Saturday, June 18, 2016

Ride Share: It's a Thing

On my way home from work this morning, my neighbor informed me that another neighbor was having a birthday party for their child and had rented a train and ponies.

I really couldn't visualize what this would look like until I pulled up to my home.



RED ALERT! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!

I called Mr. Yoy, who along with Uncle Yoy, had just left breakfast with Big and Little E.

DON'T COME HOME! DELAY YOUR TRIP! DRIVE AROUND 285 A FEW HUNDRED TIMES!

I informed him of the current situation.


There was a 0% chance my kids didn't end face down in our neighbor's birthday cake after hijacking a pony ride and the red train engine.

Thank goodness they were running over to Home Depot to pick up leather cleaner.  This would buy me some time.

I went upstairs to make the beds and fold the endless piles of pool laundry.

As I finished with Big E's bed, I heard the garage door open.  I looked out the front window to see Mr. Yoy pulling into the driveway. Just as the train cruised by our house.

I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.

I popped open Big E's window and yelled down to Mr. Yoy.

PERFECT TIMING, DADDY!

I could hear the boys flipping out.

MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! TRAIN! PONIES! I WANT TO RIDE! EVERYTHING!

It was like bringing a recovering alcoholic to a bar.

MOMMY! CAN I HAVE A PONY FOR MY BIRTHDAY PARTY?

Considering Little E has never had a birthday party (with the exception of his first), I didn't want his expectations to be too lofty.

UM. MAYBE A PONY CAKE?

The party has ended and we have escaped without the cops being called on my kids.

Winning.


Friday, June 17, 2016

I went Medieval. The Yoys did not.

The last day of their three weeks at HM camp was coming to a close.  After a rocky start, the boys pledged their allegiance to this camp.  They wanted to go back for another session, not in the cards, but I promised they could go again in 2017.  I was beyond relieved.  I took a gamble with this $$$$$, all-day for three weeks, camp. I gambled and I won (this time). Check back with me in a few weeks when I return from Vegas.

Today was Medieval themed day. They asked the campers to dress as kings, queens, knights, or even dragons. The Yoys loosely interpreted this to mean Halloween in June and pulled out their all time favorite costumes, the cops.  They didn't give a second thought to their wiener costumes, which I love.

I lobbied hard for them to wear their paper crowns from Medieval Times and be done with it.

Black polyester pants (but sort of like capris because they have grown since 2014) and black polyester long-sleeved tops. With velcro ties. And black hats. This was what they wanted to wear to camp today, in the sweltering heat of the waning days of Atlanta's spring.

I explained that they would be profusely sweating and possibly get overheated.

But Mrs. Yoy cannot compete with a whistle and hand cuffs.

I rolled my eyes as they climbed into the patrol car (my Avalon).

We made a quick stop at the drive thru dry cleaners where the elderly gentleman pretended the Yoys were arresting him. HANDS UP!

The boys thought this was HILARIOUS, I wished people would stop encouraging their madness.

At drop-off, Little E conjured up his meanest face and promptly arrested all of the Queens and Kings and Knights working carpool.  They were arrested for following directions.

My phone rang a few hours ago. It was the camp nurse. Little E was in the infirmary complaining of symptoms consistent with overheating. She put him on the phone so I could graciously explain to little man that 1) mommy was right  2) he should change into his spare set of shorts and muscle tee, and 3) if he was feeling better in a couple of minutes, he should rejoin his group.

I don't mean to sound insensitive, but poly doesn't breathe. Everyone should know that, and now he does.







Friday, June 10, 2016

Shout It Out!

At camp carpool pick up the other day, a counselor stopped to talk to me about Little E.

UH-OH.  A short list of hot topics popped into my brain.

1) INCESSANT THUMB SUCKING (STILL)

2) COMPLETE DISREGARD FOR USING A TOILET ON A REGULAR BASIS (STILL)

3) LAZINESS THAT HASN'T BEEN SEEN ON SUCH A LARGE SCALE SINCE GARFIELD


But it was none of these.  She surprised me with a new one.

