Nobody ever tells you how physically challenging parenthood is. I can’t remember the last time I really relaxed for more than ten minutes without someone asking me for something, to fulfill some urgent need.

Please don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t give up any of this for anything. Not even the adventures in public bathrooms. Precious as those adventures are, I wouldn’t give them up. Not even the half hour it takes us to get showered and dressed after swimming. I don’t EVEN care that we’re always the last ones to get out of there because, apparently, I have given birth to a nudist, and the other one insists on putting his socks on by himself — not an easy feat for a 3-year-old with wet feet.

Nobody tells you that, when you wake up to go to yoga class in the morning, the mere request for a sippy cup of water is enough send you reeling back to bed because — f*** it — life’s just too hard.

Nobody tells you how fast the time goes. Well, EVERYBODY tells you how fast the time goes — “Before you know it, they’re off to university!” I’m talking about the time that ticks in between the kids’ programs and the time that ticks when you actually have half an hour to yourself while he’s at Sportball or they’re at swimming or she’s at dance class. It ticks so fast that you barely get anywhere on time. Or maybe it’s just that winter — with its frigid cold and snow pants and hats and mittens and wet boots — is longer than ever these days.

Nobody tells you how different — how very different — life is when you have children. How awesome it is, they tell you. But they don’t tell you how tiring and how fast and how slow and how backbreaking and how selfless and how challenging despite how purposeful and rewarding and amazing and adorable and hilarious and the love….

At 5 years old, the Monkey still calls her bathing suit “babing suit.”

At 3, the Rascal (intentionally) calls potatoes “podowdows.”

She was cast as Snow White in her Theatre Program’s production of Snow White.

He is fearless in the water.

She can read now.

He can capture the universe on a single piece of green construction paper.

I woke up this morning at the sound of my alarm (gong gong gong) — dreading leaving the house for the first of many times today — and sat up. My heart swelled as I looked down at my bed and my two dosing, beautiful children. And I thought to myself, “How ever did I sleep in such little space?”

Parenthood is Awesome. And I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything. Not even the butt wiping, the night waking, the order barking, the pee flying, the not listening, the screaming in my ear, the clothes tugging, the waiting, and waiting, the pushing, the pulling, the racing, the whining, the kvetching, the going, the going, the going, the going.

I had to go outside to grab my Macbook out of my car so I could write all this down. At first I was pissed that I had to trudge outside in the freezing cold again — to squeeze my puffy body between car and garage door, and dirty this psychedelic green hoodie that’s making me feel pretty. But then I looked up, and I saw the stars. And I felt peaceful and still and whole and some other amazing feeling that may vanish if I attempt to mold it into words. So I won’t.

I don’t want to do another thing today anyway. But the kids have been bathed and they want dessert.

Strawberries tonight.

Love….

xo Haley-O

I’ve been out since 8am. Up since 6am. I’m tired. Not just the physical kind of tired. Emotional. Mother tired.

I feel like I’m going to collapse if I have to wipe another bum, make another meal, slice another pear, peel anther carrot, pick up another toy, answer another command. “Mama. I need you, Mama! MAMA!”

We went to synagogue for the Simchat Torah celebration this evening.

I haven’t been religious in a long time. For a minute there I got chills. Community. Celebration. My old synagogue where I was Bat mitzvahed, married…. Fahklempt. The same exact Rabbi and Cantor that married and Bat Miztvahed me leading the celebration. A taste of joy. Until I get another freshly-made flag in the face.

“Are you ok?” my mother asks.

“Are you ok?” Josh asks.

“I’m fine.” I didn’t ask why they asked. And no one really wants to hear about tired.

Then there’s that constant swell of low-grade anxiety…. Are the kids safe? Did they eat well today? Was I attentive enough? Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at the dog food incident. I get tired.

We’re on our way home from the synagogue. I’m texting myself this blog post. We still have to feed and bathe the kids. And then the guys are coming over for poker at our house tonight — a plan that I only learned about this afternoon. Apparently our house was a last resort.

