Tuesday, April 23, 2013

The Yoys: Flood Brothers

When we arrived home from our playground jaunt this afternoon, an entire ant colony had taken up residency on top of the Yoys' little table they use for meals. Coincidence, I think not.

I sent the boys upstairs to strip down for a bath, grabbed the ant spray, and went out back to spray around the patio door and windows.

They were upstairs for ~ 5 minutes.  I could hear them in the bathroom, but I figured they were brushing their teeth or playing with their bath toys, sans bath water.

I walked upstairs and the bathroom door burst open.  Out ran Big E soaking wet.  Out ran Little E, laughing maniacally, and also soaking wet.  His shoes were water logged. 

I gulped.  And then peaked into the bathroom.

The drain to Little E's sink was closed up and water was flowing freely from the faucet, into the full sink, onto the counter, down and into the cabinets, and finally settling in about an inch of water all throughout the bathroom.

Their rugs soaked up some of the water, but I was tasked with hurling towels on the floor to try and stop any real damage. 

BIG E!  WHY DID YOU DO THIS?

He looked at me, batted his eyelashes and deferred all blame to Little E.

LITTLE E DID IT.

So today, Big E learned about being an accomplice.  

WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME WHAT LITTLE E WAS DOING?

Big E showed zero remorse, which just solidifies my theory that I'm raising a sociopath.

I WANTED TO SEE IT FLOOD.  I LIKE FLOODS.

I was seething.  Maybe Jewish preschool is overdoing it on the whole Noah's Ark story.

Big E still thought it was all a joke while I was on the floor sopping up super expensive City of Atlanta water.

GET TO A BOAT, QUICK!

I looked up at him.  We locked eyes.  My mind raced with all the punishments I would hand out.  But I couldn't find the words.  Instead, I just screamed.  My windows are open, so I'm sure my neighbors heard my meltdown.  

I finally dried everything and threw a sopping wet pile of towels and rugs into the washing machine.

I put Little E down for a nap after the bath, as I needed a few hours before I could look at him again.

Big E put himself to bed, because after refusing to go to bed at an appropriate time the past few evenings, he finally surrendered to his exhaustion.

And me?  I'm just drinking a glass of wine.  At 4.  On a Tuesday.


Sleeping off his a**hole hangover.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Moldy Hummus and a Sh*t Pile

This sums up my evening.

You're intrigued, I know.

I picked up my nephew this afternoon and brought him back here to spend the night with us.

I spent approximately three hours alone with the boys before relief arrived in the form of our trusted babysitter, Miss L.

I always semi-jokingly try to convince Mr. Yoy to have another baby.  For the record, it ain't happening, but I'd like to say after spending the afternoon with the three boys, I'll NEVER bring it up again.

My nephew was an angel.  Little E was mad jealous.

As I was feeding Baby M, Little E performed a strip show which included his diaper.  I thought he was going to go on the toilet as he's been using it sporadically.

What I didn't know, was that Little E went into his playroom sprayed the pile of learning books with urine and then crouched down and took a deuce on the floor.  F*cking awesome, I know.  Except I didn't know he did that, because I didn't enter the playroom until much later.

After a hectic few hours, everyone except Big E, who continues to haunt the halls of our beloved home, was asleep.

I went downstairs to make a healthy salad, but was derailed by intense hunger and laziness.  I debated popping open a bottle of wine, but I was on an empty stomach and didn't want to pull a Reese Witherspoon (OUCH!  - too soon?).

Instead I opened a container of lemon hummus, flipped open my Glamour magazine, and dove into my dinner of carrots and hummus (an old pregnancy favorite).  The lemon definitely added a different dimension to my hummus.  It wasn't until I had done some major damage, did I see the pink mold spores blanketing the hummus.

GAG!  GAG!  GAG!

I actually said that out loud to no one, but maybe Big E as he hides when he is supposed to be asleep.  It's possible he was in the pantry.

So now I sit and wait to see if I die of mold poisoning at some point tonight.

Wish me luck.


And I got stuck in 285 E traffic this morning.  All lanes shut down.  Today was epic.  Tomorrow HAS to be better!  Good night!