LITTLE E WAS VERY UPSET TODAY WHEN WE PLAYED A GAME AND HE GOT MUD ON HIS SHIRT AND ARMS.

My external dialogue was all very understanding and sympathetic.  I turned around in the car to tell Little E that it was fine if he messed up his camp clothes as they were just that, camp clothes, and that any dirt on his arms could be washed off with a good bubble bath. I nodded knowingly at the teenager counselor.  Yeah, I got this.

My internal dialogue was much different.

DAMN STRAIGHT! I'M SO TIRED OF DOING LAUNDRY. OF BUYING SHIRTS THAT GET WORN ONCE AND ARE STAINED WITH SOME MYSTERIOUS FOOD/FLUID/GOO THAT NEVER COMES OUT AND I HAVE TO THROW THEM OUT. (the one and dones, as I call them).

Even though I am mostly a SAHM, I'm quick to point out that if you rearrange those letters, you get SHAM, which basically summarizes my cooking and laundress skills.  

I can hard boil the sh*t out of some eggs and divide my laundry into lights, darks, and towels, but that is where the domesticated goddess magic ends.

So, I applaud you, Little E, for taking a stand for your mother against mud and popsicles and whatever else you get on your witty old navy t-shirt.




The House of (Foot) Horrors...Part 2

Yesterday, Big E came home from camp with ANOTHER foot splinter.

1) I'm not sure why he was walking around without shoes on, unless he was headed to the pool.

2) This kid must shuffle his feet like a penguin, instead of walking like a typical human being.

3) OR this kid must be attracted to roughed up wood.

AN UNSANDED WOOD DECK?  WHY, YES, I THINK I'LL TAKE MY SHOES AND SOCKS OFF AND SHUFFLE BACK AND FORTH UNTIL I GET MY 5TH SPLINTER OF THE YEAR.

For the record, I've had less than five splinters in my life total and I'm old. If I extrapolate the rate in which Big E acquires splinters, he's on track to earn the foot splinter world record, if that's even a thing.

Of course, he wouldn't let the camp nurse anywhere near him.


She gave him numbing cream and a bandaid.  And now he expects that to be the gold standard of treatment around here.

The only numbing cream I keep in the house is Bailey's. And this kid ain't anywhere near the legal age.

So, it was left up to Mr. Yoy and I to extract this sucker while Big E slept.  Except he woke up and freaked out.

But we got it. And it wasn't pretty. And things returned back to normal.

This morning, instead of scooting around on the floor like a Rumba, he walked. He put his shoes and socks on without crying.

We pulled up to camp carpool and Big E exited.  AND STARTED HOPPING ON ONE FOOT LIKE THAT THING WAS STILL IN THERE.

The counselor indicated for me to roll down the window.

IS HIS FOOT OK?

I was furious. Big E was making me look like a fool.  Like the mom who would send her gimpy kid to camp because it was costing a small fortune and he'd be there unless he was dead.

I weakly smiled at the counselor.

HE'S A BIG FAKER.  HE'S BEEN WALKING ON THAT FOOT ALL MORNING.

I don't have time for his D-R-A-M-A.

And off I drove.

YOYSER SPLINTER ACTION PLAN AS TOLD VIA PICTURES:



(for me)

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

The House of (Foot) Horrors

It's been a splintery start to the summer.  On the last day of school, both Yoys had splinters.  Thank the lord my neighbor, Dr. B. was able to tweeze one of them out of Little E while we were at the pool.

Big E is another story.  I've blogged about his legendary splinters in the past.  He refuses to let me anywhere near him.  I have to carry him to bed and then wait until he is passed out so that Mr. Yoy and I can sneak into his room like a pair of Navy Seals and yank it out while he is in dreamland.

Yesterday, we decided to kick things up a notch.

The boys were feverishly working on their new Lego set that Uncle D had bought them during his visit.  

The house was completely clean, the boys had showered and were in their jammies, seven loads of laundry were complete, and dinner was on the stove.

Monday, I was supermom.

