him last week.

I got to work peeling off his wet clothes.  An added bonus for me, his water logged diaper.

It is too late and I'm too tired for this sh*t.  But Little E is so happy and smiley, it is hard to stay mad at him.

Both boys are now asleep and I'm staring at Little E's soaked New Balances.  It is hard not to crack a smile.  I love my crazy house.
Little E: Ending today on a high note.

Monday, June 18, 2012

A Thin Line Between Swim Lessons and Attempted Murder

A few of my neighbors hired a swim instructor to come in and give the kids swim lessons at our neighborhood pool.

Big E is almost four and I feel like there is no time like the present to tackle this.

For the most part, Big E is a big fan of the pool.  He has no problem putting his face in the water and blowing bubbles.  I assumed swim lessons would be cake.

The first warning shot came via a text from my neighbor whose son had the first allotted time slot of the day's lessons.

SWIM CLASS UPDATE: CRYING ALREADY

I tried to remain upbeat as I dressed Big E and lathered him with sunscreen.

By the time we arrived at the pool, our neighbor was finished with his lesson.  His mom reported he had yelled for a good fifteen minutes.

I was still holding onto hope that Big E would be a superstar student.  But the nagging doubts I had been ignoring were bubbling to the surface.

The teacher took Big E and explained to him how everything was going to happen and went through a book about a duck learning to swim.  She also told me not to be alarmed by the crying.  It was very normal.

WHO ME?  I'M NOT THAT CRAZY, OVERPROTECTIVE MOTHER.  HE PROBABLY HAS A GOOD DUNK OR TWO COMING TO HIM, ANYWAY.

I took Little E and went to sit in the covered patio area, a ways back from the pool.

It took one dunk from Ms. C and it was over.

He began crying.  It quickly escalated to shrieking.

I WANT TO GET OUT OF THE POOL!

I DON'T LIKE THIS!

I WANT MY MOMMY!

His wails echoed throughout our unfinished neighborhood.

My mommy instinct implored me to dive into the pool and save him from this mean, dunk-happy swim instructor.

I tried to keep myself busy with Little E.  He was busy eating crumbs left on the table by prior pool guests.  I can always count on him to need some parenting.

I thought back to when I learned to swim.  I vaguely remember it, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't being pulled under in the backyard pool of my Rabbi's house.  I guess if I was, I blocked it out, so that is promising for Big E.

Another neighbor arrived.

IS THAT BIG E SCREAMING?

She looked alarmed.  And why wouldn't she?   Her daughter was up next!

The moms all discussed how we would convince our children to come back tomorrow. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday.

I came up with an idea tonight as I took my shower.

We could rent a prisoner transport bus from the city of Atlanta.  Because that is truly the only way those kids are going back to the pool.  For real.
The beginning of the end.

Let's Get Real

In my pretend-perfect mommy world, my kids are the cutest, best-dressed, most well-behaved and mannered children anyone has ever encountered.  They are one notch below robots.

Their diets are impeccable.  They only ingest unprocessed, organic foods.  They are basically doing the Paleo diet.

Snack cups full of goldfish and cheerios?  The thought of it makes me gag.  Who would poison their kids with that crap?

Saturday morning we took the kids to the Peachtree Farmer's Market.  We attend under the guise of buying fresh organic fruits and vegetables, and sometimes we actually do.

But let's get real.  I make a beeline to the Queen of Tarts, where I get my fix of warm fruity pocket goodness.

This past Saturday, we bought the Yoys hummingbird muffins.  I'm not really sure what they are, but I heard pineapple and banana and I was sold.

We sat the kids under a tree and divided the muffin up for them to eat for breakfast.

I watched as the Yoys went to town.  Little E was basically eating the paper the muffin came in.  He couldn't get enough.  Within five minutes, a muffin crumb beard had popped up on his face.  He was in heaven.

Big E wasn't far behind, although he wasn't as messy.

I bent down to them and attempted to wipe their hands and faces.  This IS Buckhead and I don't want all the richies to think my kids are barbarians.

When I stood up, I noticed a familiar face walking towards me.  It took a minute for me to place her, but then it hit me.

OH SH*T, IT IS THE BOYS' PEDIATRICIAN!

Normally, I would love to run into Dr. K.  I love her!