The Secret Behind Overscheduling Your Child

T-Ball on Mondays.
Swim on Tuesdays.
Gymnastics on Wednesdays.
Karate on Thursdays.
Soccer on Fridays.

By the weekend, your child is a zombie version of his former self.

Why do parents continue to do this to their kids (and themselves)?

I often ask myself that question.  I roll my eyes at the moms that have their kids enrolled in every activity imaginable.

DON'T THEY KNOW THAT BECOMING A TWO SPORT PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE IS NEAR IMPOSSIBLE?

But as I watched Big E run wild around the house this evening before finally dropping dead (only after Mr. Yoy threatened to delete Fruit Ninja from his iPad) at 10PM did I have an epiphany.

I was quick to judge the overscheduling moms, but now I get it.

They are just trying to wear their children out so bedtime lasts approximately 15 minutes,  instead of tonight's running time of 150 minutes (and possibly counting...).

Well done, moms, well done.

I'm off to troll the internet to look for every activity I can cram into a four-year-old's not busy enough schedule.

Ah, I forgot hockey and guitar lessons!

Thursday, April 18, 2013

What's With All the Mom Haters?

This afternoon, I took advantage of a few Yoy-free hours to return some stuff at the mall and stock up on toilet paper and other sexy stuff at Costco.

Somewhere around the produce department I heard the screams and cries of a very unhappy little boy around Big E's age.  His mother was hightailing it to the check out lane.

This boy was inconsolable.  The mother was amazing.  She was staying composed, which I don't think I could have done.  A mere hour before, I had experienced a Big E mega-balls-to-the-wall tantrum.  They are soul shattering, trust me.  I am still recovering.

For the second time in a week, I wanted to hug a random mom.  She was doing her best.

CAN YOU BELIEVE HER?  SHE IS JUST IGNORING HER SON WHILE HE SCREAMS?

And there she was.  The lady I just LOVE encountering.  MRS. I-HAVE-AN-OPINION-ON-YOUR-MOTHERING-SKILLS-AND-I'M-GOING-TO-LET-ALL-OF-COSTCO-KNOW-IT.

I have encountered this woman before.

Have you?  She makes a snarky comment about you or your kids and it takes every fiber of your being not to slap her.

The sweet grandma in line in front of me was first to defend this poor mom.

HE'S JUST SHOWING OFF.  I'VE GOT FIVE GRANDKIDS JUST LIKE HIM.  THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO CALM HIM.  HE'LL BE FINE AS SOON AS THEY REACH THE CAR.

Finally, a voice of reason.

Because it is true.  As a friend once recently described it to me, they have "flipped their lid".  At that point, you just walk away.  Nothing you will say to your raging toddler will matter.

Now this poor woman could not leave her wailing son, but she could choose to not react, which is what every pediatrician will tell you to do.

So, I'm rambling a tad, but I promise my story has a point.

Why must we tear each other down?  Opinions are like a**holes.  Everyone has one.  But that doesn't mean we all want to hear about it.

How about a little compassion for this poor mom?  She's just trying to buy food and her son probably lost his mind over the giant, awesome swing set next to the apples and pears.

I'm sorry that hearing her crying child for two minutes has inconvenienced your day to the degree that you have to let her know.

How about you shove some of those delicious Costco muffins inhabiting your cart in your mouth and move on?



Thursday, April 11, 2013

Little E: Boarding the Potty Train?

After months of talking it up, bribery, and cheerleading, Little E finally caved under the pressure.

He parked his adorable, squishy bottom on the singing potty and urine actually came out.

Even better, Big E sat on the regular toilet and they went in unison, side-by-side.  (I took a photo, but I want my kids to love me when they grow up, so I won't post it here.)

Quite possibly my finest mommy moment to date.

I'm not patting myself on the back just yet.  I, in no way, believe Little E is ready to make the transition from heavenly diapers to every-public-restroom-on-the-planet hell.

I'm just saying he acknowledged that toilets do exist.  This gives me a nugget of hope.

This toilet haunts my dreams.

The Ghost of Grocery Shopping Future

This afternoon I enjoyed a Yoy-free trip to Publix, courtesy of my amazing mom.

I did not have to stop by the bakery.  I did not have to run past the candy aisle.  I did not have to take an emergency bathroom break.

