T’WAS A TIME OF CHANGE. Last week, I wrote a little email…. I needed some help. I’ve been pretty mum about this, but, if you were to seriously stalk my tweets, you’d probably see that I’ve been having some anxiety lately. A lot of anxiety lately. Not “OMG OMG OMG WE’RE ALL GONNA DIEEEEE!” kind of anxiety, but a very physical kind characterized by heart palpitations and obsessive thinking. It’s been rough. And, of course, I blame THE CHAI, which, no, I haven’t been able to quit.

Until last week, that is. THE TIME OF CHANGE…, when I wrote a little email to Caroline Dupont.

Caroline always comes to my rescue. She’s a total EARTH ANGEL, the best healer I know, and rife with sage, practical advice — in person, as well as in her book Enlightened Eating (my eating bible), her meditation cds, and new DVD (which I JUST ordered and am so psyched about).

I wrote a very “determined” (as she put it) email, asking for a complete “regimen.” I wanted breakfast, lunch and dinner DICTATED to me, as well as when to exercise, do yoga, sleep and meditate. I was hoping that this regimen would help me replace old habits with new ones — the right ones.

Caroline didn’t want to give me a strict regimen, though, because she didn’t think it would work for me in the long run. She wanted me simply to start with a few changes. The main one being…

MY MORNING SMOOTHIE (click the link for the recipe).

I’m supposed to drink that thing every day, come hell or high water.

I’m also supposed to walk for 30 minutes 4 days a week, and practice 30 minutes of yoga the remaining three days a week.

I’m supposed to meditate daily. (And, omg, this has been surprisingly SO enlightening and healing. More on this later in the week.)

I’m supposed to go to bed between 9:30 and 10:30 every evening….COOOUUUUUGH!

So, I’ve been drinking my smoothie every morning. NO CHAI (bingo!). And I’ve been walking and meditating and practicing yoga. The only problem with the yoga is that a certain someone gets a little, ermm, creepy while I’m practicing (with my camera in hand, apparently)….

…He’s horribly sneaky and distracting while I’m practicing. But, I INTEGRATE it.

The other changes that I’ve — WE’VE (Josh and I) — made this weekend are MIRACULOUS and will have to wait ’til the next post to be revealed because, without any chai in my system, I’m a total zombie. ZOMBIE. And I can’t write anymore because it’s 9:15 — almost “bedtime” (heh, I wish).

On top of all the above advice (and so much more that I have yet to implement and share), Caroline gave me this gem of guidance that I know she’ll love for me to share:

Your principle spiritual practice right now is your kids. Soon enough they’ll be in school and you’ll have more time for uninterrupted yoga and meditation. Create activities with them…. When you take them to the park remind yourself to breathe and be…. To everything, there is a season.

I’ve really taken that advice to heart and have been LOVING the relief and peace of mind I get from getting down on the floor and really PAINTING and DRAWING again, with my children — ESPECIALLY when I’m not feeling “well”….

…one of my new favourite things…!

Many, MANY, thanks to Caroline Dupont.

Love…!

xo Haley-O

A friend of mine said something to me on the phone yesterday that made me pause…, because it made me question my parenting. She’s very preggers, so I take it with a grain of salt. But, still.

She said that I’m the ONLY person she knows who didn’t rigidly schedule her babies. “You had NO routine,” she said, “you just followed your babies’ own rhythms and cues.” “That’s not true,” I retorted, “I was vague about the routine, but they always napped twice a day and went to bed around the same time, after dinner, bath and books….” “No,” she insisted. Blergh.

Again, if she weren’t, like, 8 months preggers, I MAY have pursued this further. But, I just got off the phone as quickly as I could because my skin was boiling, and I knew I was being oversensitive (one of my flaws, in case you haven’t noticed). But, if I am INDEED the ONLY person who didn’t rigidly schedule her babies, did I do something wrong? And, more importantly, what about now? I’m not one of those mothers who DOTES and ANALYZES and ROUTINIZES. I honestly don’t think about how I parent all that much, and I do tend to get lazy and self-absorbed. I’ve been lazy and self-absorbed my whole life — how was I expected to change that when I popped two kids out at 30+ years old?

I dunno. I do what I can every day. And, my kids are happy, loved, clean, clothed, fed, encouraged and supported. Part of me wants to make more of an effort to be more present with them. But, the other part KNOWS that I’m terribly hard on myself. I’m a Virgo after all. And any SNIFF of an insult to my parenting throws me into a fit of anxiety and self-doubt. Not good. Must work on that.

SO, probably because of that phone call, I got up bright and early this morning (Sunday) and planned a farm trip for the family. Off we went to Whittamore’s Farm. And I was determined to dote HARD on my kids and show them an amazing time. Of course, I forgot my camera at home; but, I had my GREENberry on me (yes, my beloved blackberry <<CRACK>> is sporting a green silicone cover now, like ma website — LAAAH!) — fogives the quality.

Nothing like wide-open spaces to get some perspective….

And sweet tractor rides…. OY! Little BOYS!

And FRESH CORN…. “MORE BUTTER, DADA!” “NO!”

And a puppet show…. (Look how loved…!)

And, Rascal’s LEGS! I just want to BITE THEM! I mean, no wonder some animals eat their young. OY!