And I’m tired.

Tomorrow I have yoga at 6:30 am. And I’ll float and I’ll sweat it all out and enjoy the silence.

The silence.

Love.
xo Haley-O
Sent from Haley-O’s BlackBerry

If I’ve learned anything from Betty White so far it’s that I don’t really do discipline very well. I mean, I can do it — when my kids press enough buttons and I’m losing my MIND — but I’m totally inconsistent. My disciplining completely depends on my state of mind. The more patient I feel at any given moment, the less likely I am to really discipline. And that’s not cool, is it?

So, Betty White bit the Rascal on the cheek today. DON’T WORRY, he’s fine. Just a little tiny dot — nothing that a little kiss couldn’t heal. But it could have been worse. If Betty White didn’t have that freakishly massive under bite, it could have been worse….

BAD DOG! BAD!

Now, it seems, I have to discipline. I have to discipline everyone. The kids have to learn how to play with Betty White, and Betty White has to learn to stop biting them and him….

Pleeeeeeese, Mama, heeeeeeelp meeeeee!

I do occasionally watch that dog whisperer show At the End of My Leash. Every episode demonstrates the same fail-proof formula: out-of-control dogs are a reflection of a family that’s a weeeee bit out of control. (Hello 3am wake-up calls STILL.)

Clearly, I don’t discipline my kids enough.

And this bite — as teeny-dot as it was — is my wake-up call.

From now on, I’m going to make a conscious effort to discipline my kids no matter how la-la-la-la I’m feeling. And Betty White is not to bite ANYTHING LIVING.

To start I got her some apparently really fun chew toys….

Grrrr….rrrr….rrrr!

So far so good. Fingers crossed. Although she just stole my sock….

Yes, I kind of suck at disciplining. Hey, I can hardly discipline MYSELF! (Hello, grande soy no-water tazo-chai latte addiction.) But I guess now is as good a time as any to start disciplining self, pets and children….

So tell me what YOU do. When they don’t listen, when you say no for the 40th time (you don’t get to 40, do you?), when they tackle the dog, when they push couches into you when you’re in sarvangasana, and when they clock you ‘side the head with a ball that’s not supposed to be thrown indoors…WHAT DO YOU DO? Do you send them to their rooms? Do you have a “naughty step”? Time outs? Are you, too, inconsistent with your disciplining?

Love!

xo Haley-O

Sometimes I forget that she’s still so little. At almost 5, she’s a whole 26 months older than her brother who demands so much. I go to hug her, and there he is, sandwiched between us. I kiss her good morning, and there he is, pitter-patter-pitter-patter by my side. I unravel the yoga mats, and there he is, beneath my downward dog. I pick her up from school, and there he is, holding my hand. I watched her twirl and jump and dance her little heart out on stage yesterday, and there he was, begging me for apple juice. But, she’s still my baby. Always.

She was the littlest one in her class, but she had the biggest cheeks of all, and she brung it at the show last night! And I hooted and hollered in the audience — “GO, MONKEY! WOOHOO!” — much to Josh’s embarrassment. And I was a little embarrassed (which takes a lot these days, I must say) by my own hoot-and-hollering. But, I remember my mother doing it for me when I took the stage — “GO, HALEY! WOOHOO!”

My mother was always uncharacteristically aggressive when it came to her kids (still is), even if it meant being totally embarrassing. So when I went to pick the Monkey up at the end of the night, remembering my mother, I politely pushed my way through a crowd of parents to get to the very front. Nothing stopped my mother. Nothing’s going to stop me.

And nothing stopped that show! Two shows — 3 hours long, each! By the end of the night, never mind her, I was exhausted, starving, and giddy. The Monkey, on the other hand, wanted to just go home and watch Strawberry Shortcake. I’ve got a cheaty little nighthawk on my hands. Of course, her brother wanted to watch, too.

I cried a lot yesterday. Not only because I’ve been overwhelmed with so much stuff lately, but because I was so proud, and so sad, and so exhausted (7 hours of watching other people’s kids dance will do that to you). She’s my baby. My cheaty little monkey. The Cheaty Monkey!