Until I accidentally dropped the Dill spice bottle.  It was glass.  I scooped it off the counter.  PHEW. It didn't shatter into a thousand pieces.  I almost had to turn in my supermom card.

Big E's buddy knocked on the back door.  He leapt out of his chair to let him in and then he screamed out in pain.

GLASS!  I STEPPED ON GLASS!

I ran over and looked at his foot.  Yep.  There is was.  

Bigger and more damaging than a splinter.  Blood was dripping from his foot.  I ordered everyone to sit down in chairs until I was able to sweep. I examined the Dill.  A tiny corner piece of the glass container had broken off.

My quiet evening had just been destroyed. I was forced to turn in my supermom card.

Big E was howling.  I tried to get a good look at it.  The glass resembled the dorsal fin of a shark. I told him I'd have to pull the glass out and he freaked.  He was sweating. He swore he was going to vomit.

I called Mr. Yoy to see if he could talk him down.

Nope.

Big E made me swear that I wouldn't touch his foot until he was asleep. I agreed.

So he recovered pretty well and went back to Lego building.  I just had to carry him to the toilet and up the stairs to bed. Good thing he only weighs 45 pounds.

And under the cover of darkness, Mr. Yoy and I snuck into Big E's room to clean the wound and remove the glass, only to find that it had already fallen out.  

I'm dedicating today to finding this piece of glass before someone else steps on it.

MAYBE IT'LL BE LITTLE E'S TURN TO STEP ON GLASS TODAY. - BIG E

Um, what?





Thursday, June 2, 2016

WHOPPERS>SMARTIES

Tim McGraw said it best in his song, "Humble and Kind."

Out of all of the traits I want my kids to have it is most important to me that they are good people.  It is something I struggle with on a daily basis.

Little E has organically picked this up.  He shares with Big E, even though that is clearly a one-way street. He is sweet to his friends and he is ridiculously sweet to me.

MOMMY, YOU ARE SO PRETTY.

MOMMY, YOU SMELL SO GOOD.

MOMMY, YOU ARE REALLY TALL.

Big E has a ways to go.  Sometimes, he'll surprise me with excellent manners or his ability to make the new kid in class feel welcome.  But for the most part, he's the center of the universe.  And not just his, it is his assumption he is the center of EVERYONE'S universe.

The last week of school brought class awards.  I wasn't sure of the structure of these awards, but as it turns out, everyone received an award and they were candy-themed.

WHOPPER: THE CHILD WHO TOLD THE BEST STORIES.

SNICKERS: THE CHILD WHO TOLD THE BEST JOKES. 

SMARTIES: THE CHILD WHO EXCELLED IN THEIR STUDIES.

When I asked Big E if he thought he would be receiving an award, he confidently announced he would receive the award for the smartest kid.  

It sounds completely obnoxious, I know, but he said it with such confidence and sincerity that I wasn't sure how to respond.

When it came time to distribute the awards his teachers led into each award with a little background.

THIS STUDENT EXCELLED IN ALL AREAS OF THEIR STUDIES AND BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH...

I blacked out because I looked down at Big E and he had raised his hand.  He was claiming his award before his name had even been announced.  I gently (or not so gently ripped his arm off) guided his arm back down.  I gave him the mommy evil eye which translates to CUT THAT SH*T OUT NOW.

BIG E!  COME AND CLAIM YOUR SMARTIES AWARD!

He had a huge smile on his face, but before he went up front he turned to me and loudly whispered:

I TOLD YOU!

Maybe it was the fact there were about 65 people in a room meant to hold 30, but I was SWEAT-ING. Why can't my son be humble?  How can I teach this to him?  I don't think I'm walking around telling everyone how smart I am? Am I? Smack me if I am.

I'm hoping this is something that comes with maturity.  I want him to be confident, I think that is an excellent trait to have and will serve him well when it comes time to dealing with peer pressure, but I also want him to kind. To be humble. Sigh.


He also pops his collar when he wears polo shirts.  Part of me cringes, but my secret 80s loving self ADORES IT.