The Monkey got a new colouring book at Starbucks this morning (do NOT ask me what I was drinking there — especially because you ALL know what it was, and you ALL know my shame).

As with ALL Starbucks products, it was stupid pricey, but so awesome, and I was determined to keep the kids busy so I could maybe finish reading the 300 pages I have left of my monthly book club book in time for our meeting Wednesday — my ONE PERSONAL GOAL IN LIFE at this very busy time being that I read the book-club book in time for the meeting…, for Wednesday. GAH! Why did DENGUY have to pick the longest book EVER for this month’s read? Good thing the book is AH-MAY-ZING.

As I was saying, the Monkey’s new colouring book is awesome — especially for a kid who really is a natural artist. I mean, ALL kids are natural artists, but she’s a little more artsy, more “artistically mature” than others. She’s not one to kick a ball or master the monkey bars (despite her internet name), but the girl can DRAW.

That said, I was a little surprised at how she tackled the book’s prompt to “make a strawberry cake”:

She coloured the whole thing black, as you can see. And added, erm, a strawberry.

Closeup on the strawberry….

I have no words for this strawberry. Well, I do. Have words. But, they don’t need to be said. Do they.

She fared a little better with the, erm, cherry pie….

I love all the delicate details — her trademark. They always make me go “hmmm…,” and “wow”….

I never finished the 300 pages of my book. I was too busy laughing at strawberries. But, we all had a great time together, and there are two more days ’til Wednesday.

I’m a bit of an anxious basket case lately. I kind of always am when fall turns to winter, and the smells of the shifting seasons — damp leaves, home cooking, smoke from neighborhood fireplaces — emerge full force, subtly bringing me back to the dark, prenatal depressions of my pregnancies. And it’s togetherness that’s getting me by. Nightly “CUDDAH”s (cuddles) with the Rascal, reading fairy books in a fairy nook with the Monkey, playing a family game of Hungry Hippos on a Sunday afternoon….

Monkey’s favourite doll played the yellow hippo while I captured the moment…. For some unknown reason, she’s named the doll “Marshmallow”…

Again, no words.

The monkey loves making beds for “Marshmallow,” and she carries “Marshmallow” EVERYWHERE with her….

I love it. It’s adorable.

I LOVE my hilariously talented, quirky little Monkey.

Seriously, no words.

Jackie Kennedy….

Sophia Loren….

These are the women who always come to mind when I think of Zelda. If you saw her picture, you’d think her just as lovely, elegant and classy as these two women. You’d be surprised she wasn’t an icon in her own right in her day. If you knew her she would have inspired you.

She passed away today.

When I think of her now, I feel the usual palpable silence you feel when someone dies — that present absence — and I feel her energy. I feel her elegance. It surrounds me, engulfs me, gives me chills. It inspires me, even as my eyes well up and the tears trickle down my tired cheeks. All strange reactions I didn’t expect when my parents told me a few days ago that her death was imminent.

Zelda was 78 years old, my cousin, my late Grandma Betty’s niece.

She was the artist in the family that I looked up to. A brilliant painter.

At one time, I was her inspiration. She painted me when I was one year old because I was “something special,” she said….

Her signature, the date — she in her prime, and I so new….

She left so many paintings and drawings behind. Her still, strong, charming energy lives on through them and through all those who loved her (everyone loved her)….

The myriad drawings and paintings she left behind reveal the darker, sublime internal world of the outwardly elegant, regal, poised artist…. I always noticed that. I always related to that.

And even though Zelda was so perfectly put together — she never wanted you to see her looking anything but her best, despite the cancer and near-blindness that plagued her for so long — she was the warmest, kindest, most nurturing woman. So close to perfection.

I’m glad Josh and I always made an effort to see her when we were in Montreal — even if our short visits had to take place in the driveway because the kids fell asleep in the car (that one time). A woman in her late seventies, with her elegant Jackie-Kennedy hair, soft cream turtleneck and pressed taupe pants, playing on the plush floor of her living room with my children.

I can’t do her justice as hard as I try.

She inspires me to be better. She was elegant. I’m self-deprecating. I stumble. My foot is in my mouth as we speak. Always. She was humble. Beautiful. Charismatic. Cherished. Loved. Admired. Kind. Nurturing. Creative. Strong. Devoted.

Love you Zelda….

