Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Gettin' Butter Every Day

Yesterday, I met my old college roommate and her husband for lunch at The Flying Biscuit.

I arrived first with the Yoys and proceeded to set them up for lunch.  This is a major process and can take upwards of five minutes before you actually sit down.

My kids immediately zeroed in on the bowl with the pats of butter.  They each needed a pat of butter. The sugar packets would have been a better choice, in my opinion.  I tried reasoning with them, but as their volume ramped up to a rock concert level, I threw them each a pat of butter.

I can barely type that without gagging.  I watched in horror as they unwrapped and began eating butter.  Plain.  No bread.  No corn.  No nothing.

I could see the customers at the tables next to us looking in disbelief.  I could feel their judging.

TRUST ME!  I'M DOING THIS FOR YOU, TOO!

I wanted to yell at them.  I didn't.

About halfway through their butter appetizers, they both decided that butter was gross.

Sweet.  They finally came to their senses.

Big E moved onto his maze workbook and that was the end of the Flying Biscuit Butter Scene.

Fast forward twenty four hours.

I had just picked the Yoys up from preschool.  Big E was begging for his maze book.  I glanced back to the car floor where all of Big E's books go to die.  I didn't see the maze book.  He swore he didn't bring it into the house.

Aha!  I had thrown it in my diaper bag at the restaurant.  I dug down into my diaper bag and pulled out Big E's beloved maze book.  I tossed it back to him and he was happy.

A few minutes later I heard Big E grumbling about butter.

I turned around to see a butter face.

Somehow, Big E's half eaten pat of butter had made its way to the cover of the maze book.  It was now covering his hands, his face, and the harness of his car seat.  Of course, he was eating it.

STOP EATING BUTTER!

I still haven't gathered up the courage to look in my diaper bag.  I imagine butter streaks all over my stuff.

Maybe later.  After I survive Halloween and have had a glass of wine.
Imagine this, melted and smeared all over Big E.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Little E: Say Rash!

Tomorrow is picture day at school.

Normally, I would spend the evening obsessing over such gut-wrenching decisions as what color polo shirt should they wear and skinny jeans vs. khaki pants.  Oy, such choices.

But Little E has thrown me a curve ball.

You know that he has horrible, horrible skin.  I had almost forgotten, as the moist, warm summer months were good to Little E's skin.

Yesterday morning he awoke with a full body rash that included an unfortunate cluster on the tip of his nose.

Can I just say it?

SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T! SH*T!

Cause that is how I felt.

He's been Cover Girl flawless for months.

I'd hoped by this morning it would be better.  It wasn't.

I took him to the doctor this afternoon to see if it was just his standard crappy skin flaring up and also to see if she had a instant magic cure for red splotches.  She didn't, by the way.

So now I'm desperate.

I'm not saying I'm GOING to do this.  But I'm also not saying that I'm NOT.

MAKEUP.

Would I dare go so far as to apply cover up to my sweet boy's face in the morning?

Stay tuned!

Ooooooo, I've got one!  Don't break out in a rash!

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

The Halloween excitement has boiled over at the Yoys.

The kids are BEYOND excited about trick-or-treating tomorrow night.

I see this as a perfect opportunity to bribe the boys.

If you don't INSERT DESIRED ACTION HERE, you are not going trick-or-treating on Wednesday.

Another Halloween side effect, a steady supply of candy in the house, which is highly unusual.  This has also been helpful in the bribery department.

On Saturday evening, we used the lure of candy to get Big E to load up in the car.  While he normally passes out on the drive home from Aunt and Uncle Yoy's house, the idea of a giant bowl of candy corn awaiting him at home kept him very alert.

When we arrived home, I unloaded the Yoys while Mr. Yoy pulled the car in.

I then gave Big E his "candy" bribe.

Why is candy in quotes you ask?  Because I gave him two pieces of dried banana and passed it off as candy.

MUUUUAAAAAAAHHHHHH (The evil Mrs. Yoy laugh).

Big E quickly scarfed down the banana.

Mr. Yoy walked in and headed to the pantry to give Big E his "candy" bribe.  I told Mr. Yoy I had already given Big E his reward.

So this is when we decided to conduct an experiment on Big E.