At around 1pm, just before Rascal’s nap (A-HEM), Josh-O said, “Let’s go. I’m done.” “Well, I think the kids are done,” I said, “Does it really matter if WE’RE done?” “Um, yeah, I’m done.” And, um, yeah. It matters. It definitely matters to me. We ALL have to count here. Or, we’ll just EXPLODE. Or, I will, anyway. I have. I do on a daily basis….

You know…? Sometimes I get judgy comments on this blog about my parenting, too. They’re usually cases of me being oversensitive (Virgo). But, I think I can take it now — like, as of today (please don’t test me). And I can take judgy comments from friends and family and the salesperson at Jacob. Because I know I’m a DAMN good mother. Because I do it MY WAY, and I remain true to myself. I know my flaws. I’m realistic about my expectations of myself. And, I KNOW — NOW that I think of it and analyze — that all I can do is keep loving and supporting and FEEDING, and, perhaps, be a little less selfish every day. Just a little.

Phew. I feel better now. Will call my preggers friend tomorrow and see WHAZZZZUUUP!

Love!

xo Haley-O

Tomorrow (July 1st) is a holiday here in Canada. It’s Canada Day. I’m thinking I should probably TAKE the holiday. I should shut down the computer and take a DAY OFF.

But what a foreign concept! What is this thing you call “Day Off”?

Even if I DO take a day off work, there’s no getting a day off from the other obligations that have left me exhausted and depleted lately. My heart literally leaps out of my throat when I realize that there IS no taking breaks — as a mom, let alone a work-at-home mom. Regardless, I’m determined to take the break from work and enjoy my kids tomorrow.

As DIFFICULT as they’ve been amid all the changes lately, my kids truly have been amazing.

Monkey’s first day of camp was on Monday, and I CRIED, Gorgeouses. I was SO PROUD of how BRAVE she was — going to a totally new, BIG place, with NO familiar faces…. Fahklempt!

…And I was the one crying. I wasn’t prepared for tears! I who never even cried during BEACHES! What the hell am I going to be like when I send her to Kindergarten this September! Ayayai! Good thing I was wearing my Nicole-Richie-MASSIVE sunglasses when I dropped her off and watched the councelors take her inside.

And then there’s little Rascal. I went in to check on him late last night….

He stirred when the floor creaked as I approached his bed. I thought to myself, “UH OH, it’s going to be another LONG night.” But, no! He gave me this great big SMILE, stretched his li’l arm up in in the air, and then pulled himself up to KISS me THROUGH THE CRIB BARS! Sweet!? And, THEN, he wriggled around a bit to find the perfect position and WENT BACK TO SLEEP!

He went back to sleeeeeeeeeeeeep!

MIRACLES, you see, DO HAPPEN!

YES, my kids are DIFFICULT. But, these rewarding moments — these TEENY little rewarding moments — make it all worth while. So, even though I’m typically not a fan (to put it mildly) of  playing, arts and crafts, and even walking outside in this summer Toronto heat, I’m deciding RIGHT NOW that I will enjoy myself, and I’ll enjoy my kids, all day tomorrow. Even if there’s (inevitably) a time-out or two in the mix.

[SEGUE TO BE DETERMINDED (TBD)]

Speaking of which, today I did a beautiful thing that made me SO happy. And I have to share it with you.

While walking to my neighbourhood Starbucks (ahem), I became aware of some very loud chirping overhead. I looked up and saw a mama bird and her little babies. Adorable as they were, they were demanding little buggers — totally SQUAWKING at their mother. (And I am NOT anthropomorphizing or projecting my own DIFFICULT motherhood upon her — I SWEAR, you should have seen all them with their desperate little open beaks and their stubborn SQUAWKING!) So, I bought them a whole-grain bagel at Starbucks. And, as subtly as I could, I crumbled up the bagel and dumped it on the sidewalk below the nest. Then I sat in my car and watched. I watched the mother pick up the bagel crumbs and fly back up to the nest. And pick up the bagel crumbs and fly back up to the nest. And pick up the bagel crumbs and fly back up to the nest.

I made her life, her role, a little easier. Instead of exhausting herself further by foraging for worms, the mamabird had BAGEL RIGHT THERE beneath the nest. (Whole grain, no less!)

One mother helping another.

It was better than TV (which says A LOT for me). And I didn’t want to leave. I snuck a final peak as I drove by, and there she was. Diving for bagel and flying back up to the nest to feed her little squawklings.

It must have been a sign. A reminder that everything I’m experiencing as a mother is natural. That nature can be tough. That motherhood is fundamentally NATURAL. Fundamentally TIRING. Fundamentally CHALLENGING. That, amid all my jobs, the TV, the computer, the blackberry…, there’s still NATURE. That NATURE underlies it all. And that NATURE sends us messages and lessons at every turn. It’s up to us to notice and to heed them.

Believe me, I felt better after watching that bird. This is motherhood. This is the way it is. Instead of kvetching, I ACCEPT.

[SEGUE TO BE DETERMINDED (TBD)]

Speaking of nature in Toronto, does anyone know what THIS is?

Oh, wait, that’s MARGE!!! Hungry MARGE!!!

I meant THIS. Anyone know what THIS IS?

I saw it the other day, when I was out walking with the kids. What is it? A badger? A mole? Gopher? It’s HUGE!

Happy Birthday, Canada!
Love!
xo Haley-O

P.S. Don’t forget to check the contest over at Goodies! Trust me — you WANT this book!

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:

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….

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!

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