Monday, February 24, 2014

The "Boot"y Call

Today was Little E's first day following Winter Break.  If you are keeping score, the week before his Winter Break, was the appetizer for Winter Break which consisted of three days off of school due to ice and snow.  At this point, school is just a fleeting memory.

Little E was excited to head back today.  We went a little early, as we were in charge of snacks this week.  Little E gave me a big hug and was off to chat his sweet teacher's ear off about the comings and goings of the Yoys over the past few weeks.

I, on the other hand, had my laundry list of chores/errands to accomplish over the next 220 minutes of freedom.   And I was off!

After my workout, I came home to clean up the house.  The weekends do a number on this place.  With the cleaning people coming on Wednesday, I've got to pre-clean for my pre-clean that will be happening tomorrow night after the Yoys go to bed.

I was in the middle of a straightening up storm when my phone rang.  It was Little E's school.  At that moment, my heart always skips a beat.  Please tell me he isn't majorly injured.  Please.

Worse.  He was being a complete turd, for lack of a more technical term.  His teacher informed me he needed to be picked up.  He was getting the boot from preschool.  I checked the clock as I ran out the door.  It was only 10:30.

On my short drive to school, I lamented Little E's expulsion for the day.  I, the girl that never once received a detention, was the parent to a three year old with behavior so abhorrent, he needed to be removed from other three year olds. How's that for irony?

When we returned home, I spoke with Little E about his behavior.  It is not appropriate to ruin his friends' work spaces, throw screaming fits on the floor, and charge at his teacher.  He showed no remorse, just that he wanted to go back to school.

I WANT TO GO BACK TO MY SCHOOL!

He repeated this phrase over the next hour in a screaming/crying rage.  I tried unsuccessfully to calm him down.  He told me I was ugly. He had crossed over to the other side and I just had to wait out the storm.

Finally, a little before noon it was over.  He put himself to bed.  And he's been asleep ever since.

It's hard to imagine my sweet boy acting like this, so I'm just going to chalk it up to being tired and far removed from the school routine.

Cannot be the same sweet boy.


Friday, February 21, 2014

Big E, Big Scare

I almost made it through the day without anything blog-worthy.

The boys were asleep.  I was preparing to take a long overdue shower.  It had been a rough day of crossfitting, manicuring, eating, and playgrounding.  I had been outside with the boys for the better part of four hours this afternoon.  I was smelly and tired.  A shower was just what I needed to recharge enough to get through some Yoy administrative work.  Mr. Yoy had a dinner thing, so I anticipated a quiet night at home.

I peeled off my workout clothes and dropped them into the empty laundry hamper (pat myself on the back for that one).  I took two steps towards the bathroom and there I saw him.  He stood a mere three feet tall, but his presence was grand enough to startle me.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I shrieked with fear.

I stumbled backwards and my foot got stuck underneath the ottoman.  All bets were off.  My limbs flailed and I fell back onto the chair.  It was a fall of epic comedic proportions.  Melissa McCarthy would have been mad jealous if she saw this move.

Big E just stood there.  Mouth open.  Then he laughed.

Not me.  I cried.  The reaction I have to pure, unadulterated fear is tears.  This is the second time Big E has done this to me, and I've had the same reaction both times.

In exchange for the attempted heart attack, I hope Big E has seared into his brain the image of his haggard mom tripping over herself and busting a** onto a chair.  All without a stitch of clothing on.

Therapy awaits, my son.

She's got nothing on me!

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Pre-Party at Dirty Moe's?

Last night I received the warning shot that my 20 year high school reunion was on the horizon.  Yes, I can do math and realize that 2014-1994 = 20, but I was still in denial.

Until a Facebook page was set up for my high school's 20 year reunion.  Within hours, an army of my classmates had joined.  Things just got real, people.

Assuming the reunion will take place over the summer, I have about 4-5 months to undergo as much plastic surgery as humanly possible.  I'm not aiming to look like Michael Jackson, I'm just aiming to look eighteen.

I've loved sun, food, alcohol, having babies, and all sorts of things that have taken their toll on my middle-aged body.  I started to panic.

But then I remembered, I'm already on Facebook, and I do post pictures of myself.  Not the weird, artsy, one-eye and half of a nose kind, but of my whole face (and sometimes my body if I'm feeling adventurous).

I took a deep breath. There will be no surprises.  Or surgery.  I will continue on my strict diet of bagels and white wine and look forward to the day that I can see the smiles of my old (long-time, not age) friends.

Maybe if there is a freak cold front, I can wear this.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

The Yoys: Going Dairy-Free?

Motherhood is not for wussies.

Sometimes, I may want to act like one, but I can't.  Because I'm it.  If I lose my nerve and run screaming from what life throws at me, who will protect my kids?  No one.  So I get a grip and soldier through.

