Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Air, Shelter, Water, Food, Comcast

Yesterday, after at least three months of our Comcast cable laying in the gutter of our street, where countless cement trucks, cranes, and everyday traffic drove over the fraying orange cable, Comcast finally buried that sucker.  They've already been out to replace it once, as our cable was acting up due to damage.  I asked numerous times for it to be buried.  Yesterday was the day.

Things were getting done. I was happy. Until I tried to sneak in a little HGTV before my kids came home from school. And it wasn't working. And neither was my internet. And my home phone (not super important).  And the Comcast guy had vanished like a ghost.

The cable may be out of sight, but it was no longer hooked up to our home.

The Yoys came home and we were busy with homework and life and I wasn't able to call Comcast until after the kids went to sleep.

The customer service rep kindly told me that they'd send a technician out on Monday. 


Panic sirens began flashing in my head. Six days without television? Six days I'll have to parent my own offspring? And they'll be on Thanksgiving break? Is this some sort of joke?

I begged the guy to find me an earlier appointment. He kindly moved me up to Sunday. Whew, that was close. (Sarcasm)

I was too tired to argue and he assured me if any appointments opened up in our area, they'd call me ASAP.

I hung up the phone and panicked. 


So I read a book.  It was weird, but what choice did I have?

Fast forward to today.  I let the kids in on the bad news as soon as they awoke. I needed to set their expectations.  Big E was devastated that he would have no screen time on his birthday (tomorrow). First, we canceled his party. Now no TV. His life was not worth living.

We'd gone a full 24 hours without TV and internet. I decided to take Poodle Yoy for a walk with the break in the rain. As we rounded the corner for home, there it was. 

A shiny, gleaming beacon of hope.


I broke into a sprint in my knee-high Stuart Wetizmans and sweater dress.  This was for serious.  Life or death. I ran so fast I ripped Poodle Yoy's collar right off her freshly coiffed head. I looked back at her.  She was on her own, show-dog prancing freely down the middle of our street.


It seems to weird to ask given the truck, but there are like 100 workers in here on any given day.

He confirmed and I spilled the beans.  About the disruption in service and the call last night and how I have small children that NEED to watch Paw Patrol. Please. Have mercy on my family. I may have teared up for show.

And he did.

Can you hear the angels singing?

Monday, November 16, 2015

Happy El Greco Eve!

Tomorrow is Big E's El Greco presentation.

I'm not going to lie, I'm a little nervous.  What if he gets up there and bombs? It's 50/50 with him.  Mr. Yoy has ice cold nerves when it comes to presenting in front of people.  I, on the other hand, need about two bottles of Chardy before my stellar presentation skills finally emerge. We will see which gene pool runs deeper around 9 AM.

In the meantime, I've been doing some last minute artist costume prep. I never thought I'd be THAT mom. 1) I'm lazy as hell. 2) All my creativity is directed towards my writing.

This is what I'm working with:

For a brief moment, I thought about putting a baldy cap on Big E.  But I didn't want him to get his butt beat at the bus stop.

Instead, I took a sip from the devil's cup. PINTEREST.

I just finished up my Elizabethan collar made of coffee filters, some string, and a hand-crippling hole punch.

It's a little more dramatic than El Greco's, but so is Big E.

Wish us (mostly me) luck!

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Applegate: Our First New Home Scandal

Last Saturday, we hosted a bunch of friends for the UF vs. Vandy Game (dubbed by Mr. Yoy as the battle of the only two SEC schools the Yoys are allowed to attend).

Now that we have edged into our mid-thirties (ahem), these parties also include lots of children. We had ten little ones roaming around the house, including the Yoys.

I had instructed Big E to be my eyes and ears.  If he saw something that shouldn't be happening (i.e. purchasing movies via Comcast - yes, that happened), please alert me.

One of my main rules is no food out of the kitchen.  But this was a party and I was hitting the Riesling, so I may not have been as sharp as usual.

At some point, Big E snuck an apple up to the playroom. I guess I can't be too upset that he is sneaking fruit, but rules are rules.

What happened next remains fuzzy for all involved, at least for my kids who proclaim complete innocence.

What I found, after the game ended, was a half eaten apple lazily propped up against my formerly white baseboards in my laundry room.  On a totally different floor from where Big E claimed to have gotten tired of chewing and left the half-gnawed apple perched on a couch pillow in the playroom. 

And only because I've watched an insane amount of Law & Order and CSI, I was immediately drawn to the splatter patterns of the apple juice.  All I needed was some of that mysterious spray bottle liquid and a black light.

To the naked eye, the initial apple impact was by the dryer and a trail of sticky apple juice made its way to the wall where the sad, browning apple was found.

It's like someone bowled the apple into the wall.  Or they were raging from watching our beloved Gators play so terribly and just chucked the apple into the laundry room. I'm looking at you Mr. Yoy.

The truth is out there. Although I fear I'll never know it.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Big E as El Greco

On Tuesday, Big E will turn in his first major school project, complete with character dress-up, tri-fold foam board, and presentation to parents.