It was EPIC.

As I leisurely strolled the candy aisle (just eating with my eyes, I swear), I watched two brothers, approximate ages of 9 and 7, bickering about which size marshmallows to buy.  After a few quips back and forth, the boys took their argument up a notch to the supreme court of sibling arguments, their mom.

As I swung up the next aisle, the boys closed in on their mom, who was studying jars of pasta sauce.

MOM!  SO AND SO SAID THIS!

NO MOM!  SO AND SO DID THIS!  IT'S NOT FAIR!

And on and on.

She sucked in a deep breath and looked up.  We locked eyes.  I could see the frustration over what is probably a lifelong bickering match between these boys.  I smiled faintly at her.

For a second, I wanted to abandon my shopping cart and hug her.

I also wanted to whisper to her kids to cut the crap or they were likely to get a jar of Prego to the head.

This is my future.

The bickering hasn't really begun, as half of what Little E says is incomprehensible.  But it will happen.  And my ears will cry tears for the hours upon hours of this sh*t I will be subjected to.


Yoyser Brothers

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Top Shelf Bubbles

Can we all take a moment to clear the air about a topic near and dear to my heart?  Seriously, no bullsh*tting, people, this is a safe and honest place:

Bubbles.

I hate bubbles.  We have accumulated a stockpile of cheap, birthday party take aways, that mask themselves as bubbles.  They are composed of one part soap and ninety-nine parts water.  In the history of mankind, no one has ever successfully blown two consecutive bubbles from a single wand dip.  I dare you to prove me wrong.

It triggers frustration for the Yoys.  Little E always concedes and takes to drinking the bubble mixture.  I'm not even a little bit concerned about that, as I know what is labeled as bubbles is really just dirty water.

The Yoy arms are quickly covered in a sticky film which then attracts every speck of dirt within a three mile radius.  Thus, transforming my kids into dirty street peddlers, with the exception of their crisp polo shirts.

Bubbles done right is amazing.  I can set up camp in our driveway.  Pop open a soda, settle into a tailgating chair and blow bubbles while my kids chase them around for hours.  It never gets old.  Ever.  And it is a wonderful way to kill an hour during the dreaded 4-6 time slot.

Today I decided to take charge of the deteriorating bubble situation.

I marched into Babies R Us, and purchased top of the line bubbles.  One for Big E and one for Little E, as forced sharing unhinges the shaky peace treaty the Yoys are operating under at any given moment.

The price tag for my high-end bubbles: $3+ per little bottle.  For the same price, I could buy some Trader Joe's wine and be a much nicer Mrs. Yoy.

I pulled out the bubbles when we arrived home from school.  The Yoys were amped!  The weather was great!  We were going to have an awesome afternoon.

Until Little E clumsily spilled half of his bottle.  I watched in horror as the good bubbles slowly swirled together with the yellow film on our driveway and headed down hill.

I was frustrated, but an accident is an accident.  Big E was so engrossed by the flowing bubbles that he dumped the rest of Little E's bottle out.

Now I was mad.  And Little E was crying.

I somehow negotiated opening Big E's bottle and pouring some into Little E's.

Within five minutes,  every ounce of top shelf bubbles was spilled.

The brief time I spent with the money bubbles did not disappoint.  So, so many bubbles.  And different shapes.

Now both boys were crying for more bubbles.  I was crying because I had just watched my $7 swirl it's way down my driveway.

Our cleaning people were fortunate enough to witness Big E's grand bubble finale.  As they loaded up their car, they watched as Big E lost his f*cking mind over soapy water.

BUBBLES!  I WANT BUBBLES!  BUBBLES!

His screams echoed through our neighborhood.  You'd think he was calling after a pet that had been hit by a car or something equally as tragic.

It was pathetic and in that time, I pledged that our house would forever be known as a bubble free zone.

Damn you, Gazillion Bubbles!

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Things Just Got Low

Mr. Yoy called to check up on us around 6:30.

The boys were getting bubbly in the tub.  I had finished cleaning up for the cleaning people and was looking forward to a quiet evening of reading and watching The Mindy Project.

I closed Big E's bedroom door at 7:30.  I was now an evil, snarling witch.

