Thursday, August 30, 2012

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted!

So, the 24 ounces of water I drank close to bedtime last night was a mistake.

I've been up to use the bathroom every few hours and the last time I got up, I was unable to fall back asleep.

I figured I'd blog.

Tomorrow, Mr. Yoy and I leave for our vacation - five days in LA.  It is almost hard for me to articulate how excited I am.  But I haven't allowed myself to really visualize my trip until now.

If I still had an office job, I'd be doing some extra internet surfing and cutting out earlier and earlier as my mind shifted from work to play mode.  I'd be doodling during meetings and taking long lunches.

Unfortunately, as a SAHM, there is no vacation mode.

HEY BIG E, WHY DON'T YOU FIX DINNER FOR YOU AND YOUR BROTHER TONIGHT?

ALSO, DRAW YOUR OWN BATH AND TUCK YOURSELF IN. THANKS!

Sure, like that would happen.

And while I normally hate flying, the idea of sitting on a cross country flight and just vegging out for many hours sounds intoxicating.

I'd like to take this time to point out the difference between flying with the Yoys and not.

YOY FLIGHT

1) I pit out my shirt before we even taxi away from the gate.  I am on EDGE.

2) I assess my plane neighbors.  Do they look mean? Short-tempered?  Like they may be down for a Barbara Walters-type interview courtesy of Big E?  I attempt to make eye contact and silently plead with them to have mercy on my soul.

3) I spend the entire flight anticipating what my kids will want/need next.  I'm like Mary Poppins, but without the stellar singing voice.  I'm pulling crazy sh*t out of my bag to keep the Yoys quiet.  People stare at me in disbelief.

HOW DID SHE FIT AN ENTIRE TRAIN SET IN HER PURSE? AND ALSO AN UMBRELLA?

4) I repeat my go to phrase every 3-5 seconds.

SHHH!  SHHH!  SHHH!

5) I repeat my other go to phrase every 3-5 seconds.

THE PILOT IS GOING TO COME BACK HERE AND KICK US OFF!  WE ARE LITERALLY GOING TO HAVE TO PARACHUTE OUT OF THIS BABY!

6) I nervously check and recheck my watch and calculate how many more minutes of this terrorist-level torture I have to endure.

7) I remind the Yoys that this is a non-pooping flight.  Don't do it.  Even in your diaper.  Just don't.

NON YOY FLIGHT

1) Hello iPod.  Hello book.  Hello plastic cup of cheap wine.

2) Smile empathetically at all the parents traveling with their kids.  I know the pain they are enduring.

This song may be thirty years old, but really, the Go-Gos were so wise:

VACATION, ALL I EVER WANTED.
VACATION, HAD TO GET AWAY.
VACATION, MEANT TO BE SPENT ALONE. (I'm pretty sure they were referring to my kids)

This will be our home for five days.  It is still up in the air as to whether we return to the ATL.  Ever.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Khaki and Cream with Envy

My mailbox had a special treat for me this afternoon, the Autumn 2012 (because Fall doesn't sound fancy enough) Pottery Barn Kids catalog.

I have a love/hate relationship with Pottery Barn Kids.

I love it.  I pour over the pages and look at the absolutely stunning bedrooms and playrooms and Halloween-themed decorations and begin salivating.  I long to grab my computer and spend thousands of dollars on stuff that I truly don't need.

I snap out of it.  I look around at my house.  I feel inadequate.

How are my kids supposed to grow up as happy, healthy, well-adjusted children without:

a) A crystal chandelier in their bedroom
b) A jumbo (four feet wide!) wall mounted paper roll for arts and crafts
c) A "Where the Wild Things Are" bed tent
d) A Halloween monogrammed chair backer (what the hell is this anyway?)
e) All of the above!

The pressure is mounting.  Why do I want to answer "e"? Why am I letting this bother me?

I equate this feeling to when I look through my beauty magazines at all the skinny, perfect models.  Then I look down to my belly where the crumbs of the pretzels I was just housing have gently found a new home.

I know that the models or, in this case, the beautifully staged rooms are not real life.  Usually.  But it still brings me down.

Which is why I also HATE the Pottery Barn Kids catalog.

But just when I was about to give into my mounting feelings of inadequacy I turned the page to reveal a beautiful, and I mean BEAUTIFUL, nursery.

It was done in predominately cream and light khaki.  And then I laughed my a** off.

That was the worst idea I've ever seen.

