Thursday, December 26, 2013

Big E: He Knows No Boundaries

Greetings from Florida! 

There have been many things to blog about, but I caught a case of the lazies and haven't been motivated to write.  Plus, my parents bought a computer with the new windows operating system and it might as well be DOS.

Today, everything changed.

My parents' neighborhood has a kiddie pool.  Said pool is riddled with my parents' neighbors' kids and grandchildren escaping the frozen tundra of Kansas City, Boston, and Long Island, just to name a few.

Big E loves the kiddie pool.  We are usually the first ones to arrive and then Big E's "friends" begin to trickle in.

I put friends in quotes because within minutes of meeting, Big E has made forever friends with the kids (and their parents).

This morning we met a family from Boston.  Their son was almost two and very adventurous.  Let's just say this kid drank a ton of pool water, even with his dad shadowing his every move.

Big E was immediately drawn to Boston Daddy.  And thankfully, Boston Daddy was very patient and kind with him.  I watched in horror as the following events happened and/or topics were discussed.

1) Religion:  ARE YOU CHRISTIAN?  This led to a light discussion on interfaith marriage.  Awkward for all involved. 

2) Back Scratch:  Yep, Big E gave this man an unsolicited back scratch.  Mr. Yoy would have been so jealous.  Boston Daddy seemed to enjoy it.

3) Butt Rub:  Boston Daddy had on a pair of super tight racing swim trunks.  They had all sorts of triathlon symbols all over them, so I gather he was into that nonsense.  Personally, I didn't think they were necessary for the kiddie pool, unless he was planning on racing all the little kids, but alas, I am not the fashion police.  Anyway, Big E kept tracing the triathlon symbols which happened to be on his backside.

4) Swim Lessons:  Big E attempted to teach Boston Daddy's toddler to swim.  I guess two summers of hard core lessons with Miss C has rendered him a certified swim instructor.  No one drowned, so I consider this a victory.

To summarize, it was two hours of overstepping boundaries and oversharing of information.  I pulled Big E aside multiple times to explain personal space and appropriateness.  This did not seem to penetrate his chlorine soaked skin.

So I just sat there.  Mortified.  Maybe I was sunburned, but most likely my red glow was embarrassment. 

P.S. I had a picture of all the action, but I can't figure out where it goes when I download it from my email because this computer blows.  Sorry.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Big E: Drive Me Crazy

We spent a significant amount of time in the van today.

And we don't have the super duper fancy van with televisions in the headrests. We have the baseline van.  The one where you are forced to have conversations with your children.

If you know Mr. Yoy, it will come as no surprise to you that there is a great deal of talking going on during our drives.

Below are today's hot topics in no specific order:

1) My Barbie Collection.  I was way into Barbies.  I had the townhouse, the car, even Skipper.  Big E wanted to know if I played with toys even when I was ten. My memory is vague, but I think I played with my Barbies until then.  I mentioned that to Big E and he was immediately intrigued.

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR BARBIES?

WHY DID YOU GIVE THEM AWAY?

And finally, he cried.  Because he was sad that I gave all my Barbies away and he couldn't play with them.

2) Our Living Situation.  Big E is learning about the human life cycle in his pre-k class.  Baby, child, teenager, adult, Larry King, and death.

WILL I STILL LIVE WITH YOU WHEN I'M 20?

I answered him honestly.

I HOPE NOT!  (Not because I don't love him, just that it'll be hard to commute to and from Harvard from Atlanta's Westside.)

This brought up feelings of anxiety.

BUT WHERE WILL YOU BE LIVING?  WHY CAN'T I LIVE WITH YOU FOREVER?

And finally, he cried.  Because he was sad that as a twenty year old male, he wouldn't be snuggling with his mommy in her bed.

3) Volcanos.  This one is on me because I let him check out some doomsday children's book about Pompeii.

WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE PEOPLE THERE?

WHY COULDN'T THEY BREATHE?

WHAT IS MOLTEN LAVA?

I try not to lie to him, so I dropped the bomb that they were all buried alive. That went over swimmingly and led very nicely into our next topic.

But not before he made me promise there were no volcanoes in the metro. Although I can't really vouch for Kennesaw Mountain.

4) Cemeteries.  We drive by a cemetery every day, but only recently has Big E taken notice of it.  I think the whole Halloween/spooky/tombstone thing has really piqued his interest.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DIE?

WHEN WILL YOU DIE?

WHEN WILL I DO?

WHAT DOES IT SAY ON YOUR TOMBSTONE? (That I was an awesome mother and funny writer!)

And finally, I cried.  Because I was having the most intense and random conversation with my child while trying to navigate Atlanta traffic.

My next car will come equipped with the built in entertainment system and possibly a second row privacy window.

Like a limo.

Hmm.  I think I'm on to something...









Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Big E: First Big Trip

Tomorrow, Big E will embark on his first hallucinogenic drug trip.

And no, I'm not taking him to the Phish concert.

Big E has a small cavity in between two of his back teeth.  It is the first, but certainly not the last, time that I feel like I failed as my son's care provider.  No amount of brushing, flossing, and quarterly fluoride treatments would stop this thing.

Our dentist recommended that we go ahead and fill it.  And he uses laughing gas in the process.  His doomsday teeth predictions easily sold me on the procedure. 

I have only one experience with laughing gas.  I was a child and needed some teeth pulled to progress on the six year adventure that was my braces.  

A few deep breaths of the gas and my pediatric dentist amazingly transformed into a robot.  As he asked me harmless questions about my summer camp in his robot voice, I began to freak out.  I closed my eyes tightly.  I allowed myself to peek at my robot dentist.  But instead of a dentist he looked like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.  I was officially tripping out.  This memory is seared into my brain even thirty years later.

Understandably, I'm a little anxious for tomorrow's appointment.

I've already fired the warning shot at Big E.

UM, BIG E, TOMORROW WE HAVE TO GO BACK TO DR. H'S BECAUSE HE WANTS TO CLEAN OUT YOUR CAVITY WITH SOME WATER.

He seemed ok with that, because up until now, he loved his dentist.  

And what sort of sh*t will Big E trip out over?

It will probably be a Disney Junior bonanza up in that chair.  Sofia, Captain Barnacles, Jake, Special Agent Oso - they'll all be there!

Please send some positive vibes our way!  Thanks!




Monday, December 9, 2013

Mrs. Yoy: On Probation

Mr. Yoy has informed me that I've been doing a crap job of documenting the recent happenings of the Yoys.  He has put me on a performance improvement plan and if I don't meet his specified goals, I think I may be out of here.

November 22nd was the date of my last blog entry, which Mr. Yoy was quick to point out was almost one month ago.

So what have I been doing with all my free time, you wonder?

1) Removing 15,000 photos from my encumbered iMac to the cloud.  You think I post a plethora of pictures to Facebook and Instagram, you should see the sh*t going down on my computer.  It's a guarantee that the Yoysers will resent me when they are adults.  And yes.  You really do need hundreds of pictures of your kids in the tub.  It never gets old.  Ever.

2) Binge watching Homeland. The season finale is Sunday and I'll be damned if Yahoo News spoils things for me.

3) Reading.  Yes.  You read that correctly.  I read two books in the past month.  They were fantastic reads and I don't regret the hours I spent in my cozy chair while my kids raised themselves.

4) Wrapping an obscene amount of Chanukah presents.  This can only be done after dark, which is usually when I write.  I tried casually to wrap a few presents while the boys were in the playroom, but as soon as they heard the unrolling of the tape, they were like moths to the flame.

5) Going to parties.  Look, I'm super popular.  I can't help it if I'm hosting things and attending things and being a Yoy about town.  I just can't.  My calendar has finally calmed down. This, coupled with the fact I ate and drank myself out of all my party dresses has given me the extra time I need to blog.

6) Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and willing myself to take a shower.  It's cold.  I'm tired.  Enough said.

So there you go.  I'm riddled with excuses.  But really I'm just lazy.  And I promise to do better.  Please forgive me.


Typing away...

Friday, November 22, 2013

Mrs. Yoy: So I Creep, Yeah!

Big E had a nightmare last night around 3:30.  He asked me to lay with him in his bed as he was very frightened.  Big E has a full-size bed, so there is plenty of room for Mrs. Yoy.  I had no out.