Mr. Yoy asked Big E if I had given him his candy yet.

NO, DADDY.

As he lied his face off, he nervously glanced over at me to see if I had heard him.

I stared at him in disbelief.  He lied to both of us.  And it had no effect on him at all.  I was too shocked to say anything.

Mr. Yoy eventually coaxed it out of Big E that he had already had his two pieces.  Big E relayed some half-a** apology to me, but I couldn't really digest it.

I know it is just candy, but he is already lying?  He isn't even four.  I can't begin to imagine how bad it could get come his teenage years.  Ugh.

I'm so sad and disappointed.

Any suggestions or comments from my experienced readers?

Thanks!


Saturday, October 27, 2012

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Until it isn't.

Which happened a few hours ago.

I had won the Atlanta Gator Club SEC ticket lottery earlier this year and purchased two SEC tickets. I knew the Gators were a long shot based on our prior season, but I never rule anything out.

See our own wedding scheduling conflict with the Gators' 2006 appearance in the Final Four. WHOOPS!

Just last week, I had reserved our sitter for the good part of the December Saturday that the game was to fall on.

I allowed myself to hope.

Yes, it is awesome and exciting to cheer on your team in the SEC championship game, but for me, it was far deeper than that.

It was a throwback to when I was fun and carefree.  I remember spending all day tailgating down at the Georgia Dome.  Drinking my fair share of cheap wine and mimosas.   Stuffing my face with all sorts of diet-killing food.  Taking tons of inappropriate photos that, thankfully, didn't end up all over Facebook. Spending the day with friends that I didn't get to see all that often.

Could this be?  Would I actually have a chance to go and do something fun again?

So right about the time Jordan Reed coughed up that touchdown ball, I wanted to cry (so did he).

Not really because we lost, because we always lose at some point.

Not even because it was such an ugly, ugly game.

But because it meant there would be no fun football game for me.  Not this year.

Thanks for that, Gators.  We are breaking up.  You really let me down.

On a related note, I've got two SEC tickets for sale.  I plan to take the proceeds and do some retail therapy.  Or maybe the spa.


Not even fake alligators dressed in fancy clothes can cheer Mrs. Yoy up.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Veggie Tales

My kids have cornered the market on the bedtime stall.

I've heard everything.

I'M THIRSTY!

I HAVE TO PEE!

WHERE DO WORMS LIVE?

But tonight, I heard a new one.

I'M HUNGRY!  I WANT A SNACK TO EAT IN BED!

A few points to note:

1) I COOKED for them tonight.  Like actually created something instead of using the microwave.  They chose to pick at it like baby birds.

2) There is only one reason I can justify keeping a stash of food on my nightstand.  I will admit that while I was nursing the Yoys, I would wake up in the middle of the night and be starving, like fat chick right before sundown on Yom Kippur starving.  I would lean over my nightstand (I'm anti bed crumbs), turn on my vacuum mouth and go to town on whatever goodies I had brought up a few hours earlier at bedtime.

3) This may be my final point, but it is the most impressive.  Big E already knew I wasn't going to let him eat just any snack.  It was going to be on my terms.  He ASKED for the steamed carrots I had cooked at dinner.  Sucker.  But I obliged.  I'm never going to turn down an opportunity to stuff my kid with nutrient rich vegetables.

SNACK!  SNACK!  SNACK!

They chanted in unison.

If only I was in a bar instead and they were chanting SHOT!  SHOT!  SHOT!  Now that would have been way more interesting...

Anyway, I put Little E in his crib as there isn't much he can do or say about it.  He was only asking for food because of his brother's bad influence.  He cried for two seconds and then he moved on.

I brought Big E a bowl of carrots.  He laid down in bed and began to eat them.

He ate half and put the rest on his nightstand.

FOR LATER, IN CASE I GET HUNGRY.


All tucked in with his bowl of carrots.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Mrs. Yoy: I'm Slamming!

This evening, I shuttled the Yoys over to have dinner with Mr. Yoy.

We opted for the deli in the bottom of the building.  It was a beautiful evening and we wanted to sit outside.

On one of the many trips I took rushing in and out of the patio door for things like multiple bathroom runs, trash dumps,  and drink refills, I slammed my ring finger in the door.