Yeah, at first your baby may just spit up milk, but what happens when they spitting up real foods like sweet potato and peas.  That sh*t does not come out.  It STAINS.

I had a moment of clarity.  The evil people bringing us the catalog are definitely designers, but they are definitely NOT parents.

I feel a little better, for now.

Until Pottery Barn Kids Winter 2012 arrives and I have a whole new set of unwanted feelings related to being Jewish, but I've already given you a glimpse into that crazy world.

Just looking at this picture brings a tear to my eye.






My Son, The Doctor

Aren't these the words every mother longs to say?

I expect nothing less from my kids, and as Big E's interest in his Fisher Price Medical Kit ramped up, so did my hopes.

But as I was working on all the future braggity brag lines I'd throw out to my Mah Jongg group just like unwanted tiles, a few clues arose that led me to believe I do not have a budding physician.

1) For whatever reason, our doctor kit has two shots.  Lucky me.  As Big E assessed my ailments he decided I needed to have both shots administered, in unison, while singing the brilliantly written LMFAO song, "Shots."

Haven't heard it?  Look it up.  It is about taking liquor shots, but Mr. Yoy thought it would be HI-LARIOUS to teach it to Big E.

2) My back is whack.  Really it is.  This is the second time this month I've become incapable of bending over and picking things up.  I've resorted to dropping Little E into his crib like an A-bomb.  He is not a fan.

Anyway, I was complaining to Big E about my bag and he proudly exclaimed he would examine me.  He took the toy thermometer and placed it up to my lower back.

NO FEVER, MOM!

I took a second look.  Yep, he was right, there was a big smiley face.  I must be imagining my symptoms.

3) After a thorough exam, Big E finally got around to looking in my ears.

EAR WAX!  SO MUCH EAR WAX!

I grabbed his little tool away from him and scowled at him.  So much for his bedside manner.

Tonight, I'm bathing in a little bit of disappointment.  Mr. Yoy has already said there was no way he'd let his kids become attorneys, so what does the future hold for Big E?

Maybe a fast paced life of tax returns?

Mrs. Yoy can dream...

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Stinky Feet

This afternoon we took the boys to see the Braves play.

The weather was pretty decent for mid-August.  Neither incredibly hot nor sunny and our seats were shaded and FREE!

The kids lasted the whole game, which impressed both Mr. Yoy and me.  Unfortunately, the shady weather did not last and both kids were now sporting sweat-hawks as we made our way back to our car.

Big E informed me he was "SUPER THIRSTY" which I guess is one step up from really thirsty.  I must use "super" frequently in my daily dialect as Big E has picked up on that.  He is sort of starting to sound like a teenage girl, which is mildly concerning to me.

We grabbed Big E a water bottle from a street vendor and continued on to the car.

As we drove home, Big E guzzled his water.

And then he got quiet.  Which is almost always a very bad sign.  But, alas, I was worn out from the game and too scared to check the mirror to see what was really going down.

I'M REALLY, REALLY COLD, MOM!

I get that a lot from Big E.  The second row air vent is right above his head and sometimes I overestimate the need for the hurricane force fan and arctic temp settings.

Mr. Yoy casually glances back at Big E.

BIG E!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Oh, snap.  Now I have to look.  But I am a reluctant witness.

He had taken off one of his Crocs.  And then poured the remnants of his water into the shoe.  Basically he was using his shoe as a strainer because we all know that Crocs are the swiss cheese of shoes.

Big E just sat there, soaking wet and shivering.

WHY?  WHY?  WHY?

I almost didn't want to ask, but curiosity gets the best of me.

MY SHOE STUNK.  SO I WASHED IT!

He seemed pretty dang proud of his solution.

Mr. Yoy and I stifled a round of laughs.

My main concern is that Big E is going to turn out to be the gross kid that always smells his feet and eats his boogers in class.  I mean, who does that anyway?

May I suggest this as a better solution.


Saturday, August 18, 2012

Owen Wilson: The Yoys' New (Imaginary) Best Friend Forever

Friday night is usually Sushi night here at the Yoy's.  Last night we switched it up, procured ourselves a last second sitter, and hit up Local Three for a delicious dinner.

Mr. Yoy scored us reservations through his networking magic as he is buddy buddy with the owner/chef.

Upon arrival at the restaurant, Mr. Yoy saw the owner and immediately went up to him to give thanks for the last minute reservations.  They spoke for a few minutes and I settled in with the wine list.  Hello, old friend.