You may envision us all snuggled together in our winter jammies, drinking hot chocolate, and reading books about loving families.  But that is not exactly how it went down.

I spent 30 minutes bracing myself against Big E's leg and arm thrashings and heavy breathing.  I have a terrible insomnia problem and once I'm woken up it takes me about two hours to fall back asleep.  I certainly wasn't going to spend my time staring at the ceiling in Big E's room.  There was television to watch, Kindles to read, and most importantly my big, fluffy amazing bed calling my name.

Big E finally went still around 4am.  It was time for my big break!

Atom by atom I began to move myself closer to the edge of his bed.  The key here was to not make any movement.  I cursed myself for overcommitting and covering myself with his sheets and blankets.  This was going to be a tough escape, but I had to try.

One foot made it to the floor as I used the Ikea nightstand for leverage.  I hoped my mad furniture building skills were not overrated.  If this thing collapses under the weight of my desperate, clammy hand, I was screwed.

I took a deep breath, and completed my escape.  I tip-toed towards the door.  I heard no movement from Big E's bed.  I could taste my freedom!  Yes!  The DVR was full of Millionaire Matchmaker and Glee!  My lucky night!

MOM? WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

My heart sunk into my bowels.  Dang, dang, dang, dang!

JUST TO THE BATHROOM, I'LL BE RIGHT BACK.

I sat down on the couch in the bonus room to strategize.  Do I wait and see if he comes looking for me?  Do I suck it up and go back in there?  Do I jet on over to Walmart to do some early Black Friday shopping?

Because I'm a sucker for my kid, I went back in there and laid down.  Big E was glad to have me back.

I waited another 30 minutes.  This time I heard his deep, rhythmic breaths.  His mouth gaped open in the shadow of the nightlight.  This kid was definitely out.

I began my escape moves for a second time.  The first time was just a trial run, but by now, it was a choreographed routine.

This time, I really did make it.  Not a peep from Big E.  I crept back into my room and basically did a swan dive into my cool, soft bed.  I was so tired, not even Patty Stanger and her insults could lure me downstairs to the DVR.

All the while, Mr. Yoy snored away.  None the wiser.


Me and T-Boz.  Creeping around at night.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Gravity Kills

Gravity is working against me.
And gravity wants to bring me down.  - John Mayer

On one of our previous airplane trips, I halfheartedly tried to explain to Big E how planes work.  I really know very little about how they work, except they have engines, they crash, and they no longer serve you free meals.

At the time, it was keeping Big E quiet as a mouse so I went on and on as his eyes grew larger and larger.  I threw in gravity at some point, just trying to hammer home how smart I was.  But really I was just bullshitting.

But the gravity thing stuck with Big E.  He brings it up periodically.

Tonight it was while the Yoys were in the tub.

MOM, IS THERE GRAVITY UNDERWATER?

Simple enough question, I suppose.

I tried to compose an answer.  I looked at my watch.  It was almost 8pm.  My brain was foggy.  I sat in silence before I threw out some physics catch phrases such as mass, volume, density, blah, blah, blah...

WHAT IN THE HELL AM I TALKING ABOUT AND WHY IS BIG E LISTENING SO INTENTLY?

I wanted to dial up Uncle R, an AP Physics teacher, and let Big E pepper him with questions.  But my fingers were too tired.

IS THAT WHY THIS BOAT FLOATS AND MY SCUBA DIVER SINKS TO THE BOTTOM OF THE TUB?

I snapped back to reality.

UM, YES! EXACTLY!

I promise, I'm no dummy.  It's just science is not my thing.  It's math.  Math is my jam.  If Big E had asked me if the quadratic equation exists under water, I would have jumped on the chance to explain it to him.





Sunday, November 17, 2013

Big E: Giving Thanks

I realize this is an early weekend morning blog entry, but when you get a mayday call from the playroom at 6:45 because your naked three year old is clipped into this:


it kind of decimates the sleep mood.

So, I'm up.  Which leads me to my next topic:  Thanksgiving.

A time to give thanks for all the amazing things in your life.  You may see people posting a daily list of things they are thankful for on Facebook.

Here is Big E's paper copy that is hanging on the hallway bulletin board at school:



Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Big E is thankful for the following:

1) I AM THANKFUL FOR MY PETS.

I am assuming here he is referring to Poodle Yoy.  In summary, Poodle Yoy> Mrs.Yoy (the one who grew him, feeds him, bathes him, wipes him, schleps him, etc.)  I lost out to an eleven year old dog who is basically decaying before our eyes.  Her rank breath could quell the Syrian conflict in mere minutes.  She popped into his head before his dear, old mom.

2) I AM THANKFUL FOR MY FRIENDS.

That's sweet and all, but at a few days short of five, I should still be the sun in his universe.  I expect this as a teenager, but as a pre k-er, no way.

3) I AM THANKFUL FOR HAVING A ROOF OVER MY HEAD.

This one gave me a chuckle.  Big E is a constant stream of I wants and I needs. I am painfully trying to teach him the lesson of want vs. need.

I NEED A NEW LEAPPAD GAME!

I NEED THAT LEARNING BOOK!

I NEED THE CRYSTAL MICKEY MOVIE!

It makes my skin crawl to hear him go on and on like a spoiled child.

YOU WANT A GAME, YOU DON'T NEED IT!  YOU NEED FOOD, WATER, SHELTER, ETC.  YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL YOU HAVE A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD!  SOME PEOPLE DON'T EVEN HAVE THAT!

So this last item is just proof that Big E sometimes listens to me.  He just regurgitated what I always tell him.

As you can see there is an empty feather.  He couldn't even dream up a fourth thing, that might in fact, be me.  His mom.

Instead, I wrote this very long guilt trip that I intend to print out and read to him when he gets older and never calls.

Happy Sunday!

Monday, November 11, 2013

Big E: Future Advice Columnist

Dear Big E,

How do I get my children to easily transition from one activity to another?

On the school playground this afternoon, I watched from afar as Big E approached a mother while she was trying to calm down her crying daughter.

My stomach crept into my throat as Big E began to animatedly speak, hand gestures and all.  I could only imagine what Big E was saying to her.  My guess was loads of inappropriate information including, but not limited to, directions to our house, the lazy breakfasts I sometimes feed him, and my social security number.

A few minutes later the same mom approached me.  Uh-oh.  This was it.  She was going to yell at me about my mouthy kid.

Instead she smiled and told me what great advice Big E had given her earlier. She was trying to get her kids to leave the playground, but her daughter didn't want to go.

JUST TELL YOUR DAUGHTER SHE HAS ONE MINUTE AND THEN IT'S TIME TO GO.

AND YOUR DAUGHTER NEEDS A NAP BECAUSE SHE IS CRYING TOO MUCH.

I HAVE LOTS OF GREAT IDEAS.

Seriously.  Who is this guy?

Big E, The Next Dear Abby

Adam Sandler: Where Art Thou?

The Yoys need you to pull out your guitar and sing the Chanukah song, ASAP.

Yesterday we took Big E to Toys R Us to pick out his 5th birthday present, a bicycle.

I've been delaying buying him a bike, as we live on the midpoint of a giant hill that would be classified as a mountain in Florida.  I have visions of him racing uncontrollably down our street and crash landing into the stop sign that my neighbors pretend is not there.

Big E hopped onto a Spiderman Huffy bike and it was love at first pedal.  Mr. Yoy and I know nothing about selecting a bike, so we frantically paged for some help.  Our goal was to spend the least amount of time in Toys R Us because things tend to degenerate very quickly within its walls.

While we waited for help, Big E happened upon the Disney Christmas Storybook Collection.  It was a beautiful book with glossy pictures on each foil-lined page. He was enamored.

CAN WE BUY THIS?

I glanced down at the book.

NO.

My answer was not the correct answer, so he moved on to Mr. Yoy.

Mr. Yoy repeated my answer and Big E flew into a tailspin.

MAYDAY!  MAYDAY!  JEWISH KID GOING CRAZY IN BIKE DEPARTMENT OVER CHRISTMAS BOOK!

Mr. Yoy sat Big E down on the floor in the helmet aisle and tried to explain how cool it was to be Jewish. (I hear you laughing. Stop.)