I've seen some nasty stuff in the past five years.  Stomach turning, lunch reversing, sh*t that nightmares are made of.

Blood, boogers, poop, vomit, scabs, spit, ear wax.  All the highlights.

But nothing skeezes me out as much as curdled, moldy milk.  The smell, the texture, all of it.

This afternoon, in a spring cleaning frenzy, I attempted to straighten up our bedroom closet which is in a constant state of ransack.  

I ran my hands under the row of cute summer shorts that I was beginning to feel like I'd never wear again.  I pulled out a couple of shirts that I'd thrown on the ground during a previous attempt of putting together an acceptable outfit.

Then I felt it.  A sippy cup.  Before I pulled it out into the daylight, I prayed it was water. Please. Be water.  Just this once, as I was still recovering from the sippy cup I'd retrieved from under the third row of the van.  FYI, I entered that cup into Big E's school's science fair.  And won.  Just saying.

Back to the closet.  

I took a deep breath and held the cup up to the light.  It was my worst fears confirmed.  Chunky, blackish, milk circa 2012.  I gagged as I ran the cup straight out to the garbage can.  

Dark thoughts quickly clouded my brain. 

WHAT OTHER THINGS ARE GROWING/LIVING IN THE ABYSS OF MY CLOSET?

I NEED TO CLEAN UP MORE OFTEN.  THIS EPISODE COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED!

THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN IN THREES!  WHERE IS THE THIRD CURDLED MILK SIPPY CUP HIDING?

Our trash BETTER come tomorrow as I can barely function just thinking of that cup sitting at the end of our driveway.  Making the rest of our regular trash extra nasty.


The picture really doesn't do it justice.  And yes, I took a picture of it.


The Fake-Out

Bedtime is a very precarious process for me.

If done right, I've got both Yoys in bed, asleep by 7:30.  This leaves me 3+ hours to be the lazy slug I dream of being during daylight hours.

If done wrong, it can be the worst 2-3 hours of your day.

Once the last bedroom door is closed, I usually sit upstairs for five minutes.  If there is no movement detected, I'm 90% home free.**

Tonight I waited the obligatory five minutes on the couch.  Then I moved the party to my bedroom.  I bounced down on the bed next to a laundry pile of Mr. Yoy's black and navy socks.

I stared at the ceiling while carefully examining my evening time options.

1) Fold socks.  If they were white socks, maybe.  But having to distinguish between black and navy pretty much guaranteed my failure.  Next.

2) I could read my book club book(s!).  That would require me downloading something onto my Kindle.  I'd have to move my arm over to my nightstand to reach it.  Sigh.

3) I could shower.  Always a popular choice, and a necessity if I want to keep my New Year's resolution.  That would require much movement and effort.  Hold.

4) I could workout.  Or I could watch people working out on television aka The Olympics.

5) I could finish the Yoy tax return.  But we did donate a sh*t ton of stuff to Goodwill and I don't feel like itemizing articles of clothing at this juncture.  File that away for later, get it?

** Warning, here comes the other 10%, the dreaded sleep fake-out.

Mid-tantalizing thought process, I heard a door crack open and the thud of Fred Flintstone feet on the carpet.  There he was, Little E.

I WANT TO SLEEP IN A DIFFERENT BED TONIGHT!

Before I could even process his demands, I had to quickly mourn the loss of my evening.  For I knew the drill. The recidivism rate for this guy was off the charts. He would be visiting me every ten minutes for the next two hours.

I've put him back to bed three times so far.

Currently he is taking all of the trains from his room and lining them up next to my feet.

I hope everyone else has better luck tonight!


Thursday, February 13, 2014

Ramblings From Mommy Prison

Day 3.

Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.

Three days.  No school.

I'm sure my single friends cannot comprehend why everyone is complaining about being stuck at home with their kids.  All while the quantity of alcohol consumption hits freshman year of college levels.

So let's take a closer look at the situation.

Yes, I did intentionally get pregnant with both my kids.  Yes, I love them dearly. Yes, they bring me great pride.

But they have this thing called school.  For Big E, it is from 7:45-2:30 EVERY DAY. For Little E, it is from 9-12:30 EVERY DAY.

So, EVERY DAY, at a minimum, I have 3.5 hours to enjoy using the bathroom in private, grocery shopping without having to stop at the bakery for a cookie, working out without being asked constantly when I will be finished, and sometimes, if I'm really lucky, meeting a friend for lunch.  It's what keeps me sane.  And keeps my kids alive.

First, school is taken away from me.  Then the roads become impassable.  So I'm a prisoner.  With two kids who are used to being engaged for a large portion of the day.  And it's mutiny.