The door closed squarely on my fingernail.

I rushed out to the patio and begin half crying/half hyperventilating.

I'm not sure I've ever slammed my finger in a door and if I have, it's been like 25 years.

The pain was gut wrenching.  I wanted to barf.

Mr. Yoy ran into the place to get me some ice.

The Yoys did one better.  They both ran up to me and kissed my finger.

Big E even asked how many kisses I needed to make my finger feel better.

ONE MILLION.

The enormity of the number startled him, as I don't think he was looking for a long-term commitment.

The point is, both my sweet boys came over to comfort me in my time of need.

Let's all say it together now.

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I hope this doesn't affect my career as a hand model.

Things Just Got Heavy

There is a homeless shelter that we drive pass on the way to school.

We have driven by there approximately one million times since Big E was born in 2008.

Today it peaked his interest as we drove home from school.

WHAT IS THAT?

I always struggle with questions such as these.  Do I give him the hard facts?  Do I say apartments? He is almost four, but I'm not sure how much information he can process.

I opt for the truth.

IT'S A HOMELESS SHELTER.

Silently, I plead that that will end this line of questioning.  Next topic, please.

WHAT IS THAT?

Again, I debate launching into the definition of homeless.

IT'S FOR PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO LIVE.  WITHOUT THE SHELTER, THEY'D HAVE TO SLEEP IN THE STREET.

He thought for a few seconds.  I could hear his brain cranking from the back seat.

BUT SLEEPING IN THE STREET WOULD BE SO HARD.

He's speaking literally, of course, but his words have such deeper meaning.

MAYBE IF THEY HAD PILLOWS THE STREET WOULDN'T BE SO HARD.

Now he is problem solving.

ALSO, IF THEY SLEEP IN THE STREET THEY WOULD GET RUN OVER BY CARS.

This is the street fear I have instilled in him.  YES!

It was so fascinating to hear his take on being homeless.

I explained to him the benefit of having the shelter.

WOULDN'T IT BE EASIER TO SLEEP IN THE SHELTER WHERE THEY HAVE A BED AND A ROOF?

He was quiet for a minute.

I SUPPOSE SO, MOMMY.

So serious.  So sweet.






Monday, October 22, 2012

Big E: Do Not Fly List

I hope you are reading these in order.  If not, go back and read the last one.  Then you can truly appreciate my mental state at the exact moment our cab pulled up to the airport.

I pay the cab, swing open my door and take the mounds of crap I am carrying out of the car.  I have only one possession left in the cab.

My son.  And his plan is to stay in the backseat and hitch a return ride to my brother's apartment.

I reach in for him and he scoots towards the far side.

At this moment I decide to leave him in the cab.  And one moment I later I remember that Mr. Yoy would be super pissed if we were down one kid.  Especially if that one kid was Big E.

I drag his reluctant self out of the cab.

He begins chanting his mantra.

I WANT TO STAY IN NY!

I MISS UNCLE D AND AUNT J SO, SO MUCH!

I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER.

The airport was busy.  I drag Big E to the kiosk to check in.  Then to the baggage drop off.

Everyone we pass is thinking the same damn thing.

PLEASE DON'T LET THAT KID BE SITTING NEXT TO ME ON THE PLANE.

Snot is running down his face.  He is eating it.

We finally make it to the security line.  He has stopped screaming, but he is doing that post cry shaky sob thing.

I pick him up as we wait.  He rubs his slimy face on my coat.

As we snake through the security line, I rub his back and try to calm him down.

It appears to be working.  I begin to unclench.  We are on the downside of this tantrum.

Big E perks up and solemnly looks at me.  I wait for whatever nugget of information he is about to emote.

I PACKED ALL MY GUNS SO I CAN SHOOT EVERYONE!!

My heart stopped.

WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?  DON'T SAY THAT!!!!

I glance around to see if anyone heard him.

He says it again.  Again, my heart stopped.

CAN I TAPE HIS MOUTH SHUT?

Ms. Nosy Passenger just on the other side of the security rope gives me a tight smile.

YOU BETTER HOPE THEY DON'T HEAR HIM OR YOU'LL NEVER GET THROUGH SECURITY.

Thanks, lady.  I'm aware.