The assignment was to choose a famous artist and then compare and contrast the artist to Leonardo DaVinci. (not DiCaprio)

Big E chose El Greco. My art history study was limited to one semester in high school.  I'm ashamed to admit I know very little. Undoubtedly,  I learned just as much as Big E as I read through the El Greco book he brought home from the library.

El Greco is most famous for his paintings of Jesus Christ.  I found this to be an odd choice for a Jewish boy.


Maybe it was his haunting, larger than life figures.  Or the way he up-lit his subjects.  He must have been visually drawn to this guy's work.


So cool. You made your decision based on some amateur comic inside a children's art history book.

I ran to Michael's yesterday and purchased the foam board ($17!) and some new markers to motivate him to get started on this project that was assigned weeks ago.

 I bought these suckers thinking the thick lines would be good for writing on a giant foam board.  I didn't see the part about them being scented. The first 20 minutes Big E spent working on his project was him sniffing markers and getting high.  He even shared with Little E.  I could almost see them in some nasty AEPi den in 15 years.

After some judgment altering inhaling, Big E picked the following two pieces of art he wanted me to photocopy to include on his board.

As a former nursing mother, this is a beautiful painting.  But out of the HUNDREDS of paintings, THIS is the one that moved him most.  But not to be outdone, he also chose this one:

The resurrection of Jesus Christ. Just to recap, my Jewish son chose this painting.  Not the one of the crusty noble man smirking.  This one.

The irony is lost on Big E, as he doesn't know who Jesus is.  I, on the other hand, have had a good chuckle.

Coming down off his marker high.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Mrs. Yoy: In the Nut (and Candy) House

My kids love to hear stories from when I was young and awesome and in high school.

Yesterday, I told Little E a real yawner about the summer I worked at a candy shop in the mall.

My duties included deep frying cashews, making chocolate covered pretzels, and refilling the candy and nut bins.

It was a pretty pimp job for the summer and paid a very livable salary of $4.25/hour, which I subsidized with eating my weight in all sorts of gummy products.  I'd eat anything in a gummy form. I did not, nor would I, ever discriminate based on size, shape, or color.

With the exception of one piece of candy, which I will refer to from now on as the evil gummy bear.

One evening, as I shoveled fresh gummy bears into the bin (and maybe some into my mouth), I noticed something unusual.  I thought maybe a piece of licorice had found its way into the soft, sweet goodness of the gummy bear bag.

Upon closer examination, it had scary, mean eyebrows and a look that could stop my candy-eating a** dead in her tracks.

What was this thing?  How did this one evil candy get lost during production and where did it belong?  Was there a whole line of evil licorice gummy bears that I didn't know about? Was this a sign regarding my decision to attend UF after graduation?

But as a 17 year old, I wasn't mature enough to delve into these deep thoughts.

Instead, I licked the bottom of it and stuck it to the top of the cash register, where it stayed for the remainder of my employment (and possibly still)!

The boys were FASCINATED by this story.  They were even a tad frightened by the idea of an evil gummy bear.

Today, when Little E got off the bus, he couldn't wait to tell me that he told his teacher all about the evil gummy bear.

So thanks for that, Little E.  Now your teacher knows that I'm straight up crazy and I'll be keeping the rest of my mundane high school stories to myself.

Mrs. Yoy and the Mold Dome

This is dedicated to Martha Stewart who makes everything kitchen related look super easy and enjoyable.

For those readers that are lucky enough to know me on a personal level, you know that I possess many talents.  I'm funny.  I'm a clever writer.  I'm tall.  I'm good at math.  I shower semi-regularly.

But there is one thing that I am not known for, and it's my kitchen prowess.  It's not that I don't try. But I'm always trying to make things healthy and that usually sabotages my baking efforts.

One of the two things I am able to bake without burning down the house, are corn muffins. They are a fall favorite for the boys.  I usually double the recipe and then funnel those suckers down my kids' throats everytime they eek out an "I'M HUNGRY!"

By about day four of the muffins, Big E has started grumbling.


He's basically morphed into a giant piece of cornbread.

But like any good mother, I'm still pushing those suckers.  There are on the clearance rack of my kitchen and I want them gone by the time next season's merchandise arrives.

I gave Big E one of the lingering muffins.  He began his complaining but I stopped listening around MOM, I DON'T...

He bit into the muffin and dramatically chewed away at the corny goodness.

Except he started gagging.  


I chalked it up to him being so over the corn muffins.


Big E swallowed and left the table.

I went over to the remaining muffins and decided to freeze them.  Maybe my kids will be ready to eat them again by Thanksgiving.  

With the gallon ziplock in one hand, I lifted the tupperware top to begin the muffin move. And that's when I saw it.


I forced my kid to eat mold.

I felt awful.  I just thought he was being dramatic, like the time I made him organic chicken nuggets from scratch and he complained because they weren't like the Chick-Fil-A ones. But he was being for real.  They probably did taste awful. But like any good, seasoned mom, I didn't tell him.  I didn't need to give him any more fuel for the therapy fire.

May it forever be known as the MOLD DOME.