A smirking Mr. Yoy finally made his way to our table.  Oy, what now?

OWNER/CHEF TOLD ME THAT OWEN WILSON AND VINCE VAUGHN ARE COMING IN FOR DINNER AND THEY ARE SITTING RIGHT THERE!

He pointed to the six top next to us.

WHAT?  WHAT?  WHAT?

There are few interesting points to note:

1) We had just watched Midnight in Paris the other night, so I had Mr. Wilson fresh on my mind.

2) I have what in layman's terms is called AWKWARD CELEBRITY SYNDROME.  I'm unsure of the technical term, but I lose all ability to speak and function normally around famous people.

Mr. Yoy introduced me to former Gator quarterback (who I in no way believe to be even a C-List celebrity) Chris Leak and I just stared at him.  He IS really good looking. Mr. Yoy had to step in and say something like, oh she's a really big fan.  And she's mute.

Fast forward a few years to when I shouted CHRIS DAUGHTRY! right into Chris Daughtry's face as he strolled by me on the Grammy red carpet.  I'm a huge American Idol and Daughtry fan and I couldn't even smile and be normal.  Plus, I'm like five inches taller than him, so I probably scared the hell out of him.

Again, I don't consider Chris Daughtry to be an A-lister. But Owen Wilson?  Vince Vaughn?  A Wedding Crashers reunion set to go down right next to me?  Let the wine guzzling commence!

I was nervous.  Why?  I have no idea.  I kept checking the door.  Again.  And again. And again.  Mr. Yoy strategized.

DO YOU THINK WE COULD GET A PICTURE AND THEN PUT IT ON FACEBOOK AND CALL IT DINNER CRASHERS?

Laughter, by us, ensued.

Mr. Yoy hatched his own creepy plan.

AS SOON AS ONE OF THEM GETS UP TO USE THE BATHROOM I'M GOING TO FOLLOW HIM AND PONY UP NEXT TO HIM AT THE URINAL.

Really?  And do what?  Sign him as a client?

DO YOU THINK THEY'D LIKE THE BLOG?  MAYBE I'LL GIVE THEM MY BUSINESS CARD AND THEY CAN PRODUCE A MOVIE ABOUT MY LIFE?!

Next, I deleted a bunch of photos on my iPhone so I'd have enough space to take seven hundred spy pictures of the back of Owen's head.

My first glass of wine was done, my next one was on its way.

Then Mr. Yoy dropped a bomb.

I AM JUST MESSING WITH YOU, THEY ARE NOT COMING.

I was bummed.  With a capital B.  My husband was an epic jerk.

I tried to focus on the delicious meal placed in front of me and it was delicious.  We ordered so much food that I had to pack up half my dinner.  Plus the second glass of wine had filled me up.  And now I was pretty much drunk.

We both needed to use the bathroom before we headed out.  

Mr. Yoy and I stood at our respective bathroom doors and discussed what we should do with our doggy bag.  He propped open the door to the men's bathroom to see if there was a bench or chair that he could put the food on. We had a lengthy discussion on the merits of NOT bringing food into the bathroom.  In the end, we decided to go in shifts.

I was up first, as I had had the most wine.  As I was about to enter the ladies' room, the men's bathroom door swung open and out walked Owen Wilson.  I froze.  Mr. Yoy froze.  It was a total awkward moment.

IS THAT OWEN WILSON?  (Remember, I'm a little tipsy)

I gave him a weird look and then ran into the bathroom and erupted into a fit of giggles.

When I came out, Mr. Yoy handed me the doggy bag, smirked and went into the men's room.

When he came out, I peppered him with questions.

DID THE OWNER REALLY TELL YOU OWEN WILSON WAS COMING?

And you know what, he did.  Mr. Yoy just didn't want me watching the door the whole night.  I guess Owen had snuck in and was seated at another table.

But it made for a good story, so I thought I'd share it with you.

I just wish once I could say something normal like:

HEY OWEN, BIG FAN, LOVED YOU IN MIDNIGHT IN PARIS.

But I didn't.  Instead I gave him crazy eyes and ran off. Sweet.

My new BFF, I mean we did have dinner together.  Or at least at the same time at the same restaurant.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

My Drooping Eyelids: A Special Shout Out

Mrs. Yoy is one tired Yoy today.  The week is certainly becoming long in the tooth, but normally this isn't anything a Coke Zero or three won't fix.