I'm panicked.  Why did Big E choose this moment to channel his inner terrorist?!

I nervously ramble on about everything we did over the weekend, hoping to move Big E past his ominous threats.

We get to the front of the security line and I'm literally not breathing.

I'M NOT PUTTING MY BACKPACK UP THERE.  I WANT TO KEEP IT.

Then I blacked out.  I knelt down and have no idea what insane, panicked, desperate mom thing I hissed at him, but he conceded the backpack thing.

And just like that we were through.

And I began breathing again.

As soon as we were settled on the plane, Big E was asleep.

And when he awoke a few minutes outside of Atlanta, I had my sweet boy back again.

Sigh of relief.

There is nothing that will make a traveling parent happier.  

Big E: Future New Yorker?

The plan was to leave my brother's apartment around one on Sunday.  That would give us enough time to catch a cab and make the trek to La Guardia.

As our departure time quickly approached, I mentioned to Big E that he needed to use the potty as we were about to leave.

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE NY!

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE THE APARTMENT!

I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!

I WANT UNCLE D AND AUNT J TO BE MY NEW DADDY AND MOMMY!  (ouch)

It became evident to me, that the process of removing Big E from their apartment was going to require force.  Big E was not going to leave willingly.

Uncle D carried Big E out into the hallway so we could catch an elevator.  Not even the lure of pressing the elevator button could calm Big E down.

He was screaming in their quiet, swank, NYC apartment hallway.

For the record, my brother is visiting in like two weeks.  Big E will see him in two weeks.  We tried explaining that to him.  The concept of time is not a good life lesson to teach to a hysterical child.

I WANT TO SEE YOU IN TWO DAYS, NOT TWO WEEKS!

Over and over again.  Finally, my brother lied and said he'd see him in two days.  We were both desperate.

Two elderly ladies walked over.  They gave us both sympathetic eyes as we waited for the elevator.

Once I had maneuvered the luggage, our coats, and Big E into the elevator and the door closed, Big E began howling.  One of the elderly ladies offered me a lollipop to give to him.

I graciously declined.  Throwing a lollipop into this current sh*t show was not the direction I wanted to go in.

We got to the lobby and I was dragging my roller suitcase with one arm and Big E with the other.

I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE NY!  I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!

The men at the concierge desk looked up to see what all the commotion was about.

HELLO.  MY NAME IS MRS. YOY AND IT APPEARS THAT I'M KIDNAPPING MY OWN SON.

The lobby was scattered with cool, hip New Yorkers who stared me down as I made my way across the shiny floor.  Big E's screams echoed deep into my soul.  I guess I'll never show my face here, again.

The door man hailed me a cab.  As I threw my purse, coat, and Big E's backpack into the cab, Big E made an escape attempt.

That little turd bolted back into the lobby.

I chased him down and literally carried him to the cab by one arm.  This was bordering ridiculous.

Once I had him in the cab, he continued his crying assault until we made it to Central Park.  Then his sobs turned to simmering whines.

I gave him my phone to play with.

I MISS UNCLE D AND AUNT J SO, SO MUCH.

He was so sad and sincere.

Most of the drama was due to sleep deprivation.  I kept telling myself that.  Two days of staying up late, waking up early, and walking miles and miles was catching up with him.

GET ON THE PLANE AND HE WILL NAP!  YOU WILL SURVIVE!

I was giving myself the world's biggest pep talk in the back of that cab.

Check out the next entry to finds out what happened when we finally made it to the airport.  It was epic. I promise.

I WANT TO LIVE HERE FOREVER!


Big E: First Male Ever To Ask For Directions

This past weekend, Big E and I had a mommy and me adventure up in NYC.

We honored/inconvenienced Uncle D and Aunt J with our presence for two days.

Friday evening, they took us to a delicious pizza joint in the basement of an old building.

It was close quarters down in that basement.  We were next to a table of students/waitresses/struggling actresses (my guess by their very loud and child inappropriate conversation).

Big E finished his meal first.

I'M DONE!

First of all, this wasn't an eating contest.  I asked Big E to wait while the rest of us finished up.

I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE APARTMENT!

I, again, asked Big E to wait while we finished up.

This was not acceptable to him.

JUST DRAW ME A MAP!