But here I was.  A sitting duck.  Feeding my kids complete and utter crap for breakfast.  I was so busted.  I hate that.

HI, DR. K!

I tried to sound casual and upbeat.  I prayed she didn't notice what the boys were eating.

I'M EATING A MUFFIN!

Thanks for that Big E.

I laughed nervously.  I made sure to mention it had fruit in it and hoped we cut skip the whole childhood obesity epidemic conversation.

I was relieved when she mentioned she only came to the market for the baked goods!

YES!

Around the same time, my mom walked up with some fresh carrots.  Her timing was perfect!

SEE, DR. K!  WE EAT CARROTS, TOO!

I thought that, but didn't actually say it.  My guilt already hung in the air like an unpicked apple.  Which, by the way, would have been a much better food choice.

For the record, the carrots are still in my fridge.  The rest of the hummingbird muffins are in the Yoys' bellies.

MUFFINS 1, CARROTS 0
I guess it could have been worse.  I could have had a grocery cart loaded with stuff like this.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

The Hangover Nanny

Last night we went to a going away karaoke party.  I really wanted to get up and sing, but I am a tad shy. So I had a few glasses of wine (three big honking red solo cups full) and got up on stage.  I killed some Ke$ha and Justin Bieber and had a grand time.  By the way, I have the music tastes of a fifteen year old girl.  Don't judge me.  It's catchy.

Around 12:30, Mr. Yoy suggested we head home.  While we were both enjoying ourselves, we knew no matter how late we stayed out, we had two little guys at home who would be up promptly at 7 AM.

As I settled into my wine induced coma, I had a nagging feeling that tomorrow was going to blow.

I wasn't even awoken by Big E.  I was awoken by my severe dehydration.  Around 5:45, I went downstairs to drink two giant glasses of water.  My drinking days are far behind me, and I'm a little rusty on all my post drinking rituals.  I had forgotten to drink any water before bedtime.

I couldn't fall back asleep so I watched some Law & Order circa 1995.  It was awesome.

Finally around 6:30, I crawled back to bed.

At 7:10, we received our first visit from Big E.

HI MOMMY!  WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING?

I can't even recall what I said to him.  I was on less than six hours of sleep, I had a massive headache, my tongue felt like a giant cotton ball, and I just wanted to pull all the covers and pillows over my head and disappear into my bed.

Over the next half hour, Big E kept popping back in to tell me something or to ask me to get up.

But I couldn't.  I just couldn't move.  And in my hangover haze, an idea came to me.

WE NEED A HANGOVER NANNY!

Job description as follows:

1) Keep my children out of our room
2) Dress and prepare breakfast for the Yoys
3) Bring water and Advil to me
4) Cook greasy foods to settle afflicted stomach
5) Stay on until I have the ability to shower, get dressed, and speak

This is the best idea I've had in awhile.  Seriously.

All I need is a volunteer.  Or two.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Big E: Reluctant Camper

Last summer, Big E gave us a hard time every morning before camp.  Once he was there, he had a great time. But the camp anticipation was a whole other, painful story.

Monday and Tuesday went off without a hitch.  He jumped right up in the car and didn't break into tears as we exited Riverside Drive.  I felt like we were over the camp hump.  Relief steamed off my shoulders.

And then came today.  Wednesday.  Day three of many, many, many days of camp this summer.

Mr. Yoy backed the car out of the garage.  Both boys were standing on the porch.  I opened the car door and turned to get Big E.

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO CAMP!

Aw, sh*t, let the games begin.

Big E took off.  Running as fast as his short legs could take him.  Down the hill, towards the model home.

BIG E!  GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!

He kept running.  It was way too early for me to go chasing after him.  I had not eaten my breakfast nor had any caffeine.  I was useless.

In the meantime, Little E was trying to climb into the truck.  He was about halfway there.  We pretended Little E was going to go to camp in Big E's place.

Big E came running back up the hill.  He made it about halfway.  He was hysterical.

I WANT TO GO TO CAMP!

My patience was spent for the day.  I wanted to yell at him.

SYBIL.  GET IN THE CAR NOW!

But I didn't.  Instead, I pulled Little E out of the car.  He was obviously mad.  He began shrieking.

We were disrupting the whole neighborhood.

I scooped up Little E, took him inside, and locked him in his playroom.  That went well.

