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

Ahh…, they sleep. On my bed. At 5 in the evening. I’ll probably pay for it later, when they’re cranky at dinner and too wired to go to bed at a decent hour. But, I’m tired. So tired….

I woke up this morning with it. The burnout. It usually happens Sunday mornings, after a week of solid mothering — usually after Josh goes away, like, TO VEGAS or on a business trip. I wake up to the sound of “maMA! maMA! maMA! maMA! maMA! maMA! maMAHHH! maMAHHH! maMAHHHHHHH!” It’s Rascal, like a parrot — squawking “maMAHHH!” over and over and over again until I can haul Josh’s arse out of bed to go get him his “mitz” (his milk) and bring him to “maMAHHHHHHH”! Usually I welcome Rascal’s morning antics. But, some mornings, like today, I just want to sleep. I just want to be left alone. I want what Kimberly Wilson calls a “bed day” — sleep in, stay in your pjs all day, read, nap, and just be cozy, do nothing. (Kimberly schedules a “bed day” once a month! If only!)

And, then monkey woke up “MAMA, I NEEDA PEEEEEE! I NEEDA PEEEEEEE! I NEEDA PEEEEEEE!” And she thump thump thumps into my room…. Since when did my children get so difficult and demanding? And what’s with the whining? WHINING? Frightful fours, is it? I’m in it. Smack dab in the middle of it.

I know I have Mother Burnout when EVERYTHING is just soooo irritating. It’s not them. Truly, it’s me. I get irritated by ANYONE that demands ANYTHING of me. There’s only so much I can GIVE GIVE GIVE! Even the husband starts getting to me, the phone ringing, the CLUTTER everywhere. And Tigger. Ohhhh, Tigger.

Never Minden, though….

…because he’s my little partner in misery — just as irritated as I am by everything around him. Just wanting to curl up in a little ball and…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Seriously, I loathe these days. Loathe feeling like this. I really TRY to get out of the funk, but  it doesn’t happen. Until the kids are in bed and I’m on my couch and, ultimately, in bed again….

To make myself feel better today, I left the kids outside with Josh-O so I could workout and have my own space for a bit. Not 10 minutes into my 20-minute Shred, I hear screams. Rascal’s flipped down the concrete stairs in the front because SOMEONE pushed him. ME-duty gives way to MOTHER-duty. I give SOMEONE a time-out and wash poor Rascal’s muddy, scratched-up little frame. I hug him and comfort him.

I take one minute to put my head on the bathtub ledge, and grit my teeth and breathe — until little fingers peel my head off the ledge and sharp little nails pry open my squeezed-shut eyelids.

It’s the hardest job in the world. No, it really is. People say that all the time, but they don’t REALLY think about it, do they.

It’s the hardest job in the world. Motherhood is awesome and wonderful and a blessed thing. But, it’s hard. Really freakin’ hard.

Sigh…. In other news, Monkey and Rascal had their first official conversation. Check it:

Monkey: Do you don’t want ice cream?
Rascal: Neh.

So, yesterday I had the busiest day in the history of busy days. From teaching yoga FIRST THING in the morning, as I do EVERY SUNDAY (dammit — see how YOGIC I am!$@#!%$#!ohhhm), to driving all the way out to nowheresville to pick up the Rascal, to driving all the way out to nowheresville THE OTHER WAY, to go to my friend J-Lyn’s pottery show (BRILLERS, by the way), to going to the toy store to buy a birthday present, to dragging the Rascal out of the toy store by BRIBING him with a toy bus (that we totally didn’t need — even though INVENTORY, MY ARSE — more on that later, trust me, grrrr…), to taking Rascal and the gift we bought, and the toy bus, to a birthday party….

And we all know how much I love — LOATHE — the birthday parties. I loathe them so much I can’t say we’ll be doing one for the Monkey this year. How can I put my friends through it if I LOATHE them myself. I mean, Monkey’s still young enough not to care. Can’t we just have a party with family and the little cousins, and then do a little trip to the country or something? SHUCKS, we could take a frickin’ trip to HAWAII for the same price as a birthday party but without the stress! I mean, why NOT!? If the cast of The Hills can do it at a moment’s notice, so can I, right? Even though I will never again look as good as they do in those bikinis….DAMMIT HATE! Anyway, we’ll see. I just don’t think the Monkey will notice if we have a big to-do with all her friends (from school? from camp? it’s a July birthday…), or a big to-do with just the family….

So, yes, I loathe the birthday parties (except for the CAAAKE – because it’s usually super sugary and vegan because of kids’ allergies — and, OH MY with all the digressions today! must be the caffeine and sugar in that dang Starbucks chai latte I just imbibed; blogging in the morning post-chai just may not do….DIGRESSSS!), and yesterday was painfully busy. I’m lazy by nature. I like mine arse ON MY COUCH.