All who heard his comment busted into giggles.  Even one of the very dramatic actress/student/waitresses couldn't resist Big E's charms.

You'll be happy to know that while I entertained the thought of allowing Big E to go all Home Alone in NYC, I decided it was best to escort him back to the apartment.

After I relayed this story to Mr. Yoy, he drew his version of the map.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Publix Cupcakes: Collateral Damage

Tonight, I threw away two, perfectly edible, wonderfully delicious Publix cupcakes.

I can almost see the shock and awe in your eyes.

WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO SACRILEGIOUS?

I am a lover of all things Publix.  Publix bakery goods are on a whole other level for me.  But I was driven mad, you see.  I had no other choice.

I'm sure you can guess the culprit.

His name rhymes with Jiggy.

After an open-handed, Real Housewives kind of slap, to the side of Little E's cherub face, Big E scored himself three fat minutes in timeout at the bottom of our stairs.

He sat down and immediately began his negotiating.

MAKE SURE YOU START THE TIMER!

DO I HAVE TO STAY HERE?

DON'T LET LITTLE E TOUCH MY TOYS!

I reminded him of the timeout rules.  No talking.  No moving.  He broke both in world record time.

I asked him numerous times to sit back down and be quiet.

Every time he spoke I added another minute to his sentence.  At last count, Big E was due to serve 28 minutes in timeout.  This was going to really push back bedtime here at the Yoys.

I was desperate for him to listen to me so I used Mr. Yoy's leftover birthday cupcakes in my negotiations.

THE NEXT TIME YOU GET UP THE CUPCAKES ARE GOING IN THE TRASH!

I died a little inside when the words escaped my mouth.

And, in true three year old fashion, he stood right up.

But here is the thing about me.  I'm stubborn.  And when it comes to a power struggle with Big E, I always win.

I strode across the kitchen, grabbed the container of cupcakes, and made my way down the hall to the garage.

Big E leapt from time-out and began pulling on my clothes.

I was in my post-shower, comfy mom uniform.  Too big sweatpants, a tank top, and a flowy schmata to cover my tank.

Big E pulled my schmata off one arm.  I powered through.

I dramatically swung the garage door open.  This was happening folks.  I made my way to our green herby curby.

Big E was screaming.  He pulled at my sweatpants.  Down they came.

All I needed now was for Mr. Yoy to come home early for dinner, pop open the garage, and the whole neighborhood would have had quite a show!

I lifted the lid and tossed them away (tear).  And it was over.

THAT HURT ME MORE THAN IT DID YOU! TRUST ME!

Next time Big E is serving time, he'll follow the rules.  Snicker.


RIP.  You will be missed.  By my belly.




Sunday, October 14, 2012

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs

I have a confession to make.

At 15 years old, I flunked the driver's permit written test.  Twice. In one day.

There I said it.  Either I'm a really bad driver or just a terrible test taker.

In my 20+ years of driving, I will say I've never been in a car on car accident, although I've hit lots of stuff like parking deck posts, a parking meter or two, and possibly driven through the front of my garage wall like the giant Kool-Aid Pitcher (although I still proclaim my innocence on this one).

So I'm going to go with the whole terrible test taker theory.

Big E's new obsession is road signs.

I almost hate pulling onto 285 (besides the obvious hell-on-earth reasons).  Every sign, every mile marker, every exit sign.  Add in the current construction signs, and the boy's head is about to explode.

MOMMY, WHAT DOES THAT SIGN MEAN?

Some of them I know.

But I have to admit, it has been a few years since I studied up on my road signs, so I make a lot of sh*t up, therefore passing down to my son the very real chance of flunking his driver's test, too.

MOMMY, WHAT DOES THAT SIGN MEAN?

Maximum speed limit of 65mph as you drive over my c-section scar?

Big E: What A Prick!

Yesterday, we took the Yoys to get flu shots at their pediatrician's office.

Of course, we waited until the last hour of the last day of the doctor's weekend flu shot clinic.

I knew it was going to be bad.  I was just delaying the pain.

Earlier in the day, Big E had thrown a passionate and intense temper tantrum.  I timed it at 40 minutes.