I don't think a direct infusion of caffeine into my bloodstream could help me today.

I went to bed last night following Conan's monologue.  I freaking love that guy.  I was snooze city for about half the evening.  Then all hell broke loose.  Below is a recap of my night.

3:50AM

I detect the pitter patter of Big E.  I play dead as his hot breath blasts my face.  Mr. Yoy calls Big E over to his side of the bed and pulls him in.  I realize I have to use the bathroom, but this conflicts with my play dead strategy, so I hold it.  This is much harder now that my bladder has been pulverized by two pregnancies.

Big E announces he has to use the bathroom.  Mr. Yoy sets him free and I take the opportunity to use the bathroom as well.

Like a mommy seeking missile, Big E shuffles into my bathroom and finds me, half asleep on the toilet.

HI MOMMY!

He is way too cheerful for the middle of the night.  This does not bode well for me.

He begins jumping up and down.  I inquire as to why he is leaping around.

BECAUSE I LOVE YOU SO, SO MUCH!

Yes, I realize how endearing this is.  Now, in the afternoon. But in my semi-conscious state in the middle of the night I just grumbled something back to him.

I grab his hand and take him back to bed where I know I will be sentenced to some time lying with him until he falls back asleep.

4:00AM-5:15AM

Upon reaching Big E's bed, I realize the whole area where I will be resting is damp from a leaky sippy cup.  (Not urine, as I smelled it)

DAMN YOU, SIPPY CUP!

I'm too tired to really care.  I tuck Big E in and lay next to him.

Over the next 75 minutes, Big E tosses and turns, complaining about his inability to get comfortable.  At some point he head butts the sh*t out of me.  I see stars, in the darkness.  He cries for hurting me.

I did not sleep a wink.  Finally, I conceded.  I asked him if he wanted to turn the light on and play.

IS IT DAYTIME?

Apparently for him it was.  I switched on his light, told him to be quiet, and headed back to my bed.

5:15-6:30 AM

I intermittently sleep for periods of about 8 minutes at a time.  Big E was back in our bedroom no fewer than six times.  Reporting such alarming things as:

I'M HAVING SOME TROUBLE WITH MY MICKEY MOUSE STICKERBOOK.

MY DRILL NEEDS BATTERIES.

I'M HUNGRY!

I stumble downstairs to grab Big E some snacks.  I pretty much throw them at him and run back to bed.

I WANT TO GO DOWNSTAIRS!

Mr. Yoy gets up and takes him downstairs.  I ask Mr. Yoy to deactivate our alarm as we have a very sensitive glass breaking sensor in their playroom and one dropped toy could set it off.  Just because we are up, doesn't mean our whole 'hood has to be up.  (Neighbors, you are welcome)

6:30-7:50 AM

Big E returns to our bedroom to announce his exhaustion.

REALLY?  NO SH*T!

I get up and take Big E to his bed.  He asks me to stay with him.  We finally both fall asleep.  I hear Mr. Yoy up and walking around.  Apparently, so does Big E.

Big E lets loose his greatest rooster impression.

COCKADOODLE DO!

Directly in my ear.  I roll over and look at his smiling face. This kid is legit the devil.

I roll out of toddler bed hell and head back to my bed.  I'm a morning person, in general, but this morning I am one nasty b*tch.  Even Mr. Yoy was a little scared of me.

I got back in bed.  I ran the numbers in my head.  I had 5.5 hours of sleep overnight.  I was ruined.

It was then that Mr. Yoy had one of his many genius moments.  He made our bed.  With me in it.  And covered any evidence of my body with pillows and a sheet.

My kids may have been up and running around, but they couldn't find me.  So I logged another 40 minutes of shuteye.  Not ideal, but at least enough so that I wasn't a zombie.

In the meantime, I'm surviving on Coke Zeros and the knowledge that bedtime will begin in four short hours.

I WILL SURVIVE!  Even if my eyelids have permanently settled at half-mast.

Look closely.  I am here.







Tuesday, August 14, 2012

The Closest I'll Ever Come to Christmas Eve

A new era is beginning in the Yoy household.  Tomorrow will be the first day of school for the Yoys.

Yeah, yeah, you've seen it already plastered all over Facebook.  Pictures of every one's kids sharply dressed with fresh haircuts and giant grins.  I will not abstain from said pictures tomorrow, by the way. 

But what I'm referring to is a monumental event in my life as Mrs. Yoy.  This will mark the first time EVER that I will have regularly scheduled breaks from the Yoys for eight hours a week.