The first day I got to the beautiful cottage we rented in Port Carling, Muskoka Lakes,* I jumped out of the hot tub and ran for the slide…. I was the second to go down the wobbly contraption, and not a bone in my body shivered or froze with the usual hesitancy whenever I try something new or remotely childish….

Lesson #1 of cottage week: PLAY, GODDAMMIT! For once in your life, Haley, PLAY. And, oh, I played. And every time I played, my Inner Child tsk-tsk’ed at my grumpy-arse Ego and huffed, “WATCH ME.” And then I jumped on the raft and tubed my li’l heart out while screaming in my brother’s ear the entire time…. Wheeee!

Lesson#2: FEAR BITES; CAN SUCKIT. Ever since I was a kid I’ve been terrified of the lake — or, more specifically, ever since I took flipper (flicker, remote control) in hand and stopped at a curious little movie, cocked my little head at sweet vision of father and son fishing, and then freaked the hell out when they caught — what? — a seaweed covered SKELETON. GAHH! I grew up fast after that.

Anyway, even though I have this deep-rooted fear of swimming in the lake, I swam 60 lengths from the big dock to the raft every day….

It helped a lot when Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train” came on and then Cold Play’s “Viva la Vida” — thanks to my brother’s infinite playlist. Pumped me right up. No, seriously, it was hard work combating that fear. Every time I swum out to the raft, the massive red-brown seaweed-covered ghost hand appeared beneath me, opening itself up like a venus fly trapper, menacingly threatening to grab me by the belly. I swum on. “You don’t scare me, Ghost Hand — Ride on the Peace Train… Oooo Ahhh Eeee Ahhh Oooo Wahhh…. Come on the Peace Train.” Yeah SWIMIT!

It was a metaphor for my life. Me and my compulsive fears all the time. What’s the point? LIVE ON. NEXT.

Lesson #3: Look before you walk RIGHT THROUGH a screen door. And then maybe you won’t tear it down and waste all the duct tape to fix it….

Peek-a-boo!

Lesson #4: If there is a Chip Wagon, Josh-O will find it….

Lesson #5: If you want good cuddles, get in the lake with your children — they will cling to you like Monkey’s half-eaten red lollipop to Josh-O’s leg hair *COUGH.*

Lesson #6: If you want your almost-2-year-old son to nap, take the family out for a canoe….

Lesson #7: HOT TUB GOOOOD.

Lesson #8: Shrek for the 56th time STILL GOOOOD.

Lesson #9: Family bonfires are da bomb even if you can’t eat the roasted marshmallows because you’re vegan and they didn’t buy the Kosher (sans-gelatin) ones but you’re not bitter.

Lesson #10: Always set your son loose in the local Blue Notes store to dance his li’l booty off.

Lesson #11: Don’t bother bringing your makeup kit to the cottage. Just wear big sunglasses.

Lesson #12: Celebrating your 35th birthday a week early is great. In theory…. But, for the record, I’m STILL not 35. Not ’til THURSDAY.

Note: Look at Rascal’s little head on the left…. Tenth percentile, BABY! OY! He’s very serious about the cake….

Lesson #5: Enjoy every freaking minute because, before you know it, Cottage ’09 is over and you’re left crying big bulbous tears at the exquisite sunset totally uncapturable by my Canon….

*Many thanks to CottageCountry.com for enabling us to find this truly magnificent cottage. It was perfect.

Minden missed me so much. While I was vacationing way out on my father in law’s farm near Montreal, he hid under the couch. My mother had to call the cat sitter who herself was nervous about his whereabouts. He was under the couch, or in the cupboard, while his sister, the uncharacteristically spry MARGE, gallivanted about the halls — soaking up the bliss of an empty, kidless house.

It’s a pretty farm. I’d say “pretty little farm,” but it’s far from little. Acres and acres of land on all sides. It’s beautiful — quite stunning, really, especially at my favourite time of day, dusk, when the sun is going down and brushing its pink, purple, orange strokes across the sky and along the hay-bale-dotted horizon. Ahhh…. Air. Country air. Enough to make you insane after a week of total isolation and no nanny.

Anyway…. C’mon, I’ll show you around….

The swimming pool…. We spent most of our time at the pool, and we have the sunburns to prove it. By the end of the trip, my dives were PERFECTION. We’re talking Chinese-Olympian PERFECTION.

The kiddie pool, aka the HOT TUB. Farmer Zaide has hot water in his hose, and we made good use of it.

You don’t need other peeps in the HOT TUB to have a HOT TUB PARTY!