I guess the best thing about these dance recitals is the way they make us celebrate our kids. Our babies. Still my baby.

I love you, Monkey — so much, I’ll shout it to the world. Woohoo!

NEW NEPHEW….

I know my brother won’t want me to post a photo of his new baby boy on the blog — party pooper! So, instead, I give you this photo of the Monkey’s favourite baby doll, “Marshmallow,” lying in yet another one of her curiously concocted beds/worlds….

Congratulations, Mark and Sabrina! He’s beautiful! (9 pounds!!!)

NEW DOG….

Betty White continues to thrive in her new home with us. Having spent the first 5 months of her life in a high-rise condo, she probably didn’t get out much. You should have seen her last night, when I took her out to look at the moon. (Yes, I did.) WOAAAH….

NEW JOB….

Gorgeouses, you’re now looking at the new “Editor/Writer” at Today’s Parent.com!

I can’t even begin to tell you all the cool things I’ll be doing at Today’sParent.com — except to say that it’s so exciting. And, happily, I’ve been able to arrange it so my kids won’t feel a thing. Although, come to think of it, they’ll definitely wonder why mom’s not sleeping in to the last minute any more! And something tells me they’ll love that….

As many of you know, I’ve worked extremely hard since the Monkey was a baby. Blogging every day until recently, come hell (prenatal depression) or high water (screaming, sleepless babies), and it’s paid off. Not only am I now working at one of Canada’s most respected parenting magazines, but, I have to tell you, when I was young(er), I used to dream about writing for Chatelaine and Flare. And, would you believe? I’m working in the very same offices with them? I’ll be walking by the glitzy clothing racks on my way to my desk. How glam for a “couch writer” like me! And, I’ll actually be contributing to these magazines, as well, I’m told. All this, and I never got all the way through The Secret….

To top it all off, there’s my manager. Her name’s Hailey, too — clearly, she spells it wrong, though. She and I clicked the moment we met. But, want to hear what a big dork I am? I sat in HER chair when I went in for my interview! She’s still laughing (hysterically) about it. I’m just starting to get over the embarrassment.

I must say, motherhood has been, among other intense and amazing things, perhaps the most creative time in my life — brimming with opportunities, and with friends.

It’s a new adventure, Gorgeouses! And it starts TUESDAY.

LOVE!

xo Haley-O

P.S.: Your questions/comments have prompted me to add this wee addendum: I’ll be writing/editing online.  So, by all means, SUBSCRIBE to TodaysParent.com!

Anyone who is, or has, a mother can relate to this brilliantly hilarious poem and laugh! In honour of Mother’s Day (a bit belated, but if your Mother’s Day was anything like my mother’s day, you deserve a little more celebration, or a lot…), I bring you a poem by former US Poet Laureate, Billy Collins, “The Lanyard.” Enjoy!

I originally heard this poem in one of Michael Stone’s lectures over here. Now was the perfect time to share it. Or, erm, yesterday was, but, you know, life….

By the way, look what our artist Cathy sent me in the mail the other day, in honour of my (now-quite-ghastly-but-sighh-TEMPORARY) lack of top front tooth….

On the back of the painting, it says “ONE TOOTH WONDER”! She’s too funny and talented for her own good — I’ll have to get her back somehow….

Happy Mother’s Day!

Love!
xo Haley-O

I don’t believe in writer’s block. In fact, I believe more in the Loch Ness monster, Big Foot, the Abominable Snowman and Santa Claus (FTW!) all together than I do writer’s block. It’s a myth. A big old myth created to give writers a Romantic excuse for wasting hours staring at a screen white with nothing but a blinking cursor. I don’t believe in it.

Indeed, you see, I can’t. If I believed in writer’s block, then maybe it would happen to me. To think, after years now of writing this blog, I could experience writer’s block and lose everything — my quirky sense of humour (or so they tell me), my oomph, ma mojo — out of nowhere? Like a sea monster emerging out of the murky depths and screwing with the writer waves of my unconscious: gobble gobble hiss gobble gobble neener neener…?