That is the average time of my elliptical workouts.  I can barely breathe at the end of 40 minutes.  How is it that Big E can scream and cry and kick for that long and then turn it off like a faucet and be normal?  I find this fascinating and a little disconcerting.  Especially because he is just shy of four, and everyone said that age two was the worst for tantrums. LIARS.  ALL OF YOU.

Anyway, after his little fit, any sympathy I had for him and the impending flu shot evaporated.  He was on his own.

As we pulled into the doctor's parking deck, I could hear the panic in Big E's voice.

WHY ARE WE AT THE DOCTOR'S?

In that moment, I had to decide if I was going to tell him the truth or do a shot ambush.

I went with the truth.  Just FYI, honesty is NOT always the best policy with preschoolers. Tuck that little nugget away.

Big E went nuclear.

I DON'T WANT TO GET A SHOT!

He repeated this phrase approximately 236 times.

It fell on deaf ears.

Mr. Yoy somehow convinced Big E to walk into the office.  I thought we'd have to carry him kicking and screaming.

Once we reached the receptionist's area, Big E began to plead his case as to why he didn't want a flu shot to the women at the front desk.

They all tried to hide their laughter and smiles but it was pretty funny.  And pathetic.

I DON'T NEED A SHOT!

I WON'T GET THE FLU!

I WANT TO GO TO THE BIRTHDAY PARTY!  (We were actually en route to a birthday party. This was just a fun little pit stop.)

It was like watching a Mini Mr. Yoy work the judge in a courtroom.  It was uncanny.

He wasn't gaining any headway with the receptionists, so he moved on to the Grandma waiting with her daughter and granddaughter for a flu shot.

I DON'T NEED A SHOT!

He pleaded with the older women.

She sent me sad eyes.

DON'T FEEL BAD FOR HIM!  HE HAS EARNED THIS SHOT TODAY!

I didn't actually say that aloud, as I was playing the role of the sympathetic mom.

LITTLE E!  BIG E!

We were up.

Big E continued to make his case to anyone that passed by.  Kids.  Parents.  Nurses. Corpses.

It didn't matter.  He was hell bent on getting out of this.

The nurse walked in and Big E made one last heartfelt statement.

She smiled and asked which one of us wanted to hold him in our laps.

Mr. Yoy took the honor.

And in two seconds it was over.

All that drama.

All that wasted energy.

I'm sure you were wondering where Little E was in this story.  He was great until he received his shot.

Ignorance is bliss.
Ouch!




Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Stop Eating Sh*t. Both of You.

This post is mildly graphic.

For those of you raising little boys, you won't bat an eyelash.

To the rest of you, you've been warned.

Little E had a very nice BM right before bath time.  I'm not sure what he ate for lunch today, but whatever it was, it did the trick.

I cleaned him up and tossed him in the tub with Big E.

The boys were playing nicely.  For once.  It was a pretty uneventful bath.

Cue ominous music.

Little E rapidly drilled out about ten of the loudest, most powerful underwater farts I have ever seen/heard.  This is a very strong statement, as I've been giving these two guys baths for coming up on four years.

We all laughed, because they are two and three, and I'm just immature.

Little E immediately claimed it.

ME!

Yeah, no kidding.

I noticed that the water had became a little hazy.

I can neither confirm nor deny that anything besides air was emitted during Little E's bombing of the tub.  The tub is full of toys and I wasn't about to go poking around.

Either way, Big E decided to take a big gulp of bathwater and swish it around in his mouth like it was the best tasting mouth wash of all time.

Repeatedly.

I gagged.

BIG E, IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE THAT LITTLE E POOPED A LITTLE IN THE TUB. MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T BE TASTE TESTING THE TUB WATER.

As usual, he ignored me.

Not to be outdone, Little E began to lick the water.

More gagging on my part.

Enjoy your bout of E-Coli, children.


Come On Ride The Train. Hey, Ride It.

First off, sorry I have been a lazy blogger.

I suck.  I know.  Please don't lose faith.  I promise to be better about writing.

Now onto the story.

Mr. Yoy and I were feeling invincible.  We started Sunday afternoon by taking BOTH YOYS to see Hotel Transylvania (very cute, by the way).