I ran back outside.  Big E had run away again.

I was desperate.  I jumped in the car like Mr. Yoy and I were leaving.

BYE, BIG E!  WE ARE OFF TO CAMP!

That was enough to draw Big E back up the hill.  I was praying our neighbors weren't peering out their windows.

THOSE YOYS ARE RIDING THE CRAZY TRAIN. AND ARE TERRIBLE PARENTS, TO BOOT.

I buckled a crying Big E into his car seat.  I waved and ran back inside to a screaming Little E.  I glanced at the clock. It was 8:30, way too early for all this action.

Mr. Yoy called me about ten minutes later.  Big E was still crying.  He wanted to say goodbye to me.  Only then, did he finally calmed down.

Later, Mr. Yoy told me that upon arrival at camp, these words came out of Big E's mouth.

BIG E IS HERE.  LET CAMP BEGIN!

Big E sleeping off his camp hangover.



A Valid Argument?

I picked Big E up from summer camp today around 1:30.

As we began the ride back to our 'hood, I asked Big E what he did today.

The weather was finally decent after two mornings of rain, so the kids finally were able to go swimming.

Big E loves to go in the pool.  From about 1:40, the point when he told me about swimming, until I pulled the big red bus into the garage, Big E tried to convince me that he did not need a bath later.

I WENT IN THE POOL, SO I AM CLEAN.  I DON'T NEED ANOTHER BATH.

A smile crept onto my face.  I love to see how a three year old's logic plays out.

I explained that the pool was not necessarily clean.  I withheld the whole urine in the pool scenario, as I didn't want to give him any inspiration.

BUT, MOM, I WENT IN THE POOL, SO I AM CLEAN!

He repeated his argument many times.

I know I complain immensely about never seeing Mr. Yoy, but now that I think about it, he's always around.

As I sat there, discussing bath time with Big E, I realized it.  He is Mr. Yoy.  He is arguing his way out of a bath. And he's using his own sort of logic.  Simply amazing.  And scary.

If Big E's arguments aren't enough for me, I just need to look at Little E.  He is a Yoy clone.  It is hilarious.  And scary.

Anyway, Big E wasn't convinced by my reasoning. Shocking.  I pulled out the big guns.

SWIMMING POOLS HAVE CHLORINE IN THEM AND IT IS BAD FOR YOUR SKIN.  YOU NEED TO WASH IT OFF.

Big E digested that for a second, and then knowingly replied OK.

Wow, that was easier than any argument I've ever had with the real Mr. Yoy.

Except two minutes later he told me how he didn't need a bath later because he already took one.  In the pool.

OY.
Big E's idea of clean

Friday, June 1, 2012

Television: Brain Rotter or Life Saver?

This morning, Mr. Yoy witnessed first-hand, a mere 45 minutes of what I deal with on a daily basis.

Recently, and I'm sure this is not going to end anytime soon, the boys have been constantly wrestling, bothering, and harassing each other.  It usually ends with both of them high pitch screaming.  Big E instigates most of it, but Little E isn't necessarily trying to avoid it, either.

I'm becoming immune to it.  Mostly, it's just white noise for me, but for others (carpet lady, anyone?), it is soul shattering.

The only time the Yoys settle down, is when I turn the television on.  They both enter a trance and the house is quiet.

Mr. Yoy told me to leave the TV on all day.  While I can see where he is coming from, the thought of them watching TV all day makes me feel incredibly guilty.  I don't want to make them zombies.  I just want to make them quiet.

In the meantime, here is a list of ideas to help me survive the summer:

1) Guzzle liters of cheap wine.  I may still cringe at the screaming, but it'll be a happy cringe.

2) Develop a multiple personality disorder to escape the chaos when it is upon me.  If you can hear my kids' screams from the street, you can assume my other identity, Sybil has taken over my body.  Please call me that.  I will not respond to Mrs. Yoy.

3) Daydream of sending the Yoys to school five days a week.  Financially, we can't swing it, but the thought of laying on the couch in a silence coma for four hours at a time may be what I need to get me through the day.

4) Wear my iPod at all times.  Blast the volume.  Deal with the effects of hearing loss later.

In the meantime, I'm open to any suggestions to keep the Yoys from killing each other.

Only 2.5 months until school begins.

Just saying.

Zen.