Oh, I can engage them.  For a time.  But eventually I run out of steam (wine/caffeine).  And I want to be left alone to curl up into the fetal position and rock myself until bedtime rolls around.

Today started promptly at 7:06.

MOM!!  IT'S SNOWING OUT!

And, I'm up.

We head downstairs so that Mr. Yoy can sleep as he worked until after 2 in the morning.  I make the Yoys breakfast and then embark on a marathon of games. Guess Who? Chutes and Ladders.  I Spy Go Fish.  And finally, Candyland. After, I lose my fourth straight Candyland game to Big E, we head to the playroom to work on his learning books.  But Big E won't let me veg out in the comfy chair.  I have to do the learning books, too.  So I spend an hour practicing writing out my capital letters.  I kick-a** at this, by the way.

After, what appears to be an eternity, I glance at the time.  It's 10:40.  I've been playing for three hours straight and it is only 10:40 in the morning.  This is a cruel joke.  I quickly calculate that I still have about six hours until I can legitimately begin bedtime.

I ask Big E if he wants to go out and play in the snow (even though I hate the cold, I'm willing to sacrifice.)

NO, IT'S TOO COLD.  LET'S STAY INSIDE ALL DAY!  IN OUR JAMMIES!

My fate is sealed.

I chased them around the house for a while playing our new favorite game, MOMMY MONSTER, cooked up some lunch, and finally, gave into the Leap Pads.

It's quiet now.  Except they are both laying at my feet playing their Leap Pads.

Big E has tomorrow and Monday off for a previously scheduled winter break.

Little E has off of school all next week.

I'm going to have to dig deep, but I'll make it.  And you will, too!

Stay strong, Atlanta moms! You are rockstars!


Nap Time!

Thursday, February 6, 2014

My Two Dads

Remember that 80s sitcom gem?  The mom slept around and this poor girl didn't really know who her dad was.  This was eons before DNA testing was a thing. Nicole was content that Paul Reiser just might be her dad.  And that was aces in her book.

Lucky for Little E, he'll never have to watch this show.  Instead he is living it.

Well, not really.

He has his real dad, Mr. Yoy.  No paternity testing needed there.

Then he has his second dad, Big E.

It took about five years, but that kid's paternal instinct finally kicked in. Especially in the discipline department.

LITTLE E, IF YOU DON'T STOP PLAYING WITH TRAINS AND EAT YOUR DINNER, YOU ARE GOING TO TIMEOUT FOR THREE MINUTES!

LITTLE E, I'M GOING TO COUNT TO THREE AND THEN YOU BETTER SIT DOWN AND EAT!

LITTLE E, USE YOUR SPOON!

I laugh.  And then I cry because Big E is just parroting me and apparently, I'm super annoying and a horrible nag.


You can pretend you never watched this show, but we all know you are lying.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Mrs. Yoy: Checked Out

As the cold descended upon us, the Yoys looked for other, indoor activities to occupy our time.

One of our favorite after school activities is to hit up the small library branch across the street from our neighborhood.

The boys load up on books and I let them each check out one DVD.  The DVDs have a quick turn around.  You can keep them for seven days.

Unfortunately for us, day seven fell on day three of Atlantarctica.  And I had not garnered enough courage to drive up my street (mountain for my Floridian friends).

But Mr. Yoy had to get into work.  As he ventured out on Thursday I handed him two DVDs to drop off at the library.  I breathed a sigh of relief, as our movies would be returned on time.  

I have to admit, my mind was not functioning on all four cylinders.  I had been homebound with my kids for way too many hours.  I was running dangerously low on caffeine and alcohol.  I was halfway hibernating to conserve energy and keep my long limbs warm.  

I was cleaning up for the cleaning people yesterday (because I'm crazy), and I noticed that one of the library movies, Thomas Does insert lame activity here, was sitting next to the TV.  Mocking me.

Dang! 

Two thoughts flooded my mind.

1)  At $.10/per day, my mistake severely depleted our bank account by a third of a dollar!

2) What movie did I give Mr. Yoy to return to the library?  I panicked!  What if I returned Hunger Games?  Or Pretty In Pink?  What WAS I thinking?

I made the fatal flaw of thinking all of my thoughts aloud, which drove my sons into a panic.

DID YOU GIVE THEM SCOOBY DOO AND THE PIRATES?

WHAT ABOUT TOY STORY 3?

I CAN'T FIND MY MADAGASCAR 32!

They ripped open the DVD cabinet and began a frantic inventory of their movies.

The accidentally returned movie is still unidentified.  We will hit up the library tomorrow after school and see if someone returned a random copy of Two Weeks Notice.

Until then I will drink lots of green tea and play many games of sudoku.

We cannot escape handing over tons of money to the government!