In the past, I have had babysitters that would come once a week for a few hours during the day so I could get some sleep or go to Publix, but never eight hours.  Over two days.  Eight hours feels like such a luxury.  Eight hours of an empty house.  I could lay in bed all eight hours if I wanted to.

Aunt Yoy and I have been talking about August 2012 since Little E was born.  It would be my pay day.  I believe we actually referred to it as the Promised Land.

Raising two little boys with very little help is next to impossible.  I know I will look back in ten years and marvel at my survival skills.  It's not that I don't love my little guys dearly, it's just some things are meant to be done alone.

I thought I'd compile a list of things I will now be able to do.  Without comments, critiques, or tantrums.

1) Gyno Visits.  Yep, I'm going there.  I brought Little E with me on my last trip.  I had no other choice.  At least he isn't verbal enough to tell people about what went down.

2) Publix.  Oh, where do I begin?  Currently, we cannot go without shopeating.  Shopeating is a word I made up.  A combo of shoplifting and eating. Basically, it's my kids opening grocery items as I place them in the cart and shoving food into their mouths like they've never been fed before.  Then having the checker scan empty boxes and containers as I sheepishly smile.  I feel like if they can eat them before I checkout, they should be free.  Maybe I should suggest that on Publix's website.

3) Showering.  Some days I have to make a choice.  Do I shower and get critiqued by Big E or do I just make my way about town as a dirt bag?  Big E has already pointed out my cellulite, varicose veins, and my C-Section scar.  

Why do I feel like some borderline chunky chick pledging a sorority?  Is he going to bust out the Sharpies next and circle my "problem" areas.  

But Little E is no angel.  He just presses his angry face up to shower door and screams for the duration of my shower.  Talk about relaxing.

4) Lunching.  Eating a meal without the pressure of a food eating contest will be awesome.  I love going out to eat.  I hate the looks on people's faces when I'm sat next to them with the Yoys in tow.

THANKS FOR RUINING OUR LUNCH!

That's what their eyes tell me.

From this point forward, or at least on Wednesdays and Fridays, I will actually chew, taste, and swallow my food. Just like my mom taught me.

5) TV.  Big E is obsessed with TV.  I don't even like to turn it on anymore because it usually gets hijacked by Big E and I'm stuck watching Disney, Jr.  I end up with 1,400 hours of DVR'd shows that I can only watch after the Yoys go to bed.  This is a Catch 22 for me, as I cannot keep my eyes open while watching TV past 9pm.  This results in our DVR being dangerously close to full and if this causes one of Mr. Yoy's beloved shows to not record, we are all in deep sh*t.

6) Exercise.  I don't really exercise THAT much, but maybe having some free time will help me make this more of a regular part of my day.  And also putting it in writing.

In closing, I want to reiterate that I FREAKING LOVE MY SONS and I'm sure I will shed a tear (maybe) when they head off to school tomorrow.  

I also love me and I'm hoping this break will recharge me and make me a more patient and fun and awesome mom.

Also, I want to give a special shout out to the babysitters that have helped out with the Yoys over the past few years.  You and blogging and wine have made my survival possible.

Good night, readers!
You ain't kidding!

Ambush Refresher Swim Lessons

This afternoon begins a three week (2x a week) course of refresher swim lessons.  Big E will be reunited with his swimming archnemesis, his swim teacher.

On the painful to watch scale, Big E's swim lessons were somewhere between major accident on 285 and a human birth video.

His screams and cries still haunt my sleep.  Need a recap? Check it out here!

The amazing thing is, Big E has been swimming all summer.  He loves the pool.

Big E will occasionally mention his swim teacher and how he never wants to see her again.  Every time this happens, and nugget of worry forms in my stomach, as I knew this day was coming.

And here it is.  And I haven't grown a set of balls yet to tell him that after Little E gets up from his nap, we are heading down to the pool for lessons.

I'm not even sure how to bring it up at this point.  We are less than three hours away.

Should I mention it now and let him whine about it all afternoon?

Should I just say we are going swimming to get him down to the pool?  And then BAM! SWIM LESSONS!

Should I read Raffy Learns to Swim for the 472nd time since June and hype up swim lessons?

I'm torn.

Check back later, as I'm sure some epic sh*t will have gone down during the big reveal...
I'm going to print this out and just hold it up while Big E cries.  I'll just pretend this is my kid.