But we were not going to win this battle.  With the smell of Christmas and consumerism in the air, we were dead.

We had a birthday party to get to, so I ushered the kids out of the store.

The twenty minute drive to Marietta was a flurry of crying and screaming.

I WANT THE CHRISTMAS BOOK!

I WANT TO BE CHRISTIAN!

PLEASE!  I'LL BE GOOD.  FOREVER!  I PROMISE!

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry.  I feel for Big E.  I really do.  The month of December is magical and we are on the sidelines (for the most part).  I just don't know how to make this easier for him.  I know we could have caved and bought the book, I'm just trying to limit his religious confusion.

Any words of advice?






Monday, November 4, 2013

Big E: The Ultimate Wingman(boy)

For those of you that have been blessed to meet Big E, you recognize him as many things, but shy is definitely not one of them.

At our neighborhood park yesterday, Big E ran into not one, but two of his pre-K classmates.

I watched in amusement as they greeted each other like it was their twenty year high school reunion.  In truth, they had been together a mere 48 hours before.  I guess in little kid world that equates to eternity.

But Big E grew tiresome of the little girls and moved onto bigger and better targets, their dads.

Big E began chatting up these poor, unsuspecting men.  After a few minutes, I went over to rescue these patient souls from my son.

MOM, CAN SO-AND-SO'S DAD COME OVER AND DO LEARNING BOOKS WITH US?

A-W-K-W-A-R-D!

Luckily, dad-turned-victim #1 had to take his daughter to soccer practice.

Phew!  I quickly brushed off Big E's suggestion claiming they already had plans.

Next up, dad-turned-victim #2.  Big E used the same line about coming back to our house to work on his learning books.  Damn, this kid was good.

Again, another awkward silence followed by me reminding Big E that his babysitter was coming soon and we wouldn't have time for so-and-so's dad to come over and do learning books today.  Major bummer, I know.

As I reflected upon our park outing, an idea popped into my sick and twisted mind.

Big E is the ultimate wingman.  Yes, both of these dads happened to be married, but what if I rented him out to my single friends and had him approach all the cute guys at the park.  Or the mall.  Or even a bar (maybe that's a stretch...)!

Any takers?










Friday, November 1, 2013

Little E: Chain Smoker

Little old ladies are drawn to Little E.  It must be his innocent eyes and chubby cheeks.

We were in the checkout line at Publix and the woman in front of us struck up a conversation with Little E.

It began innocently with her asking Little E about his favorite yogurt flavor.  She laughed at Little E's responses to her questions.  I was glowing with mommy pride as I clearly had the cutest kid in this store.

DO YOU LIKE RASPBERRY YOGURT?

And then the music suddenly stopped.  The lights went on and the dear, old lady saw the real Little E.

I HATE RASPBERRIES!

In Little E's defense, I've been reluctant to feed him raspberries because Mr. Yoy is allergic to them.

The old lady was shocked by Little E's use of the word hate.

HATE IS A VERY STRONG WORD, MAYBE YOU JUST DON'T LIKE THEM?

I sheepishly smiled and tried to change the topic.

I HATE, HATE, HATE RASPBERRIES.

Little E felt the need to hammer home his point.  Job well done.

I could see her quickly falling out of love with my boy.  But he wasn't done.  The multi-color pack of cigarette lighters caught his eye.

I WANT THOSE!  I WANT THOSE!

And with that, the little old lady turned her back to us.  We were dumped.  Right there in line.

Two major takeaway points from today's Publix trip:

1) I need to introduce raspberries to Little E.

2) Little E needs to take it easy on the cigs.

Happy Friday to everyone!


Well when you display them like this, I can't really blame Little E!



Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Tomorrow: Just Another Thursday For Big E

Bedtime for Big E is a battle approximately one out of every three nights.

Tonight I felt confident going into bedtime.  Dare I say cocky?  I had the ace in the hole.  Halloween, the most sacred holiday for a soon to be five year old.  And I was going to use it to my full advantage.

I CAN'T SLEEP.

I HAVE NIGHTMARES.

LET ME DO SOMETHING FUN.

The typical excuses rolled easily off Big E's tongue.  They are empty and meaningless to me now, as I hear them on a regular basis.

I wasted no time pulling out the big guns.

BIG E, GO TO BED RIGHT NOW OR WE ARE NOT GOING TRICK OR TREATING TOMORROW!

He looked at me with his soulless eyes and declared that he didn't want to go trick or treating.

I'm raising a robot child.





Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Hot Damn!

I'm harboring a criminal.

Sunday's family outing included a torturous (for Big and Little E) swing through a bulk candy store.

Unlimited, accessible candy all at eye level.  

MOM, IS THIS HEAVEN?

I wanted to answer yes, but I brushed off the suggestion.  Everyone knows that heaven has unlimited white wine and pizza and no one ever gets fat.

I left the store with the Yoys in tow while Mr. Yoy lingered behind eyeballing the life-sized gummy bears.  

I looked down at Big E.  Why was he chewing the cud?  I grabbed his face and took a look inside his sweet smelling mouth.  It was candy corn city in there.

BIG E!  WHERE DID YOU GET THAT CANDY CORN?  DID YOU STEAL IT FROM THE STORE?

Big E went on the defensive.  He swore to both Mr. Yoy and I that he didn't steal anything.

A LADY PUT IT IN MY MOUTH!

This is your strategy?  Pretend there is some creepy lady in the candy store force feeding candy corn to all the children? (After telling this story to my friend Lady J, she agreed that while this theory is a long-shot, I should not write off the crazy grandma suspect).

Mr. Yoy was about to drag a visibly upset Big E back into the store to confess his crime and face his punishment.  Instead, he went back in solo and bought a bag of candy hot tamales, which he disguised as cherry Mike & Ike's.

Big E grabbed three and shoved them in his mouth.  He chewed twice.  Then he began screaming and crying.  He spit them out into my hand.

THEY ONLY SERVE HOT TAMALES IN JAIL.  REMEMBER THAT THE NEXT TIME YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TAKING SOMETHING WITHOUT PAYING.

For a child that thinks pineapple is spicy, this was the perfect punishment.  

I've let the events of Sunday stew for a few days and I'm not sure if I'm more upset that Big E stole candy corn or that he continued to lie about it for the better part of an hour.  

Either way, I hope this is just a blip on the radar and not the signal of the beginning of Big E's moral decay.








Monday, October 21, 2013

Please Don't Go (To Breakfast), Girl

Key to their development into refined adults, I play a wide spectrum of quality music for the Yoys to enjoy.

During one of our many storied van rides about town, we were jamming out to a childhood favorite, New Kids On The Block (NKOTB, duh!)

As prepubescent Joey belted out about the girl going away, Big E became very alarmed.

WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO GO?

Oh, Big E.  Is now the time to dive into the topic of dating and breaking up?  I think not.

BECAUSE SHE DOES.

That was my well-thought out response.  I've been a parent for close to five years.  My ability to creatively answer questions has all but dried up.

IS IT BECAUSE SHE HAS TO GO EAT BREAKFAST?

AND THEN DIE?

Whaaaaaaaaat?

ONLY IF SHE IS EATING HER BREAKFAST AT THE WAFFLE HOUSE.


I'm 100.00000% sure this poster was hanging from my middle school bedroom walls.  And possibly high school.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas

I'm here to say, that doesn't have to be the case.

I tagged along with Mr. Yoy last week to his first shareholder retreat in Las Vegas.  And not scuzzy, Bally's Las Vegas.  I'm talking the Bellagio.  He wasn't allowed to go without me.

With minimal begging, we convinced my parents to fly up to Atlanta to watch the Yoys while we spent three days in Sin City.

Mr. Yoy had boring work stuff during the day so I was on my own.

But don't cry for me.  I treated myself big time.

Below is a partial list of the amazing things accomplished during my vacation from being a responsible parent:

1)  I woke up at 6AM Vegas time and worked out.  Don't roll your eyes at me, I never get to work out without checking the clock and my cell phone for calls regarding my children.  And the gym was packed.  I'm stuck on Eastern Standard Time, what's your excuse?

