Rascal’s sitting glued to me. I normally don’t open my computer much when he’s around. Especially since Florida. I’d made a pact with myself to limit work time to when the nanny’s here (4 mornings a week) and after the kids go to bed. But, he’s happy here sucking on his organic cherry lollipop. And we’re both sick. And the Monkey’s sick.

And I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the large man who sat on top of beside me on the plane to Florida coughing into his FIST the whole way there. I knew I was done for when I noticed the fist. I mean, GOSH, when you cough into your FIST on a plane, where do you THINK your germs are going? Straight to me, and the other lucky person sitting under your other elbow and butt cheek. She, too, probably spent her vacation flummoxed by a mysterious rash that made her feel like she was dipped in acid. She, too, probably barfed all the way home from Disney World to West Palm Beach. And she, too, probably spent nights trying to swallow through spike-covered knives in her throat. And she, too, is probably still trying to recover, feverish, eyes burning, fingers aching while trying to type some semblance of a blog post. Although I’m not sure she has a son who’s also sick and sticking to her like glue all night long, or that she has a blog — but doesn’t everyone have a blog these days? — or, okay, she’s trying to facebook…. Facebooking. “Facebook”’s a verb, now, right?

Not that I have anything against large people, OF COURSE. I mean, that guy on the plane, who boomeranged his virus off his fist and into my throat, wasn’t even really obese or anything, per se. He was just obscenely big boned — which is okay, and probably a good thing for a guy in any other situation. But, he wasn’t very friendly. He didn’t laugh at my jokes, or at the Rascal’s hand when it mysteriously appeared between the two seats in front of us, vroom-vrooming a new Thomas the Train that It’sgrandma and Papa’shere picked up at Target. I mean, GOSH.

So, now Minden’s sitting on my lap purring — well, he’s been on my lap this whole time, but I’ve only just noticed this because I’m so used to it. It’s OLD HAT. Yes, I’ve been sandwiched (in an awkward way) between Rascal and Minden this whole time. Rascal’s just discovered Minden’s shoulder blade, and now he loves bones:

“Mama, I yuf bones! I yuf bones! Mama, I wan wadah, I wan wadah, I wan wadah. I yuf bones. I wan wadah. NOW MAMA, I MADAH YOU!” (Trans. “I love bones”; “Mama, I want water!”; “Now, Mama, I’m mad at you.”)

He wants water and he wants it now. Good thing I can type without looking at the keyboard OR screen because he’s got my chin in his little hands now. He wants “wadah” and he wants it NOW. And I’m still typing.

After I get him his water, I’ll take him for a bath. He’ll get a book and go to bed — the new egg-shaped humidifier (which the Rascal thinks is making tea, as in “Make? Tea? Mama?”) humming. And then at 12 or 1am, he’ll scream the unbearable scream for me. And I’ll bring him to my bed, and he’ll lie glued on top of me for the rest of the night, like the large man on the airplane, and, alas, if it’s anything like last night, he’ll be coughing directly into my throat. But I won’t mind.

xo Haley-O

With the advent of twitter lists (which I doubt I’ll ever get around to making myself because I hardly have time to write to-do or shopping lists let alone SEVERAL lists dividing my friends into groups — high school much? — and unintentionally snubbing them, which is bound to happen)…what was I saying? I forget because I got distracted by Whitney and Jay’s conversation on this eve’s rerun of MTV’s The City….

That picture is so last year, like, when Jay and Whitney were still together. But I didn’t have time to find any current pics of them. But I DID have time to watch THIS WEEK’s episode just now. And I just want to say that, if Elle Magazine wants to interview bloggers — because, as Joe Zee (Elle’s creative director) puts it, “blogs are the places where news is breaking right now” — they should come TO ME, and my SLIPPERS…. Remember these?

Still wearing ‘em! There’s nothing these two less famous bloggers have that I don’t, right? I blog in my pajamas, too, and shop with my mother…? No? Yes? Elle?

If I don’t get into Elle Magazine, can I at least get on X-WEIGHTED? I need to lose these last 15. Or maybe I’ll just curl up on my couch with my Puffins and make twitter lists, instead. It’s safer here in my comfort zone…. Except right now. Because Josh just made clam chowder, and it STINKS in here.