Sunday, August 12, 2012

You HAD a friend in the diamond business...

Yesterday we hit up Shaneco to get my ring cleaned.

And by we I mean me, Mr. Yoy, Big E, and Little E.

Let me set the scene for you.  We walk into the jewelry store.  There were at least ten happy, loving couples picking out engagement rings.  They had such excitement shining in their eyes.

Mr. Yoy and I shared a moment with our eyes.  Without a word both of us conveyed the same message.

REMEMBER WHEN WE WERE YOUNG AND KID-FREE AND HAD NO CARES IN THE WORLD EXCEPT HOW BIG A DIAMOND WAS MRS. YOY GONNA SCORE?

Then, internally, we both laughed like maniacs.  Evil, evil maniacs.

These couples were in for a treat.  You see, they had front row tickets to the sh*t show called The Yoys  Invade a Jewelry Store.

These unsuspecting couples were instantly snatched down from their pre-engagement cloud nines by my kids' whining, screaming, and constant questioning.

WHY IS THAT LADY SO FAT?

WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT SUCH SMALL DIAMONDS?

WHY DOES THAT MAN HAVE A GUN?

Amazingly, they cleaned my ring in world record time. They wanted us out of there ASAP.

We were dream killers.  We were business killers.

Soon-to-be husbands abandoned their girlfriends and headed for the doors.  They had caught a glimpse of their futures.  Here it was guys.  And it wasn't pretty.

Mr. Yoy had even mentioned a possible ring upgrade (um, yes, please) but as I tried to look at stones and settings, I couldn't help but be distracted by my offspring.

I decided to do some research online, and then come back to the store later, with just me and Mr. Yoy.  Although, I have a sneaking suspicion we would get a much better price with two screaming kids in tow.

WE'LL TAKE WHATEVER YOU WANT FOR IT, JUST GET OUT OF HERE! - Diamond Sales Guy


Lemme, lemme UPGRADE!



Friday, August 10, 2012

The Pediatrician and the 'Pop

Today was Little E's two year check up.

As usual, I was awash in waves of germ anxiety.  I hate bringing my kids there when they are well.  I just know they are going to touch something and pick up the latest round of Ebola, Swine Flu, or whatever nasty sh*t is floating around the ATL.

Today's biggest enemy wasn't the unwanted germs, though.  It was the giant bucket of Dum Dums that are prominently placed on the check-out counter.  My kids already know they are there as Big E talked about it the entire drive to the office and he wasn't even being seen by Dr. K.

There really is no way to avoid it.  It's crowded.  There are gobs of snotty kids wandering about.  I could say no but that would result in an atomic meltdown and I'm just not prepared to handle that and check out.

I would also like to point out the obvious.  Our country is the midst of a childhood obesity epidemic, so maybe stickers would be a better alternative to candy.  Even our haircut place hands out toys instead of candy.  HELLO?!

Anyway, I begrudgingly let the Yoys pick out lollipops. They are as happy as can be.  I'm already annoyed that this is happening.  Next up, sticky hand hell.

I decide to make the Yoys eat their pops in the lobby of the building as I don't want my beloved van covered in a layer of Dum Dum glaze.

Big E kills his pop in about two minutes.  Good.  The extremely expensive parking deck clock is ticking.

Little E begins drooling.  I didn't really notice it until it dripped on my toes.  His belly was covered with streams of sticky spit.  Pools began forming on the floor.  I caught a glimpse in his mouth and noticed he had hardly made a dent in his Dum Dum.  We could potentially be here until 2013.

So I did it.  I pulled it out of his sticky paws and chucked it in the trash.  I attempted to wipe down his hands, arms, and face but he was too busy going bananas.

Everyone entering the building glared at me.

WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR SCREAMING CHILD?

I took a deep breath.  I will get through this.

I picked up a semi-glossed Little E and grabbed Big E's hand.  Why didn't I bring a stroller again?  We made our way through the Piedmont maze to the parking deck.

Little E continued screaming.  His lollipop screams gave way to walking screams.  He wanted to get down and walk, which was never EVER going to happen here.  He wiggled in my arms and I repositioned him to the football hold.  He screamed louder, if that is possible.

I promise you, an older gentlemen using a walker stopped, turned to look at the commotion, and waved us by him on the narrow sidewalk.

He weakly smiled at me as I passed by.  I was holding back tears.