2)  I spent four glorious hours in the Bellagio Spa.  Four hours cost me approximately 65% of one month's worth of Little E's preschool tuition.  Yep.  I did it.  And I'd do it again.  Can you say eucalyptus steam room?

3) I ate meals alone.  With the exception of my Kindle.  And no one was touching me with their greasy, boogery fingers.  And I could consume my food at a rate safe for humans.

4) I drank alone.  Well, only because the bartender felt bad I was eating my salad alone.  I didn't care, but thanks for the ice creamy Kailua shots.

5) I ran up and down the strip treasure hunting for the Bank of America ATM.  While the Yoys enjoy dropping c-notes at the craps table, we refuse to pay the $7 ATM fee at the Bellagio.  The weather was amazing, I had spotify pumping in my ears, and I just keep running.  Like Forrest.

6) I laid in bed and watched a Law & Order marathon.  In my past life, I was all about a L&O marathon.  Showering, eating, and using the bathroom all fell by the wayside once Detective Lennie Briscoe appeared on my television.

7)  I took a thirty minute shower.  I had no audience.  No little boys pressing their faces up against the glass door asking for milk.  Or to wipe them.  Or whatever the hell they are always coming up with.

8)  I played the Wheel of Fortune slot machine.  And (over)enthusiastically cheered myself on, while drinking bad white wine and winning dazzling amounts of pennies.

While this Vegas trip looked markedly different from my last, pre-Yoysers trip, it was still amazing.  I came back to the ATL feeling like a whole new Mrs. Yoy.

This feeling had all but evaporated by the next morning, but I could still vaguely remember it.  Like labor pains.


BIG MONEY!  BIG MONEY!

Big E: The "E" is for ENERGY

Last night I tucked Big E into bed at 7:30, right on schedule.

I didn't see him snort like ten lines of coke before bedtime, but maybe he did.

Over the next four hours, Big E devoured his learning books.  He was in his room, laid out on the floor, quietly working.  He wasn't disrupting my much needed mommy time, so I wasn't super upset.

We watched the Falcons lose ANOTHER game and decided it was time for bed. Like the Energizer Bunny, Big E was still going.

IF YOU DON'T SLEEP, YOU WON'T GROW.

This nugget of info didn't bother him at all.  He's totally kosher with always being the shortest person within a 50 mile radius.

YOU HAVE TO GET UP IN 7.5 HOURS FOR SCHOOL!

He gave me a mildly annoying shoulder shrug.  But finally agreed to turn in for the night.  And that was the last we heard of him until the morning.

To prove our point, Mr. Yoy and I woke Big E up at precisely 7AM with a rousing performance.

RISE AND SHINE AND GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY, GLORY!

RISE AND SHINE AND GIVE GOD YOUR GLORY, GLORY!

We went on and on with clapping and foot stomping.  It was quite spiritual.

Big E did not find this humorous.  Nor did he enjoy when Mr. Yoy stripped his bed with Big E still occupying it.

Tonight I tucked Big E into bed at 7:30, right on schedule.

I have heard nary a peep from him.

Life lesson learned.

Produced during last night's coke infused learning book blow-out.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Big E: Picture Perfect

Tomorrow is picture day at Big E's elementary school.

A few weeks back, we received the photographer's flyer which included a choice of six backgrounds.

All six options are losers.  Fireworks, creepy lockers, some weird Star Wars sh*t, and my personal favorite (and instigator of this entry), the Christmas Tree with all the trimmings.

I mistakenly sat down with Big E tonight to go over his choices.  I was hoping when I revisited the flyer that a miracle had occurred and there was now a plain background available.  No such luck, friends.

Big E saw the Christmas Tree and his eyes lit up.

OOOOOH MOM, I WANT THE CHRISTMAS TREE!!

I sighed.  Heavily.  We have touched on the whole Jewish thing in years past, but I knew this year would be a challenge.  Big E spent three glorious years in a bubble at a Jewish preschool.  Now he was at public school and probably one of a handful of Jewish children there.

BIG E.  WE'RE JEWISH.  WE DON'T CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS.

The truth wasn't enough for him.

BUT THE TREE IS SO PRETTY!  PLEASE CAN I HAVE THE CHRISTMAS TREE BACKGROUND?  PLEASE?  PLEASE!  PLEASE?

Then the tears started.  Big, wet, heartbreaking ones.

I feel for the kid, I do.  I can recall the exact moment when I realized I wasn't like everyone else in my class.  And I hated being different.  (I was already left-handed and now this?!)

I did my best to calm him and try to explain that while Christmas is pretty much the most awesome and amazing holiday that ever existed, there are some redeeming things about being Jewish, too.

Below is an excerpt from my list:

1) Vegas on Christmas is the bomb.  It isn't very crowded and you can get into most restaurants without a resi.  (This is for later in life, obviously.)

2)  Your sense of humor will be legendary.

3)  You have zero expectation of being athletic.

4)  You can eat bagels with abandonment and no one will judge you.

5) "Oy Vey" is the greatest expression ever strung together.  Use it freely.

The only thing that peaked his interest was the part about bagels.  What can I say?  The boy loves some bread.

My game plan is to fill out the picture form without Big E and hope he forgets all about the tree by the time we receive the finished product.

Now that I've seen a glimpse of what December will hold, I'm going to prepare myself for the many forthcoming religious discussions.

Oy. Vey.



Far right is the tree that started it all.  But I'm thinking Star Wars Galaxy shot and maybe put him in a storm trooper's costume?  Yes?






Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Keygate 2013 > Watergate 1972

My kids love treasure maps.  And burying sh*t.  And keys.  And playgrounds.

If I mixed all of these things together in my magic blender, I could pour myself a big, tall glass of the worst afternoon ever.

I pick Big E up from school around 2:20.  We then head straight to the school playground for 1-2.5 hours, depending on how much sugar the Yoys have ingested during the day.

Yesterday, day my car/house keys went missing during our playground adventure.

Big E snuck them from my bag and then handed them off to Little E, which is the equivalent of throwing them into outer space.  He is a black hole.

I interrogated Big E, but for a kid that can remember the graphic details of when he fell off a train car in 2011, he had complete amnesia in regards to my keys he had stolen an hour before.

Bless their hearts, Big E's school mates helped me look for hours.  To them it was just another "treasure" hunt.  To me, it was my ride home.

I explained in detail what the keychain looked like.  

IT'S ORANGE AND BLUE AND HAS GATORS ON IT.

I realized I was really putting myself out there to these Georgia-bred second graders.

OH, I HATE THE GATORS!

[SIDE NOTE:  I was being heckled by children.  But I get it.  Sometimes, I hate the Gators, too.  Especially Driskell.  With his broken body and all.  I do give props to the parents for brainwashing their children at such an early age, though.  Well done, parents, well done.]

I was defeated.  I called Mr. Yoy.  I could feel his annoyance seething through the phone. He left work early and met us at the playground.  He stayed and searched with the Yoys while I drove home to get my extra set of keys.

We finally made it home close to six.

As of today, the keys are still unaccounted for.  

Big E's biggest concern is that someone while find our keys, open our front door, and take his leap pad.

But with each crazy Yoy story, there is a silver lining.  Atlanta's Westside neighborhood is full of awesome people and one of my friends/neighbors has a metal detector that she is going to lend me so I can comb the playground mulch.  

Because we all know my keys are buried there and this is just some sick game my kids are playing.


This will be me tomorrow at the playground.  It will be epic.


Big E: The Tracks of His Smears

At three and almost five, I can leave the Yoys unattended for short timespans without an apocalypse.

This evening I ran upstairs to put their laundry away before bedtime. The cleaning people are coming in the morning, and I have to make sure my house is pristine so they don't judge me and my filth.

It took me five minutes.  That is all.

In five minutes, Big E had used the bathroom.  Yay for him!  Except he left a sh*t trail starting on the side of the toilet seat and down the bowl.

But the damage didn't stop there.

Somehow he managed to smear it down the front of his quads via the arches of his feet.  Apparently, he took up some crazy form of yoga in the brief time I was upstairs.

BIG E!  WHAT IN THE WORLD?  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

He looked up at me (because he was busy playing) and smiled.

I WENT TO THE BATHROOM, MAMA!