Sixty minutes isn't all that much time.  But it is just enough time to script a meaty blog entry.

I pulled the boys out of the tub shortly after I hung up with Mr. Yoy.  As I was diapering and dressing Little E.  Big E parked himself on the computer and put on his playlist.  After a few rounds of Doctor, Doctor, I heard Flo-Rida come on.  He clearly had switched playlists.

Whenever "Low" comes on the radio, Big E is immediately mesmerized.

MOM!  CAN YOU PUT THIS SONG ON MY PLAYLIST?

Look, I make a lot of subpar parenting decisions, but this was not going to be one of them. I put my foot down.

NO WAY!

As Big E tried to argue the merits of adding Flo-Rida onto his playlist, I sat down at the computer.  Big E was standing up in the chair behind me, naked and dancing.

I closed out iTunes.

Big E erupted.

He put his hands around my neck and screamed for me to put Flo-Rida on his playlist.  I broke away from his crazy strong little kid grip, but not before I had the sensation that my throat was being crushed.

I was steaming mad.  I was frustrated.  I wanted to throw my naked son out the window.

I immediately scolded him for hurting me.  I told him to go into his room and calm down while I read Little E some books.

Big E translated that to mean coming into Little E's room and kicking all of his books around.

As I read 57 Sandra Boynton books about bedtime, Big E screamed and cried in my ear.

I, again, asked him to go in his room and calm down.  I was trying to take the high road here.  I didn't yell at him, which I thought was amazing.

After books in Little E's room, we moved onto teeth brushing.  Big E began to simmer down, but he was constantly whining.  Not a normal-toned word was spoken.  Big E protested everything I suggested.  He refused to wear the pajama bottoms that went with the top I picked out because he "likes dinosaurs AND airplanes!"

We all then read some books in Big E's room (which is our normal routine).

I put Little E to bed and came back to put Big E to bed.

GOOD NIGHT.

I didn't even want to wish him a good night, he had been such a pill.

WHY DID YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT? (whine)

Good lord, I can't even say good night without some push back.

I walked out and shut the door.

Look, I love anyone who can transform a state into a rap name by using a little punctuation, but Flo-Rida and I are in a major fight tonight.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Big E: The Grim Reaper

Death has been a hot topic at our house as of late.

We live close to a cemetery and yesterday we were fortunate to drive by as they were preparing to lower a casket into the ground.

This generated a flurry of Big E questions.

I don't want to lie to him about death, but also don't want to scare him.  It's such a fine line to walk.

My response so far has been pretty neutral.

ALL LIVING THINGS DIE.

This pacified him initially, but then he began to process the statement.

ARE WE LIVING THINGS?

WHAT HAPPENS AFTER YOU DIE?

ARE YOU GOING TO DIE MOM?

I told him I was, but not for a very, very long time.

WHEN YOU ARE A 100?

Sure, that sounded good to me.  He seemed ok with that.

But he brought it up again today and he seemed more upset about it.

Now I'm worried I messed Big E up by being honest.

I know there is a book about this, but I may have missed the boat.

Any suggestions on fielding questions on this sensitive subject?  Thanks, readers!


Little E: Diaper "Car"nage

I scooped Little E out of his crib this morning.

He was smiley and happy and hi mommy-ing himself silly.

I hugged him close to me.

Wetness.  

Ugh, he peed through his diaper.

I quickly hoisted him up to his changing table.  He refused to lay down so I stripped him as he stood there, precariously balanced with his arms death hugging my neck.

As I released the tabs of his diaper, the weight of a night of urine caused a dramatic thud of his diaper.

Something blue caught my eye.

IS THAT SOME SORT OF WEIRD BLUEBERRY SH*T?

Upon further examination, I was able to determine the specimen.

It was a matchbox car.

I laughed.  He laughed.

Don't worry.  I don't think Little E ate a car and then gracefully and painlessly pooped it out.

His crib is full of all sorts of goodies, including a rogue car or train.

I'm just interested in how the car made its way into the bowels of his tightly closed diaper.

I guess I'll never know.  Like Stonehenge. 

Good morning!  You are the last thing I expected to find in my son's diaper!