Yes, we took Little E to a full length film.  He ate movie theatre popcorn for a record 90 minutes straight.  But he was quiet.  And to all the people sitting by us, that was all that mattered.  So what if his sodium levels reached record highs.

After the successful trip to the movies, we were on top of the world.

OUR KIDS ARE THE GREATEST KIDS ON THE PLANET.  SO WELL BEHAVED AND AMAZING!

We decided to take them on the little train that snakes around Atlantic Station.

When we arrived at the "station" most of the cars were full.  I wasn't about to let them ride without us, so the four of us crammed into a car that was already occupied by a brother/sister combo.  I would guess they were around seven or eight years old.

Once all six of us were uncomfortably settled into the car, the brother/sister combo received some last minute instructions from their parents, who wisely chose not to ride with their kids.

NO HITTING!

I gulped.

Are these seemingly innocent children going to beat the sh*t out of us while we cruise the shopping center?  I am basically defenseless as my arms are pinned behind my back to make room for my kids.

The train steamed off and the boys were in heaven.  They waved.  They laughed.  They made train noises.

Mr. Yoy and I were earning major brownie points this evening.

Big E soon realized he had a captive audience.

Mr. Yoy soon realized Big E would shout out any statement fed to him to our audience of window shoppers.

I could see the gleam of excitement in Mr. Yoy's eyes.  He was about to start trouble.

It started out harmless, but escalated to full out obnoxiousness.

GO BRAVES!

GO FALCONS!

GO GATORS!

GO GAMECOCKS!

MY NAME IS BIG E!

HAPPY SIMCHAT TORAH!

IS THAT THE NEW iPHONE?

I LIKE YOUR SHOES!

QUESADILLAS ARE AWESOME!

Mr. Yoy took a break from his puppet show to discipline the brother/sister combo who now resembled Holyfield vs Tyson.

Big E began slamming his head into the train car and laughing.  The brother/sister combo followed.

Maniacal laughing erupted.

IS EVERYTHING OK BACK THERE?

Great, now the conductor is judging us for not being able to control our kids plus these two little random terrors we were shackled with.

Although this train ride to hell seemed to last forever, we pulled back to the station about seven minutes later.

Hallelujah!

There went $12 that could have been much better spent.

Picture us all crammed in one of these.  Awesome.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Raising Vampires

The time now reads 9:10.

Not exceptionally late as far as putting young kids to bed, but for me, it might as well be midnight.  I try to put the Yoys to bed by 7:30, so this whole 9 PM thing is greatly eating into my Mrs. Yoy time.  Jersey Shore comes back tonight, and I'm pretty sure that show is not rated G.

As usual, I'm gassed.  I had a very ambitious day.

I took Big E to gymnastics and sushi.

We played outside.

I worked out.

I bathed the Yoys early and had an experimental holiday card photo shoot.  I realize it has just turned fall, but I need to know what I'm up against.  Will I wave the white flag and surrender to a professional photo shoot this year?  The jury is still out.

Somewhere in this crazy day, BOTH my kids napped.  Hard.

Bed time was going to be hairy.

Little E went down without a fight.  He's still in a crib, so there's not much he can do unless he can use his tiny T-Rex arms to pull himself out.

Big E was going to be an epic battle.  I knew this.  I tried to wind him down.  But he wanted to play.  That is a dirty word at 7 PM at night.

Around 7:45 I suggested getting into bed and reading the required three books.

He fought me at first, but then I played our favorite game of choice.

I'll READ YOU THREE BOOKS NOW OR I'M OUT OF HERE AND YOU GET NOTHING.

After our reading and a heart-to-heart session with Big E's Woody doll, I slinked out of there.

1) I NEED DINNER!

Um, you ate chicken and strawberries not 90 minutes ago.  I ran downstairs and threw a banana in a bowl and gave it to him to eat in bed.  Yes, food in bed.  That's where I'm at.

2) HERE'S MY BOWL MOM!

Because putting the empty bowl on your nightstand just won't do.

3) DO YOU KNOW WHERE COWBOYS LIVE?

Hold on, let me google it.  FYI, per Big E they live in the desert.

4) I HAVE A BIG KISS FOR YOU!

Your a**kissing won't work on me.  I ignore him, as I told him the last time I tucked him in that it was the last time.