I asked him to freeze like a statue and went to get the baby wipes.  I wiped up his feet and legs so I could get him to the tub without any permanent poo damage.

As I went to put the baby wipes back, I noticed I, too, was suffering from sh*tty arches.  I had stepped in it, which means it was somewhere on the hardwoods.

I collapsed on the floor and began to clean my feet as well.

Thank the lord my cleaning people are coming tomorrow.  And let them judge me.

Substitute the dog for Big E.  And me.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Are you there wine? It's me, Mrs. Yoy.

After a stellar checkup at the dentist this afternoon, Big E received a coin to put into the prize vending machine.  There were many crappy prizes to choose from.

Big E ran ahead of me and impulse bought a stick-on mustache.  I thought he made a pretty solid decision given his options.  I was going to stick that thing on his face and take some HILARIOUS pictures.

Big E immediately had buyer's remorse.

I WANT THE SUPER BOUNCY BALL INSTEAD.

There are too many indecisive little kids running around this place to have a return policy in place.  The next time you return, you'll get another prize.  That's it.

As I tried to check-out, Big E had a balls-to-the-wall meltdown over his missed opportunity to own a seventh super bouncy ball.  Tears, stomping, pushing as I tried to remain calm, although I wanted to match his crazy with my own that was simmering up inside me.

Not to be outdone, Little E screamed to be picked up.

I signed my life away and hurried out of there with two crying Yoysers in tow.

A few thoughts popped into my head as I dragged my offspring to the van.

1)  Why the hell was I wearing jeans?  It's 80 degrees.  And I know my kids are good for at least one public embarrassment per outing, which immediately raises Earth's temperature by a good 15 degrees.  I wipe the sweat off my brow as I wrestle my kids into their respective car seats.

2)  The size of the tantrum is disproportionally related to the cause.

HELLO BIG E, TODAY IS YOUR BRIS.  (Crickets)

HELLO BIG E, TODAY YOU WILL NOT GET A SECOND CRAPPY PRIZE AT THE DENTIST. (This is it.  The world is ending. Right here.  Right now.  In Vinings, of all places.)

The car ride home was surprisingly unpleasant.

Big E sobbed his way across 285.

I WANT TO GO BACK TO THE DENTIST.

I HAVE A CAVITY, MY BABYSITTER TOLD ME SO.

THROW THE MUSTACHE AWAY!

Fine, that I can do.  I assured Big E the prize was going in the trash once we arrived home.

This statement sent Little E off his rocker and he began to cry for the mustache, although I'm sure he had no idea why he was crying.  He just didn't want to be left out of the fun.

I half laughed/half cried the rest of the way home.  I didn't know what else to do.

This about caused Big E's world to end.

Little E: Bootylicious

This morning was Little E's three year old checkup.

Everything was within the normal parameters with the exception of his inappropriateness levels.  They were off the charts.

The nurse asked Little E to disrobe down to his polar bear themed tighty-whities.

WHY?  YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE MY BOOTY?!

And just to reiterate his point, he stretched the word booty out into six syllables.

Yep.  That's my kid.


Sunday, September 15, 2013

Pull Ups: The Ultimate Gateway Drug

Both my kids are toilet trained.

In the past, I needed to asterisk the above sentence.

The Yoys had a deep, dark secret that we share with many other families.

After using the toilet all day, we slide our kids into pull ups at night as the ultimate uninterrupted sleep insurance policy.

Any sort of bathroom accident is messy, but in the bed at 3AM with all seven of your stuffed animals is plain Armageddon.  I wasn't ready to dispose of our safety net, and neither was Big E.

Let's just air it all out here.  Pull ups are code for diapers.  Because that is what they are.  They just fasten differently.  They are a crutch.

You may innocently start your child in them for insurance purposes, but like any gateway drug, it quickly escalates to cocaine, I mean, urine-ville every morning.

With Little E, I noticed his pull up was always dry come morning.  With that nugget of truth, I altered my parenting trajectory.  I wasn't going to fall into the pull up trap with child number two.

We blew through our final Costco sized box of pull ups.  Gulp.  I was really going to do this.  It had to be done.  Big E will be five in November.  Enough was enough.

I purchased waterproof mattress covers for the Yoysers' beds.  I am a realist, if nothing else.  I expect there to be accidents, but I'm hoping it happens when I'm on vacation and someone else is watching them.

We've made it to night three of Operation Eliminate All Diaper-Like Products From Our Home.  Little E has made the transition more smoothly than his hooked older brother.  Detox is such a b*tch.

MOM, TOMORROW WHEN YOU GO TO PUBLIX, MAKE SURE YOU BUY US PULL UPS.

Usually these requests are reserved for such goodies as ice cream or Mentos.

But everyone has been dry in the morning and with each passing night I feel increasingly confident that we WILL end the cycle of addiction.

Everyone has fun peeing in their pants.  Just look at this little boy.  


Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Little E, Fat Lip

Just in time for the high holiday season, Little E is rockin' a fat lip like he's Lisa Rinna stirring up trouble on Melrose Place.

Unfortunately for my raging mommy guilt, this injury was my fault.

Little E was laying in the hallway on his belly rolling his Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine back and forth.   I managed to clear Little E, but the bumper of the Mystery Machine had a fight with my flip-flop and Scooby-Doo and his ride took flight right into my poor, sweet Little E's mouth.

Blood.  Tears.  Swelling.

MOMMY, YOU HURT ME!

I wanted to cry, too.

I made him suck on an ice pack, wrapped in paper towels.  Apparently that tasted the same to him as the Yoforia we ate on Sunday.  Note to self, cross that fro-yo place off the list.

So if you run into Little E tomorrow, please don't ask for his autograph.

1) He can't write.

2) He is NOT Lisa Rinna.


Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Candyland is for Suckers

As a family, we viewed zero television today.  Not one news report.  Not one fifteen minute episode of Fireman Sam.  Nothing.

Big E's punishment for lying about being sick was a full day unplugged.  I certainly wasn't going to make staying home sick fun for him.

But my stubbornness came with its own set of consequences.  The most dire of which, involved me.  I spent 12 straight hours in constant dialogue with Big E. Every facial expression or under my breath comment I made was then fully analyzed by Big E.  It was exhausting.

But my kids evolved.  They made up some crazy games which I will share with you.  Maybe you can teach them to your kids when they run out of things to do.

1) Yank My Chain.  The title IS catchy, isn't it?  This involved my kids launching themselves off Big E's bed in an effort to reach the chain that turns the fan light on and off.  Based on the thuds and substantial cheers that followed, my kids were masters at this game.  I peeked in once and evaluated the dangerousness of the situation.  I'm happy to report no injuries and the fan is still installed in the ceiling.  

2) Prison Break.  One child would wiggle under my bed and the other would block the exit with all my decorative pillows.  After much screaming and pushing, one son would reappear from the under(bed)world sweaty and laughing.  Again, a weird choice, but it kept them busy for an hour.  That is an eternity in little boy time.

3) Treasure Hunt.  This was my least favorite as it involved me walking around the house while Big E indicated via clapping speed if I was getting close to the "treasure."  For the record, I don't consider a toy Seder plate and fake matzo a treasure.  To me it seems more of a choking hazard.  Double thumbs down for this game.

4) Cliff Hangers.  I watched in horror as Big E scaled the back of our leather sofa and hurled himself onto the buttery cushions below.  Climbing on furniture is always a NO-NO at the Yoysers, but it was 5:45 and I was barely conscious. Little E sensed I had let my mother guard down and took a header onto the hardwoods as his stumpy legs tried the impossible.  

I have to admit, I am very impressed with my kids' creativity.  They played with zero of their traditional toys and still managed to keep busy with their imaginations. 

And we all survived.

Barely.


Unfortunately, Little E went right off the cliff.



Big E: The Yoy Who Cried Wolf

This morning Big E awoke from his extended weekend.  He was groggy and grumpy.

I, on the other hand, was singing from the mountaintops a la Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music.  My kids were returning to school.  I'm sure many of you had awesome Labor Day weekend plans.  Mine involved spending Sunday and Monday with them while Mr. Yoy worked.  It truly was a Labor Day.

MY STOMACH HURTS.  I DON'T FEEL GOOD.  I CAN'T GO TO SCHOOL.