So, I do have a little list JUST for this blog because my poor blog gets pushed aside so often these days for other more “pressing” things, and this really shouldn’t be, really saddens me, really has to stop because I love blogging…, and if one more thing goes to sh*t because I’m working too much, then something’s got to give. Because DOGGONE IT, I’m important.

So my list, ahem.

1. I love the way Rascal says “banana” — “badanan,” as in, “MO BADANAN, MAMA! MO BADANAN.”

2. Rascal eats too many badanans.

3. The Monkey is addicted to hugging. In the middle of the Swine Flu pandemic, she’s hugging strangers (not that it really matters because Swine Flu is air born).

4. I had Kabocha squash for dinner.

5. Rascal can count to two now. It’s official: “One, Doo, ONE!”

6. Monkey is obsessed with drawing me without a body because, apparently, “it’s too hard” to draw my body….

7. WHICH I choose to take as a compliment, because why not and DOGGONE IT!

8. I’m the disembodied turbaned head on the far left of the drawing — next to me is the artiste herself, her brother, and a caterpillar.

8. I am NOT too old to love The City, OR The Hills….

9. I also love the Glee, The Office, The Tudors, So You Think You Can Dance and Survivor.

10. I did watch V, but I will never watch it again.

11. Just like I will never watch Fringe again.

12. Or the Y&R, which I quit a month ago, WHICH should be a post in itself because it’s a big f-ing deal.

13. I want Russell to win Survivor.

14. I can’t end on #13 not because it’s “bad luck” but because it’s just a weird number to end on.

15. #15 is a better number to end on than #14.

16. I always go for the odd numbers.

17. OCD.

18. But, #18 is an ideal number to end LISTS on.

19. Even though it’s an odd number.

20. I think I’m into even now.

It started off well enough. Intentions were good. Lentil soup was simmering on the stove. Almonds, dates, agave, ginger and spices in the blender, and (my own invention) cut-off stocking standing by to strain the thing of any crunch whatsoever. Tweet was written….

Yes, it started off well enough. But, in the end? FAIL. Red hot fat X FAIL. Starting with one chocolate bar, and then another, and another. AND THE HOMEMADE PUMPKIN SEEDS. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I COULDN’T STOP.

Among the chocolates — a little bit of this….

And a little bit of that….

A little bit of…this….

And a little bit of that….

And, in case you’re wondering, that dirty stuffed animal that Rascal the IRRESISTIBLE LION (“ROAR, Mama, ROAR!”) is holding? That’s Muhneh. I don’t think you’ve met Muhneh, have you? It’s definitely time you met Muhneh.

He’s the gift I brought home from BlogHer ‘09 for the Monkey. Found him in the airport in Chicago — and thought, “PERFECT! She’ll LOVE it.” Turns out she was “meh” about it. So, she graciously gave it up to her brother when he fell in LOVE with it one day. And the love affair has thrived to this very day. Why? Because, I presume, Muhneh looks JUST LIKE HIS MAMA’S “Muhneh” — MINDEN!

These days, Muhneh goes everywhere with us. Everywhere….

Rascal’s Muhneh was much fluffier when I first brought him home. Had whiskers and everything. But he’s been washed (and mistakenly put in the dryer) a few too many times (never enough — he stinks).

Despite the vast depths I fell off the wagon, it was a good Halloween.

And, despite the fact that I was tasked with job of carving the hardest pumpkin in the history of pumpkins WITH a nasty case of tendonitis IN the right index finger, I managed to carve a little somethin’-somethin’ not so shabby….

So, how was your Halloween? Was it spooky? Sugary? Chocolaty? Or, was it lentil-y (byatch)? What did you do with your candy? We got it out of the house today (a day too late). So, your regularly scheduled EPITOME-OF-HEALTH cheaty should be resuming shortly — after some minor, erm, technical difficulties yet to be resolved. Damn sugar. CRACK.

Love!

xo Haley-O

Nothing like a little art on a Sunday morning to ignite a waning spirit. And, WOW, did Canada REPRESENT today at the annual Toronto Outdoor Art Exhibition (TOAE) at Nathan Phillips Square.