I don’t think so.

Sure, I don’t blog as much as I used to. My mind is tired. VERY tired. Mothering two kids aged 2.5 and 4.5 is harrrd. (Aye, there’s the monster.) These days motherhood is so hard that I hereby give Argentina permission to cry for me.

What happened to me this past week as I sat down to my Macbook day after day, laying weary finger pads ever-so-softly on keyboard, just like my high-school typing teacher taught me to do — asdf   jkl; — was not writer’s block, but a classic case of “mother burnout” and “fustafation” (Rascal’s word for “frustration,” my favourite of all his fabulous words, next to “Podowdow,” his word for “potato”).

Yes, I’m tired. Burnt out. Needing-of-break. Disillusioned by BLOGGING. Why do I do this? Why does anyone do this?

I’ve been trying to force myself to blog at the end of these crazy “fustafating” days — in which, sayyyy, the kids are fighting non-stop, begging to the point of whining, screaming (my God, the screaming), NOT LISTENING TO ANY THING I SAY, pulling the cat’s tail, throwing stools and bowls and trains against freshly. painted. walls….. And why am I forcing myself to blog? For FAME? Sometimes I wonder. Why FAME? Why do people want it? The friends on Facebook, the Twitter followers, A-list, B-list…. What am I? Where do I fit in this community? Where have I been trying to fit in? WHY!? I… I… I….

It’s an ego thing. This social media phenomenon is DESIGNED to grow ego. It’s Starbucks CHAI LATTE CRACK for the ego. COME TO ME. READ ME. BE MY FRIEND. You LIKE me! You REALLY LIKE me! I’m KING OF THE WORLD!

I’m just not interested. I can’t be anymore. I’m not HERE for that. Seriously. I’m a mom wayyyy first. And, maybe because of the overwhelming pressures of motherhood, I don’t know, I find myself getting sucked into the social media vacuum when I finally sit down at the end of the day, selfless, and then sucked into Starbucks’ titillating, sugary wafts when I drop the kids off at school, and twitter when I get the chance, and now Facebook. One day I will write the book on SPIRITUAL social media practice. (Or, at least the blog post?) Agent…, agent…, anyone? Beuller? Is there an echo in here? *Crickets*?

Heheheh, I just said “titillating.”

There’s no such thing as writer’s block. No. There’s pressure to write — either self-, editor- or whatever-imposed.

All I know is first comes recognition. I won’t use social media to find myself. I’m just not there (not here). No one is.

A little unsolicited advice then (to myself): when this mythical monster they call “writer’s block” emerges, just remember you don’t HAVE to write today, or tomorrow. When you realize you don’t have to, it vanishes — like the ghost of your late cat that you thought you saw in your peripheral vision. And then maybe you’ll just write anyway. Like I am tonight. Because you want to.

Because you want to play with words.

Also, I’m not going to look now, but my cat is sitting on my lap staring strangely JUST above my head. I know there’s a glowing cat floating up there…. Just know it.

Sometimes there’s just too much going on, and at the end of the day, you just want to sit on your couch and numb out in front of Celebrity Apprentice (BRET MICHAELS, FTW!), be still like vegetables, lay like broccoli…. And that’s okay! It’s usually those days when you’ve eaten really really badly even though you just overfilled your pantry with health foods from The Big Carrot (which is WAY out of your way but oh-so-awesome)….

I won’t find myself there either….

In the olden days, I may have quit blogging if I couldn’t get my energy up to write for a week straight. But, my online blog buddies and truly loyal readers have taught me over the years that that’s not necessary. If I don’t write here for weeks on end it’s okay. And (though my parents would cringe if they heard me say this — hi mom!), it’s okay to be TIRED, it’s okay to be busy, burnt out, fustafated with ev-er-y-thing…. But writer’s block? Feh.

Love!

xo Haley-O

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!