Big E grasped at his stomach and even made a lame attempt at vomit.

After multiple questioning from both Mr. Yoy and I, we decided to keep him home.

Mr. Yoy left the house at 7:30.

Poor Big E.  He was ill.  My plan for him was to lay in bed all day.  He was going to rest up from whatever ailed him and be as good as new for tomorrow.

Around eight, Big E emerged from his bedroom.  Angels sang out.  He was a new man.  Completely healed.  It was a Rosh Hashanah miracle, I tell you!

I had been had.  Lied to.  And I was angry.

I am a sympathetic mom, I promise.  When my kids are truly sick I am the best caregiver around.

Big E had come down with a case of the three-day-weekends-shouldn't-ever-end.

His "sick" day will be the most mundane day he has spent on the planet.  No television.  No Leap Pad.  No computer.  Nothing awesome.  I will make him rethink his fake illness strategy.  For. Ever.

First up, his Sunday School homework.

By eleven, he was begging me to drop him off at school.

WHY DIDN'T YOU WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL TODAY?

He thought about it for a minute.

I DIDN'T WANT TO HAVE TO NAP DURING REST TIME.

So there you go.  This has been a recurring topic in our home.  He is very happy in pre-k with the exception of the 60 minute rest time after lunch.

Let me summarize.  He subjected himself to a day of punishment because he didn't want to lay still for 60 minutes.  What I wouldn't give to have a mandated 60 minute rest every afternoon.

Only four hours until dinnertime.  It's going to be a L-O-N-G afternoon.







Monday, September 2, 2013

The Art of the Transfer

We have reached Monday evening of Labor Day weekend.

We have done tons of eating and playing and swimming and learning books. Not much napping and most definitely not much sleeping.

As I navigated 285 on the way home from a visit with our family, my mind wandered to the upcoming week.  It wasn't until I was about half way home, that I noticed the eerie silence that had enveloped the van.  I peeked into my bus driver mirror and saw both Yoys, heads slumped over.

YES!  YES!  YES!

I yelled this to myself for fear of waking the beasts.  I spent the remainder of my drive strategizing how I would get them out of their car seats and neatly tucked into bed without a flutter of the eye.

So take note parents.  This may be helpful to those of you struggling with the transfer.

1) Always carry a set of pajamas.  I had the Yoys bathed and fed when I left D-Wood...just in case an opportunity arose.

2) Once home, close the garage door with all car doors shut.

3) Exit the car and head inside (while leaving the door from the garage to the house open!) to do some pre-transfer work.

4) Close blinds in bedroom, turn on sound machines, turn on fans, pull back blankets, and crank air conditioning.

5) Slowly unbuckle first Yoy.  I chose Big E as he is more of a challenge.  I carried those 37 lbs of love and energy precariously up the stairs as Poodle Yoy panted and danced around us.  I think she forgot the part where she is geriatric.  I'd appreciate it if she played the part instead of trying to wake up my kid.  As I dropped Big E into bed he looked at me briefly and then rolled over.  I quietly shut the door.  My mission was 50% complete.

6) Slowly unbuckle second Yoy.  This process was made more interesting by the puddle of drool that had lubricated the buckle.  Again, I carried a sack of potatoes up the stairs as my dog tried her best to trip me. Little E's descent into his bed was a little sloppy as I was getting excited.  He briefly woke from the feeling of falling (many people have this happen when they sleep), except this time it was actually because I dropped him.  I quietly shut the door.

And it was over.  The perfect transfer.  I did a victory lap around my bedroom and the bonus room.  I high-fived no one in particular as Mr. Yoy is at work.  But it was 7:15 and I was clocked out. **

**As I typed this, Big E's door swung open.  Like any good mom, I quietly stood up from my computer, tip-toed to my bedroom, laid down in my bed and pretended to be asleep.  After a few tense moments, Big E located me.  He just wanted a re-tuck.

 If you fail to plan, you plan to fail. - Many Smart People

Keeping the Yoys G-Rated

Last night Mr. Yoy and I climbed into bed around eight to binge watch Orange is the new Black.

Shortly after our show began, we had not one, but two haunting visitors.  Big and Little E.

Obviously, we didn't want them to watch our prison show.  They can't comprehend bad words or adult themes, but we wanted to freeze them in their extra-wide tracks.

EEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKK!  MONSTERS!

Mr. Yoy dug deep.  His acting rivaled the great Robert De Niro.

A flicker of fear washed across Big E's sweet face.

He did a 180 and sprinted down the hall back to the G-rated walls of his bedroom.

Mission Accomplished.


Saturday, August 31, 2013

Little E: A Lesson In Gravity

This morning I was startled awake by screams.

It was still dark so I wasn't sure which crying child was headed my direction.

WHAT'S WRONG?  WHAT HAPPENED?

I yelled from my cozy bed.  My tongue bathed in the remnants of last night's wine adventure.

More cries.  But this time my keen ear distinguished this to be Little E.

I thought his streak of never vomiting had unfortunately come to an end.  The only time Big E cried like this was when he vomited all over himself and his bed, which was awesome, by the way.

I FELL OUT OF MY BED!  IT HURT!

Poor Little E.  He dropped it like it was hot.  Right out of his leathery Costco trundle bed.

I pulled him into bed as I still hadn't garnered enough strength to get up.  I'm not even sure if Mr. Yoy woke up for this.  He quietly snored away next to me.

I soothed Little E as I strained to catch the time.  6:30.  He's up for the day.  And with all the adrenaline pumping through my tired body from the sudden wake-up call, I'm up, too.  I might head down to our street and flip some parked cars over.  For fun.

Who's with me?


Tuesday, August 27, 2013

0%

The chance the Yoys' shared bathroom has of not smelling like the men's urinals at the Falcon's game.

My kids aren't even drinking beer and stuffing their faces with nachos.

They are stone cold sober.  And three and four years old.

No amount of bleach and the thrice-weekly washing of their bathmat keeps the lingering smell of urine at bay.  It mocks me.

I'm thinking I need to install a drain in the floor, tile the walls and ceiling, and power wash that room every evening after I put them to bed.

Any suggestions?  Besides requiring them to use the grass in the backyard. 

I even used them all together.  I either singed all my nose hair or I finally (temporarily) got rid of the smell.

Monday, August 26, 2013

Big E: Hoping The Dog Eats His Homework

Big E's transition from a super small preschool to a full-fledged public elementary school has been pretty smooth.

We knocked out last week's homework assignment with no problem.  High fives and back pats all around.

I eagerly opened up Big E's homework folder this afternoon to see this week's project.

And there it was.  

DIORAMA.

Don't know what that is?  Look it up.  

Before we go any further, I'd like to point out the first part of the word basically communicates that me and my four year old son will die attempting to pull this thing together.

I have foggy flashbacks of creating my own diorama using a shoebox and my dollhouse furniture.  I was also eight.

Never fear, loyal readers, Mrs. Yoy has a plan!

1) Pinterest 

2) If #1 fails, use my charms to convince Mr. Yoy to take the lead.  He's the creative one, anyway.


Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Big E: Win, Lose, or Draw

Big E was hard at work on his first homework assignment of the school year.

Yes, I am aware that he is four and has homework.

His task was to draw his school, his teacher, his classroom, himself.  I busted out the markers and watched Big E channel his inner artist.  As his mother, I believe him to be the next Monet, but in reality, his talents are more in line with an 80s episode of Win, Lose, or Draw.

BIG E, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE YOU DREW!

He looked up at me and smiled with such confidence.

IS IT BECAUSE I USED A LEADING DISNEY ANIMATOR?

Good lord.  My kid watches way too much Disney stuff.  He's already been brainwashed.

Big E's Self-Portrait

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Little E: Sinking Our Budget

Living in Atlanta has its pros and cons.

I have yet to determine the pros, but as a regular reader of the Mrs. Yoy Blog, I'm sure you are familiar with some of the cons.  See crime, traffic, pot holes, etc.

One of my top five cons, is the century old, jacked up water and sewer system. As a city resident, our monthly water and sewer bill is astronomical.  Some months, I take a shot of vodka just to have the courage to open the envelope.