I'M NOT GOING TO BED UNTIL YOU TUCK ME IN!  I'M GOING TO STAY UP FOR WEEKS!

There's only so many times I can handle hearing this statement ominously whispered in my ear.  I tuck him in again. For the last time.  Again.  Maybe.

5) I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!

I hear his feet hit the floor.  I flip the lights off and jump into bed.  Maybe if I pretend like I'm sleeping, Big E will get the hint.

Nope.

He sits down at my computer and starts looking at pictures.

Poodle Yoy is going crazy because in the process of hiding from my child, she has lost visual of me.  I can't tell if it is her or Big E circling my bed like a crazed killer.  It is her.

I lay my final bedtime threat on Big E.

I lead him back to bed for hopefully the final time this evening.

As I pass by Little E's room, I hear him choo-chooing his brains out.

Seriously.

What the hell?

Forget Buzz Lightyear and Woody, my kids need to be Vampires for Halloween.





Monday, October 1, 2012

If You Give a Kid a Steroid Shot...

Big E has been feeling under the weather the past few days.  This morning he awoke with a wheezing that wasn't sitting well with me.

I called his doctor's office and when I described the wheezing they told me to bring him in ASAP.

I threw the Yoys in the car.  No drinks.  No snacks.  Nothing.

They ushered us into Dr. Yoy at record speed.

After a thorough inspection, Dr. Yoy diagnosed Big E with croup.

Big E has never had the pleasure of experiencing croup, but Little E and croup are best friends forever. In fact, I expect Little E and croup to make their reacquaintance in the next 3-5 days.  It will be epic.

Anyway, Dr. Yoy decided to give Big E some oral steroids to help with the wheezing.  After thinking about it for a minute, she decided to give him a steroid shot to speed up the absorption.

This is when things went from sick kid to scary-as-sh*t-sick kid.

The nurse had him lay down and gave him the shot in his thigh.  Like any other kid, Big E is not a fan of shots.

He started crying.

I DON'T WANT TO BE SICK ANYMORE!

THAT HURT ME!

The nurse left the room and I went to work on calming Big E down.

But I couldn't.

He climbed onto me and began thrashing around.  He was barely audible, as part of his illness is hoarseness, but I could read the panic being emitted from his eyes.  He arched his back, almost like he was seizing.  He was gasping for air.

Um, I'm no doctor, but this didn't seem kosher to me.

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME?!

I yell into the hall.

A nurse runs in.

OH MY GOD, HE'S TURNING BLUE!

She yells for Dr. Yoy.  The panic in her voice resonates in my bones.

My poor Big E.  He is back on the table.

Dr. Yoy is administering oxygen and some breathing treatment.

He is shaking.

His oxygen rate drops.

I am shaking, although I'm trying not to panic for the boys' sake.

Little E is oblivious.  He is laying on the cool, ebola infected tile of the room, sucking his thumb.  Hey Little E, maybe next next time you should try Walmart.  I hear their floors are cleaner.

Big E fell in and out of sleep while he was hooked up to the machine.  The nurse wrapped him up in a towel to try and stop the shaking.

After Big E's oxygen levels came back up, Dr. Yoy decided it was time to transfer him to Scottish Rite.

And she wanted him monitored on the way over.

CAN YOU SAY AMBULANCE RIDE?

Normally, Big E would have been amped.  He LOVES emergency vehicles.  But today he was scared.

And it was so, so sad watching as the paramedics lifted his little body onto the stretcher all hooked up to machines.

I held back tears.

I'm happy to report that Big E was discharged from the hospital this afternoon with just some additional steroid medicine.  His wheezing all but stopped while we were at the hospital.

I'm to keep a close watch on him tonight, which will mean I will sit next to his bed and watch him breathe for the next 11 hours.  His wheezing ramped up again a few hours ago, so I'm very nervous.

I talked to Dr. Yoy this evening.  She said in all her years of being a pediatrician, today's visit was the scariest thing she's ever experienced in her office.

So, do we get a prize for that?

Special thanks to Uncle Yoy for coming to get Little E before he picked up any additional viruses and Aunt Yoy for watching him while we were at the hospital.

I'm praying tomorrow morning Big E will be all sunshines and rainbows again.
Just pitiful.