The Mrs. Yoy Blog: The Quarantine Coronacles

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 overcomm

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 LISTE

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.

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.

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 an

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 bac

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 qui