FROG! TOAD!

TREE FROG! AT THE DOOR. I wanted to feed him but no one would let me. I love feeding the animals, but it’s not always recommended — especially in the country where there are more than just SQUIRRELS (Howard the Squirrel, since YOU ASKED, is thriving here in the city — I love him, too).

Tub o’ Fish. Happy, big-arse goldfish.

Inukshuk.

Tomatoes.

Romaine lettuce.

Zucchini! Did you know zucchini is a FLOWER?

Beans.

Rascal. Not farming. Just fondling the UR-UR on his new shoes….

UR-UR. “Mama, lootz! UR-UR!” (Translation: “Mama, look! TRAIN!”)

Sunflower. In bloom.

Carrot FAIL.

We ate them anyway. They were difficult to peel.

Potatoes from the farm — so many from one single bush! Made up for the carrot fail.

ME! On the FARM. In my now officially SIGNATURE hat. Glowingish (but bitchy) from FULL-ON detox — more on that later.

Windowsill.

Josh surprised me with a day trip to beautiful OTTAWA (an hour away)….

I wasn’t prepared for the trip AT ALL. I arrived in the big city wearing crocs and no makeup — total farmer. HENCE I insisted we hide from Chantal, Annie, and Loukia deep in the downtown market, which was fascinating, by the way….

The next day, we went to our beloved Montreal (1.5 hours away), where we found a water park….

Monkey loves her some water park….

So does Rascal. Those are shorts, by the way. 10th percentile, BABY!

Oh yeah….

When we got home Sunday evening, Minden came running to the door and jumped me like Dino when Fred Flintstone walks in the door. And he hasn’t really shut up since. I missed the little fluffball….

Little does he know we’re away NEXT WEEK, too….

TOTALLY missed you, too, Gorgeouses….

Love!

xo Haley-O

Today began bright and early with my new little nephew’s bris. Welcome to Judaism, little buddy. We wish you a speedy recovery. MAN, that’s not something ANYONE wants to go to first thing in the morning. But, it’s a huge deal for the little guy. And, happily for everyone, it was quick and easy. He hardly cried at all, really.

Well, if he WAS CRYING it was hard for any of us to hear because someone else (*COUGH* Rascal *COUGH*) was doing his usual fair share of shrieking…. Not sure what’s up with that. Terrible Twos? I thought we’d been-there-done-that already when he was 14 months? No? Crap. In the meantime, he loves his trains….

And, check out that kickarse hair cut. Ahem.

SPEAKING of haircuts…. A certain someone went for a certain haircut at a certain chichi hair salon in a certain Yorkville with a certain hairstylist who does Cheryl Hickey’s hair and styles OTHER CRAZY FAMOUS CELEBRITIES. I’d name them, but, I’ve learned, it’s très faux pas to drop celebrity names like that.

ALTHOUGH…. A certain MILES FABER — 2nd runner-up in last year’s SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE CANADA, and also MY COUSIN — said I could fashizzle drop his name. And, he took a pic with me FOR YOU, with THANKS for all your VOTES…. He even said he credits YOU for taking him to the end! Squeee!

LOVE! Miles is doing AWESOME, by the way. He’s going to be shooting a MOVIE for MTV CANADA next week in Calgary. He’s the CO-STAR. The movie’s called Turn the Beat Around. Look out for it (I’ll keep you posted).

Last item of business — before I get BACK to business (because ZOMG I am SWAMPED with bTrendie stuff tonight) — MY NEW HAIRCUT! My hair’s been INSANE for months now. (See above.) It NEVER looks brushed. (See above.) It weighs A TON. (See above.) It looks like ARSE. (See above.)

But, now, THANKS TO DALIDA, it looks, as a certain Motherbumper likes to say, AWESOMETASTIC ! Check. It.

Did it not take 20 pounds off my face (and head)? I have a CHIN now. And CHEEK BONES. I still look like I’ve been punched in the eye, but that’s neither here nor there. Here’s another pic I took. Because OMG am SO HAPPY with it. (I got creative.)

The colour even looks lighter, no? I love Dalida even more for REFUSING to highlight my hair because she loves my natural colour; whereas most hairstylists JUMP at the chance. It’s amazing what a haircut can do. I’m a NEW WOMAN.

Of course, I spent this evening’s entire kickboxing class (hotarse instructor, hollaaah) with my HAIR DOWN….

LOVE!

xo Haley-O