It consistently hovers in the $200/month range and we never use our sprinkler system.  Ever.  A few of my (un)lucky neighbors have received bills approaching $1,000.  For a month.  Of water.  Not Veuve Clicquot.

We are mindful of our water usage.  It's not like we skip showers or don't flush our toilets, we just see dollar bills sliding down the drain when we do.

Little E is newly bathroom independent.  He's doing great, for the most part.

Yesterday he used the bathroom and washed his hands all without me having to get up and help him.  This is a BIG DEAL.  Now I can slink back to the level of laziness I had achieved while Little E was still using diapers.

About an hour after Little E had used the bathroom, I walked in to turn the light off.  While Little E has mastered many new skills, conserving energy is not one of them.

Before I even reached the light switch, I had bigger fish to fry.  Little E had left the sink water running.  For AN HOUR.

It may be a multiple vodka shot day when the August water bill makes its way to us.

OY.


The Yoys: Seat Taken

This afternoon's outing began with the usual toilet standoff.

While a toilet standoff sounds intriguing, it boils down to me pleading with my children to use the bathroom before we leave the house so we can avoid (AT ALL COSTS!) the dreaded public restroom.

Who doesn't love dragging two kids into the dirtiest Walmart-ish bathroom stall on the planet?

THIS GIRL!

It is that visual that fuels my stubbornness.  Bathroom time is a must before we head out.

Big E immediately refused.

Little E happily climbed up on the toilet.  He hasn't graduated to the EVERYTHING-MY-MOM-SAYS-IS-SH*T phase yet.

Half-way through Little E's bathroom time, Big E decided he needed to use the toilet.  Like yesterday.

I offered him my bathroom, the guest bathroom, or the downstairs bathroom. These choices were sub-standard.  

Big E needed his bathroom.  With the lovely blue walls, elephant decor, and plush towels.  There was no other option for him.  

I watched with a mix of horror and amusement as Big E climbed right up on the toilet and smushed his tush in between Little E's and the toilet seat lid.  

And then a smile crept onto my face.

THEY FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO SHARE.

My job here is done.


Thursday, August 15, 2013

Big E: Nosey Boo Boo

Big E fell flat on his face this evening.

At first I couldn't tell if the blood was real or if it was residual paint and/or pizza sauce.

But his tears were very real, so it's safe to assume that the blood was not for show.

I calmed him down and assessed the damage to be a few surface scrapes and a rudolph-like nose, which I believe is the correct medical terminology.

As bedtime approached, I received some terrible news courtesy of Big E.

ANY SCRAPES OR BUMPS TO MY NOSE WILL CAUSE ME TO STAY AWAKE ALL NIGHT.  (It was even better in person, with his seriousness and overzealous hand gestures)

My hopes for an early, peaceful evening sunk like my jokes at a cocktail party.

But in the end, the 6.5 hours of school + 2.5 hours of playdating + 1.5 hours of pizza eating overpowered Big E and he boarded the express train to dreamland.

AMEN.


If you see Big E tomorrow, make sure you say hello!

The Yoys: Auditioning For Scary Movie 10

My house may or may not be haunted.  Understandably, I'm a little jumpy.

Little E retold his creepy ghost story AGAIN at Big E's school playground yesterday after class.  He's keeping the topic trending over here at the Yoy residence.  Which leads me into my next story...

The morning alarm came too fast.  Mr. Yoy and I were out late jamming to the likes of Toto and Kansas last night.  We were paying for it this morning.  I mumbled something to Mr. Yoy and rolled over to grab my glasses.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I levitated into the safe clutches of the ceiling fan.

Standing one inch away from my pillow was not one, but both Yoysers. Shoulder to shoulder.  Perfectly still.  Smiling in the dawn light.

How did I not hear those guys slip into our room?  Their nighttime approach resembles a herd of elephants.

I'm going to have to booby trap our bedroom door, Goonies style, if this continues.

Try waking up to the boy version of this.  

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Little E: Nightmare On My Street

Last night, I saw a ghost.  He was white.  Walking up our stairs.  And crying.

This could be the opening scene to every terrible horror movie ever made.  Or it could be my sweet boy, Little E, telling everyone he encounters about our newest resident.  In his creepy little kid voice.

His teacher told me about it first.  She pulled me aside to tell me how clearly he had described our ghost.  The hair on my arms stood up.  

As I walked him home through our neighborhood, I tried to justify his story.  

IT WAS PROBABLY A BAD DREAM.

HE SAW IT ON SOME SILLY TV SHOW.

But my sensibility, which I pride myself on, had quickly dissolved into hysteria by the time we turned onto our street.

OUR HOUSE MUST BE BUILT ON AN OLD BURIAL GROUND!

WE ARE HAUNTED!

HOW WILL I EVER SLEEP AGAIN?

I didn't say anything to Little E about it.  Instead, I watched in amazement as he relayed his story to anyone that would listen.

I SAW A GHOST...

Mr. Yoy thinks we are being haunted by the Ku Klux Klan (said ghost WAS wearing white).  They respectfully request that we return to New York, or wherever our kind hails from.

I'm praying we are being haunted by the great imagination of a three year old.


I better not run into this guy on a middle of the night water run.


Thursday, August 8, 2013

You Can Stand Under My Umbrella-ella-ella

Day two of Big E's adventure in Pre-K.

He seems to be adjusting well.  No tears, no dragging his feet when it's time to go.  Heck, he even hugged every person left in his classroom goodbye this afternoon at pickup.  Including his teachers.

As I was preparing to pull my stuff together, including Little E, and leave to go pick up Big E, we had an incident.

I won't go into the gory deets, but it ended with Little E in the tub.

So I didn't hear the approaching storm.

I was in such a rush to get out the door, I didn't notice the rain until we backed out of the garage.

I delusionally reassured myself it would let up by the time we made the five minute drive to school.

I parked on the street and shut off the car.  I had about five minutes until I really had to get out and make the half a block walk to the school.

LET'S GET OUT!

Little E is so patient.  And clearly he wants yet another bath.

The five minutes passed and the ran showed little sign of relenting.

The carpool line was out of control.  This is a non-issue for me as I must walk into the school and sign Big E out.  The school buses couldn't pull out because everyone from carpool was stopped in the street.

The rain continued.  It didn't care that it was only the second day of school and many people were still new to this gig.

I pulled out my golf umbrella and carefully balanced it on the top of the van as I unbuckled Little E.

I carried Little E in one arm and held the umbrella in the other.

The two minute walk into the building was treacherous.  I had to watch for trees, other parents' passing umbrellas, and flood waters.

Little E was still dry when we entered the school, my shoes were water logged.

Once Big E was signed out, we made the return trip to the car.  This time I had Big E and Little E hold hands while I tried to keep them covered.  It was futile.

Three wet rats drove home.

And now it's practically sunny.

Thanks for nothing, weather.
This would have come in handy.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Mrs. Yoy: In Need of an Oil Change

For almost three weeks, I've had my mom to help me care for the Yoys.  She flew up to the ATL while Mr. Yoy was away for work and then she flew with me down to South Florida where I stayed with the boys until Mr. Yoy retrieved us this past weekend.

I'm not going to lie, I coast when she is around.  Most meals the boys ate during July were prepared by Grandma.  Which may explain why they ate gummy vitamins and sun chips for dinner tonight.  I forgot how to mom.

If I had it my way, I'd ease my way back into hard core parenting.  It's really difficult to go from one end of the spectrum to the other.  Thank goodness I have my sweet boys to keep me on my toes.

We hit up the Toyota service department this morning for an oil change.

Both Yoys brought their backpacks full of learning books and stickers and snacks to keep them quiet for the 30 minutes it takes to change the oil.  These kids were prepared.

I anxiously watched as the pot that is my children began to simmer and to boil.

By the time we reached the check-out window, they were reenacting the final scene from the Hunger Games.

***SPOILER ALERT***

Only one of those Yoysers was going to win the Toyota edition of the Hunger Games.  None of this let's both eat the berries, bullsh*t.  They were fighting to the death.

A woman in line next to me gave me a questionable glance.

THIS IS WHY MOTHERS EAT THEIR YOUNG.

I didn't say that, exactly, but I sure wanted to.

I could not control my kids and god knows I tried.  They caught me off guard.  I was on the easy listening channel and they were tuned into death metal.

