I look like hell.

My hair is limp. My skin is pale. My eyes never have bags and HAVE BAGS, are LUSTRELESS. My skin is dry. My tailbone hurts. My eyelids struggle to stay ajar. My head spins. I see auras.

Just yesterday, I took the kids to the giant bookstore. Three separate people, at different times, said I was “brave” — which, as Kerry of Crunchy Carpets fame reminded me, is “better than stupid” (bless her preggers soul). But it’s not really “better than stupid” when you recall how your (also VERY preggers) sister (due yesterday!) agreed with you that very morning that your kids are “difficult.”

Is that a gray streak in my hair? Another fine line?

Yes, my kids are difficult. My husband is often away. My nanny has been away. My workload is overwhelming.

And she was so good for a while there — the Monkey. My sweet little Monkey. But, something clicked in her. I went back to work. The husband has been away more. Nanny Rachel entered our lives. School ended. She’s turning four.

She’s turning four next month.

F*CKING FOURS (as Ms. Greeners friend so PERFECTLY calls them). We have officially entered THE F*CKING FOURS.

And I am going out of my mind.

A few characteristics of the F*cking Fours:

*WHINING
*NOT. SHARING.
*SNEAKING DOWNSTAIRS AT NIGHT
*PICKY EATING
*CHANGING CLOTHES 4X/DAY
*NOT LISTENING
*PERSISTENCE — “Mama? C’I go play with Lauren? C’I go play with Lauren? C’I go play with Lauren? Mammaaahhhh! C’I go play with Lauren? Why not? C’I go play with Lauren?”

Shall I go on? The list is endless.

And me? With all this going on, THIS is EXACTLY how I feel much of the time these days (courtesy of Ms. Sam):

It’s PERFECTION.

Anyway, I have no idea what to do. And YOU KNOW that, when the only line you can think of to say to your children is “STOP IT, OR MAMA’S GOING TO CRY AGAIN,” you need help. And, no, I don’t mean FULL-TIME-nanny kind of help. I mean figuring out how to nip these f*ing fours in the bud. Figuring out how to have some semblance of control. Figuring out how to be some semblance of a role model for my children when I’m fah-REAKING out.

So, after that THIRD person in the bookstore told me I was “brave,” I b-lined it to the parenting section and picked up the only book I KNEW I could rely on:

MotherofAll

Yeah, it’s kind of like Facebook. Like, I always said I WILL NEVER join Facebook. (And I still won’t.) I used to say I’LL NEVER BUY ANOTHER PARENTING BOOK because my instincts are as good or legit as any expert’s. Or so I thought. But, the time has come. I need ideas. I need guidance. My brain is too RAW and too SQUEEZED dry from all the exhaustion, frustration, confusion, anxiety I contend with every day. I need help. Sure, I could extend the nanny’s hours, but I made the decision years ago that I would “stay home” with the kids if I could. I’m lucky enough to have that option. Now I have to make it work — for ALL of us. And, from what EVERYONE’S told me, Canada’s favourite parenting expert Ann Douglas can help me. LOVE.

Meanwhile, I’ve picked this book up again….

EatToLive

Because I have to. Because, no, I CAN. While, yes, I’m working out regularly (thanks to HOTARSE kickboxing instructor *SWOON*), my diet is TERRIBLE, and it’s not helping my parenting. I’m crashing and burning, subsisting on one Starbucks Chai Tea CRACKAY all day, and dining at the end of the day on a bagel and peanut butter. Vegan? Yes. Healthy? NO.

Time to get healthy. Time to get happy. Time to get control.

You with me!?

Love!

xo Haley-O

P.S.: Gorgeouses, we’ve got GOODIES! A GIVEAWAY! Head on over to CHEATY GOODIES for three chances to win an autographed copy of another book I’m reading to get healthy and GORJ! It COULD BE YOURS! Check it!

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