We safely made it to the car and I had to sit for a few minutes to compose myself.  I was in no condition to drive.  Except maybe straight to a local bar for a mid-morning drink (just kidding, maybe).

This whole event could have been avoided if the lollipops were not in plain sight.  I disagree with having them there at all, but if you are going to have them, maybe keep them in a desk drawer and ask (or spell) the parent if they want their kids to have candy.

Oy.

What is up with this?


Big E: A Vocabulary Showoff

Today was Little E's two year check-up.

As Dr. K. examined Little E, who wouldn't leave my lap, Big E watched intensely as Dr. K worked her stethoscope magic.

That's right Big E, study up, as your only acceptable profession as a young Jewish boy is a doctor.  Mr. Yoy and I will not hear of anything else (I'm kidding, sort of).

Dr. K pressed her stethoscope on Little E's back and listened to all of his bodily sounds.

When she was finished, the stethoscope left a circle mark on Little E's back.

MOMMY, WHY ARE THERE CIRCLES APPEARING ON LITTLE E'S BACK?

Before I could make up an answer, I had a question for him.

DID YOU JUST PROPERLY USE THE WORD "APPEARING" IN A SENTENCE?

I'm not going to lie, I was pretty amped that my kid just showed off his burgeoning vocabulary in front of his pediatrician.  Also, this was a little redemption after the farmer's market run-in.

PROUD MOMMY MOMENT!
Future Big E

Thursday, August 9, 2012

The Ten Hour Road Trip: Have I lost my mind?

Yesterday, we returned from a six day jaunt up to the homeland of Mrs. Yoy and her wonderful, midwestern-valued family, St. Louis, Missouri (pronounced by the natives as Miz-zur-a).

Mr. Yoy won the lottery and did not have to ride 600 miles in the big red bus with me, the Yoys, and my folks. He instead got to work every day.  As a lawyer.  Doing lawyerly things that people make jokes about.

Initially, I debated driving versus flying.

I despise flying.  There are too many uncontrollable variables for me to feel comfortable.  Throw in one three hour delay and the whole day goes down the crapper.  I was not willing to risk it.  Big E would probably be ok, but Little E was terrible on our flight to and from my brother's wedding last July and I still break out in a sweat when I think about it.

I went with the lesser of two evils, driving 600 miles.  Had I seriously gone loco?

I have to admit, on the drive up, the kids were fantastic. There, I gave them a compliment.  Bookmark this blog entry, it doesn't happen that often.  My only gripe was that Little E absolutely refused to take his nap.  Car rides lull me into a coma.  How can this kid resist sleeping?  Even Big E napped and he'd rather be set on fire than nap.

On the way home, things didn't go as well.  Again, Little E opted out of a nap.  About two hours into our drive Big E began asking when we'd be in Atlanta.  Uh-oh.  This ride was going to be a b*tch.  I just had a feeling.  My dad asked (jokingly, I believe) if he could part ways with the big red bus once we reached Paducah.

There was a lot of whining, crying, mind changing, pooping, screaming, and wine-drinking (I wish).

But the worst was the microphone.

I can read your mind.

WHO IN THE HELL BRINGS A MICROPHONE ON A ROAD TRIP?

Apparently, we do.  We picked up some gifts for the boys from our family during our trip.  One of them was a toy microphone.  My family so enjoyed watching Big E's Facebook performances, that they felt compelled to buy him a microphone.  (If we aren't friends on FB, you are missing out on some seriously awesome covers of Nicki Minaj, Rebecca Black, The Wanted, Katy Perry, and Carly Rae Jepsen.)

I blame no one but myself for not packing that sucker deep in the suitcase.  Instead, it was passed back and forth between the boys and even used by my mom in row three so we could hear her when she spoke (that van is BIG).

Around dinner time, Big E grabbed the microphone and began shouting/singing dinner requests.

I LOVE BRUEGGER'S BAGELS!

I WANT SUSHI!

I checked the map.  I'm pretty sure the Fiery Gizzard Road exit (TN) is fresh out of bagels and sushi.

DAMN US FOR MAKING BIG E A YUPPY!

I tried to talk Big E down to something more attainable.

HOW ABOUT SUBWAY? OR CRACKER BARREL?  OR MCDONALD'S (yuck)?

Big E agreed on Cracker Barrel and the impending dinner crisis was averted.

Whew!

I'm glad to be back and I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written.

Also, if you are interested in the audio of Big E singing his restaurant choices, shoot me an email.  I've got it all on video.