As we loaded up, I informed Big E, who, as always, was instigating everything, that he had lost his afternoon movie time.  He proceeded to pinch me and try and rip off my cardigan.

Put that in your Sienna commercial, Toyota!

Are you Team Big E or Team Little E?

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Big E: Jewish and Proud

Big E is a talker.  Not only is he a talker, he has zero filter.  Which can be very dangerous.  Mr. Yoy and I are very careful (most of the time) of what we say in front of him.

Half of our conversation is spelled out.  When Big E finally learns to read, it will totally S-U-C-K.

As we were leaving the pool this afternoon, we encountered an employee of the clubhouse leaving her shift.

For the record, she began the conversation with Big E.  Which I'm sure she'll regret forever.

It started innocently, but once she engaged Big E, the information was free-flowing. 

I CAN COUNT TO ONE HUNDRED.

I CAN COUNT TO MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED.

MOST OF MY FRIENDS ARE FIVE.

I'M NOT, UNTIL NOVEMBER.

On and on he went.

She asked him about dinner plans.

CHICKEN NUGGETS?  OR TORTELLINI PASTA?  OR PEAS?

I finally peeled Big E away from this poor woman.

She yelled some parting words to Big E across the giant pool.

ENJOY YOUR CHICKEN NUGGETS!

In my mind, I played out what some appropriate answers to her would have been.

THANK YOU!  or I WILL!

But not my son.  He blasted out a jewel that sent everyone within hearing distance laughing.

WE'RE JEWISH!

That was his response.  While true, it is completely irrelevant to this conversation.

I swear it echoed across the pool for five minutes.

Oy.


I feel like this may sometimes be appropriate.

Little E: He's So Shy

This afternoon, the Yoys were on the verge of tearing my parents' tidy house apart.  Their energy expanded to every inch of this place and it was only mere minutes before someone was crying.  Or bleeding. 

I decided to move them to the kiddie pool up at the club house.

It was perfect. 

Until it wasn't.

Little E, while kicking butt on toilet training, still refuses to go on a real potty.  He goes on a mini one.  That I've been lugging around everywhere.  This kid has peed in half the parking lots in South Florida.

As we played in the pool, I saw a look of panic flash across Little E's face.  It was poop time.  And I left the mini potty at the house.  I grabbed him out of the pool.  He begged for the mini potty, and I had to break the news to him.

He cried.  He writhed in pain.  I told him he could go on a regular potty and he cried some more.  I told him to go in his swim diaper.  I wrapped him up in a towel and like a Baywatch lifeguard, ran his mummified body to the bathroom.

Maybe this would be his big breakthrough. 

I pulled down his swim diaper and he had pooped, but just a little.  This kid has cornered the market on massive man ones, so I knew there was more to come.

Little E refused to go anymore.

Three times we had a code red emergency which included me scooping him out of the kiddie pool, wrapping him up, and running the length of an olympic size swimming pool to get to the restroom where he had a serious case of the shy poops.

I finally surrendered.  We were going to head home.  This was not an enjoyable pool experience for me.  And I didn't want my folks to be branded the people whose grandson pooped in the country club pool.  These old people gossip like middle school chicks.  It is brutal.

 
NOT ON MY WATCH!

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

The Yoys: They Will Never Ever Ever, Sleep Together

Mr. Yoy and I had been tossing around the idea of bunk beds for the boys.  Had is the key word here.

The test run is happening right now at my parents' house.  The Yoys are sharing a room.  They each have a twin blow up mattress.

Tonight will be night four of them bunking up.  We have many nights to go and I'm not sure we will survive unscathed.

Last night, Big E didn't want to go to sleep, so he kept Little E up with his antics.  Once Big E was ready to doze off, Little E was so overtired and insane that he wouldn't let Big E fall asleep.  So they were both whining and crying and fighting. 

I took a shower to escape the noise.  When I came out, my dad had moved Little E's mattress into my bedroom as he was being a trouble maker.  Little E cried and ran back into the room with Big E.

This was not going to work.  I dragged his mattress back into the bedroom of hell.

My dad decided he would go outside and bang on their window.  Or better yet, shine a flashlight in the window claiming to be the bedtime police.

We were all frustrated, but I'm 100% sure that my dad's ideas would cause more harm than good.  They'd be afraid to sleep in that room.

I told Little E the next time I heard him, his mattress was going out back on the patio and he'd have to sleep with the alligators and pray that they don't eat him for a midnight snack.

That finally did the trick.  The boys fell asleep at 9:45.

Unfortunately they were both in my bedroom at 6:45AM. 

I expect nothing but complete sh*t behavior today. 

This will never, ever happen.

The Yoys: Fly Boys

On Sunday, I packed up the Yoys and along with my mom, flew down to Florida to visit with my family and friends for a few weeks before school starts back in early August (!!!).

Big E is a seasoned traveler.  We weekend in NYC often and he knows the routine.  I let my mom sit with him.  He would be cake.

I was (self) assigned to Little E.  The last time I put him on a plane was two years ago for Uncle D's wedding.  It was mildly unpleasant.  I resolved to never fly with him again. 

I know you are salivating.  You cannot wait for all the dirty, uncomfortable details of the one hour and twenty minute flight to West Palm.

But I'm going to disappoint you.  My kids were phenomenal.**  So much so, that once we landed, I lifted up the backs of their shirts to check for a panel and some buttons.  Maybe they had been replaced by robot Yoys.  For the record, they had not.

I added the asterisks as Little E kept stating with supreme confidence the following phrase.

WE'RE GOING DOWN!  WE'RE GOING DOWN!

It was creepy and mostly precipitated by the leveling off the plane once we reached cruising altitude. This is hard to explain to an almost three year old, so instead, I just let him ramble on and on about the plane going down as the neighboring passengers gave me weak, uncomfortable smiles.

DON'T WORRY, HE ALSO THINKS BALLOONS TIED TO CARS AT DEALERSHIPS INDICATES A CAR BIRTHDAY PARTY.

I wanted to reassure everyone my kid wasn't some freaky crystal ball baby that could see the future.

 
This was not our bag, but it easily could have been.  Fail to prepare and prepare to fail.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

The Yoys: (un)Easy Street

This afternoon as I was packing up the Yoys to go to a play date, I noticed a man in a blue Dodge SUV stopped in the street in front of my house, snapping away pictures of the Yoy Castle on his iPhone.

Because I'm on edge and a little insane, I swung open the front door and went sprinting into our driveway.

EXCUSE ME!  EXCUSE ME!

CAN I HELP YOU?

I startled the guy.  He smirked at me, gave a half wave and sped off.

My mind began whirling.

WAS HE CASING OUR HOUSE?

AM I GETTING THE NEIGHBORHOOD BEAUTIFICATION AWARD?

WHO WAS THAT GUY?

It made me very uneasy.  We left for our play date, but when I returned home, I decided to call the police.  If our neighborhood was competing in the summer crime olympics, we'd certainly get the Gold for robberies.  It's pretty tense around here. And if Blue Dodge is going to return later and murder me, I at least want the police to know who their suspect is.

APD arrived and the officer was very kind.  He explained that taking pictures is not a crime.  He went through a laundry list of potential suspects that I'd like to share with you.

1) Ex-husband:  I haven't had a chance to send Mr. Yoy running for the hills yet, as we've only been married seven years.  Check back with me in a few.

2) Ex-boyfriend: It's been along time since I had a boyfriend.  If I've still got men taking pictures of my house almost a decade after we dated, well then I am f*cking awesome.  Just saying.

3) Private Investigator:  Now I'm intrigued.  Mr. Yoy works 14 hours a day as an Intellectual Property Attorney and I sit on the couch eating bon bons and blogging.  Who would be investigating us?  We are B-O-R-I-N-G.

He assured me my home was in a good spot for not being robbed.  Comforting. I think.

The officer then complimented my flowers and lawn (which I take great pride in) and commented on the weed sh*t show going on in the adjacent lawn.  Don't get me started, officer, then there really might be a crime.

In the end, he recommended buying a gun and sleeping with it next to my bed, like he does.

Sigh.  Atlanta.

I just need to buy one of these and park it in my driveway.  Then I will sleep soundly at night.