Josh and I took the kids downtown at, ohhh, 10am or so to fit in the entire show before I had to meet it’sgrandma at the mall to buy clothes for BLOGHER (more on that part later). It definitely wasn’t enough time to peruse ALL the finest of Canada’s (and some US) artists. But, I got enough of a taste to get me excited!

One of the things I use my internet “fame” for is to bring Canadian (and “mom”) artists to the PEOPLE. I don’t know why, but it’s a passion of mine. I love animals, and I love artists. So, I “give back” by helping to heal the earth and by supporting peeps who make it extra beautiful. I mean, Earth itself — I always think — is a work of art. So, I guess my two causes aren’t as different as they’d seem….

Check this piece by the brillers Michelle SaintOnge who, in case she looks familiar, is the one who taught Martha Stewart and audience to silkscreen their won bags! Ahh, the eye-catching beauty of the pink ELEPHANT in the room….

OMG love…. I HAVE to have this….

And ZEBRA….

MY EYES. This is too much for them. Oof! Stunning….

Another one of my favourite artists hails from NYC, and AMAZINGLY managed to secure a spot in this very elite art show — so elite that the “reject show” was supposedly INCREDIBLE (I didn’t get to go, but I heard this from friends). Her name’s Tracey Silva Barbosa. She’s a mom of a sweet three-year-old. And I want this painting in my bedroom because it’s dreamy and whimsical and quite simply utter perfection….

I can’t even handle the beauty that is this painting. Particularly the juxtaposition of hummingbirds and bonsai trees, and the numbers and gold ribbons. I love a good mixed media…. One day, I’ll buy THIS ONE….

I can’t HANDLE the gorgeousness….I am SO looking Tracey and her hubs up next time I’m in NYC. They are AMAZING. We had an awesome chat — about Rascal’s stinky diapey, among other things….

THIS GUY was also awesome….

His art is ridiculously realistic. I mean — LOOK AT THAT. And this….

My blackberry (which will soon be a PURPLEBERRY, if I have my way…, or maybe pink camo) camera does NOT do this beautiful art justice, so check Olaf Schneider’s website…. You WILL enjoy. I ASSURE…. I especially liked Olaf because, even though he was steeped in a phone call several feet away from the booth, he managed to nod and wave to me about three times while I was checking out his booth. I really appreciated that he gave me — a short, busty (BWAH!) poorly dressed mom — the time of day. Really. And he’s a SUPER HUGE Canadian artist (just look at his bio page, like OMG).

Of course, since I’m in the biz…, I had to check out the CHILDREN’S STUFF! Among various children’s art booths, I LOVED Mara Minuzzo’s art — she obviously didn’t realize her graphics aren’t stealable (even via a MAC) on her website, so do yourself a favour and just check ‘em at her website. I love the horses, the black-and-white bed, and the little girl running in the water most! Mara’s not a children’s artist per se, but the deer and chipmunks and the little girl in the water? — would all look FAB in my monkeys’ rooms….

Finally (yes, finally…), I was SO EXCITED to meet Ms. Adrienne Gibb of Fabricawakuwaku, and I’m secretly hoping she’ll join my crew at Kids Deserve Art one day (like maybe when I actually get a professional to design the site…). Her handmade stuffed animals — made with recycled and vintage fabrics (AWE-SOME) — are seriously DA BOMB….

Of course, we splurged and bought Monkey and Rascal each a Fabricawakuwaku “Patch Rabbit.” Monkey chose the purple-and-pink one and Rascal the beige….

…Then she decided she wanted his. So, now he has the purple bunny and she the beige bunny. Evs.

I love that my kids have works of art for toys. Delish!

So, yeah, 1pm arrived SUPER FAST after all the artistic excitement. And, off I went to Yorkdale. I probably should have gone downtown for this new WARDROBE, but the big mall was convenient, and, besides, I don’t exactly want to STAND OUT at the BlogHer Conference (in, like, a week and a half, in Chicago). I kind of want to blend. I, at least, want to be myself. Which means…, you got it…, LULULEMONS. If none of you absolutely object, I WILL be sporting LULULEMONS at blogher. Probably with one of my signature funky tees and black running shoes. And, baby, it’s a BITCH to find black running shoes that aren’t leather. SO, I will be heading downtown some time this week to check what I’ve heard is one of the world’s best vegan shoe stores — right here in TO.

…Seriously, we looked at every shoe store in the mall. The salespeeps in one store even INSISTED that a pair of black canvas wedges would look HAWT with my Lulus. But, ermm…, NO. All the other canvas shoes in the mall were TOO FLAT, or too RIDICK….

I need the height — believe me — but I don’t need it THAT bad. I’m no TOM CRUISE.

I can’t BELIEVE how long this post is. I feel like I’ve been writing it for 20 years. SO, in case you haven’t had enough of my writing today, go check my ANOTHER post of mine over at Canada Moms Blog — “I’m not Pregnant. Just FAT.”

But, feel free to leave a comment here. I notice comments are lacking on ALL my fave bloggers’ blogs, and WE LOVES THE COMMENTS! Especially when we write long-arse posts…. We are a sensitive, needy people.

Love!

xo Haley-O

What was I thinking? What was I THINKING?

Around 12am yesterday, I hear a scream. The usual: “Ma-MAHHHH”! (Honestly? You have to hear this scream. It is hilarious. I’ve thought about recording it for you, but I don’t need all the trolls coming out and saying how bad a mother I am  for letting my baby cry for the sake of THE BLAWG. But, I remind you, he’s not a baby. He’s a TODDLER. And he’s a RASCALLY toddler. The kid’s a master manipulator. He’d do very well in politics.)

I go upstairs (because, of course, I’m hard at work still at 12am. And, apparently, most of this post is going to be in parentheses, but, as you’ll see, I’m tired. VERY TIRED). Rascal’s standing in his crib, red-faced, tear-drenched, stomping his li’l feet and looking at me accusingly (how dare I just stand there?).

And so (the beginning of the end) I pick him up out of his crib. Immediately, he starts squirming himself free and runs — pitter patter pitter patter — to the gate at the top of the stairs, pointing, POINTING and pointing to the stairs.

“No, Rascal,” I say, “It’s bedtime.”

Figuring my work is doneth…, I pick Rascal up and take him into my room. I PUT HIM ON MY BED, figuring he’ll sleep with me. Josh is out of town, and it’s thundering and lightening outside — this could be CO-ZY, right?

No.

Not cozy. Terrible. And Horrible. Terribly horrible. Demanding little bugger (shut it, Trolls) kept pointing at the TV and then the flipper (converter? flicker?). He won’t sit still. I give in and turn on the TV for five minutes, and it’s all downhill from there….

Gorgeouses, he spent the entire night ON TOP OF ME. I couldn’t MOVE. And, not only was I claustrophobic under this 22-pound bundle of cuteness and CRAZAY, but I had NO SPACE. I was half off the bed. To make matters worse….

Pitter patter pitter patter — THE MONKEY hopped into bed with us.

What a mess. I didn’t sleep at all last night. Not a wink. Well, maybe a wink. But every time my eyes started closing (you know, to wink), he’d, like, slam me, or slam the monkey. And by slam, I mean SLAM: he stands up, and then, KABOOM, slams himself on you. It’s his favourite thing. Grrrr….

Even so…, I kicked my hot ass: I went to kickboxing class tonight. And, luckily, the hot instructor took it easy on us and let us sit and watch HIS HOT ASS for parts of the class. I had to work HARD not to drool, had to work HARD to de-contort my face out of its pathetic expression of LO-HON-GING. (I’m pretty sure that de-contorting burns calories…, no?) He’s probably 25 years old, or less, so, like Clive Owen, Brad Pitt and Will Ferrell, he’s safe for me to drool over. Ooo, and he has a thick Romanian accent, always telling us we’re doing “velly good, velly good.” LOOOOOVE.

Okay, to bed. At last. Rascal IN HIS CRIB. It would be great to snuggle with him all night. Him and his uncannily bright blond little head. But, alas, NO FREAKING WAY.

Good night, Gorgeouses!

Love!

xo Haley-O