Anyway, the one thing that REALLY helped me get through the day yesterday was…my brother. Uncle M took Monkey to her first baseball game! So, praise brother, I schlepped all over the city with ONE child, and not TWO. What was especially amazing was that SHE HAD A GREAT DAY and I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT…. He bought her a girlie Toronto Blue-Jays hat, and she got a free Blue Jays T-shirt!

Like, how sweet is THAT? I really must take advantage of ALL MY FAMILY more regularly. He had fun. She had fun. And I got a BIG break. HUGE.

After that huge long day, by the way, we went to Anon’s for dinner — to celebrate his return from the hospital! I’m telling you, what we went through could have been an episode of House with all the doctors gathering ’round and meeting about the unidentifiable ORGANISM. Well, they figured it all out, and all is well. THANK GOD.

By the way? My parents’ dog Quincey says HI….

This is actually a really carpy picture of him because he’s all about the ears; so, here’s another carpy picture showcasing his fabbest feature….

Ooo! I hope my parents don’t mind I didn’t star out his face or give him a blog alias. They’re really intense about the privacy thing (now you know where I get it from…is totally genetic). Oh well.

So, here’s the inventory issue I wanted to talk about for a minute. There’s a certain person on the internet who seems nice enough, but decided to criticize my parenting on her website. It’s not anything serious, but it was still criticism, and I DID NOT LIKE IT. I’m not posting a link to her post because I don’t want to reward her with traffic. Basically, she said that THIS POST…

made me feel better about myself, lol. One of the biggest challenges that we face in parenthood is inventory. I deal with inventory all day with my job and bottomline is this kid has too much of it! Every birthday, every holiday, you’ve got to deplete the inventory!

So, apparently, my kid — “this kid” — has too much “inventory.” Pahlease. It’s called STORAGE. “This kid” does not have enough STORAGE. And it’s called FIRST GRANDCHILD and it’s called ONLY GRANDDAUGHTER and FIRST CHILD and PRE-RECESSION and FORMS BIZARRE ATTACHMENTS. You try taking any one of those toys away from “this kid”: it’s called TRAUMATIC and CHAOS and HAVOC….

Anyway, I don’t think the self-titled “diva” of parenting meant anything nasty by it, really. But, moms need to stick together. I don’t blog here to be criticized (even though that’s going to be inevitable, I know). I blog here to share and document and entertain. Sure, Monkey has a lo-ho-hot of stuff. But, I AM perfectly capable of “depleting the inventory.” I just — personally? — care not to.

I spent most of the day today trying really hard not to explode or, at least, not to rip all my hair out while jumping up and down like an excited chimpanzee.

I have the most strong-willed children on the planet. Of course, I can’t know that for sure. But, I’m almost certain that statement is pretty close to total accuracy. I’ve come to the realization, more specifically, that Rascal’s “alarming” behaviour is not, after all, a matter of behaviour at all. No, it’s that will of his. That will of his is way too strong for his own good. Now, as his parent, I’m in such a tough position. I don’t want to quash (“quash”?) that strong will because he and his equally strong-willed (but with major sweetness factor) sister, as one of my twitter buddies reminded me in a Direct Message, “will be leaders” because of those pesky strong wills. What’s a Mama to do?

So, what happens — as I’ve mentioned before — is that I end up fighting with the little guy ALL day. Putting his socks on is a fight, dressing him at all, changing his diapers, medicating those infected ears of his, getting him to SLEEP, putting him in his carseat (you would not BELIEVE), getting him to leave Starbucks, and try cooking or talking on the phone or turning on the computer when he’s in the room — not a chance without a headache full of SCREAMING. Brutal. I hate saying it because I don’t want to “affirm it” (a la Law of Attraction), but he’s INSANELY DIFFICULT. And you’d never know it from those BIG blue innocent saucers of his…. When he sleeps? I always laugh at the great size of his eye lids — they have to be big to cover those ENORMOUS SAUCERS…!

Sigh…. There were glimmers of joy amid the chaos today. And I meant to focus on JOY today because my now-chronic lack of sleep is making me all kvetchy and bitters lately. Anyway, I MIGHT be taking the day off from blogging tomorrow (like I was SUPPOSED today and yesterday), since I have MAJOR plans tomorrow night — well, not I’M-GOING-TO-BERMUDA-…-ALONE big plans, but big enough to excite and warrant a night off blogging…. Yes, since I MIGHT be taking tomorrow off, I thought I’d leave you with something substantial to last the weekend…. Check it.

Minden staying AWAY from The Rascal yet still wanting in on the action….

Closer….

And closer….

ME crafting a magic wand with our new Envirobloxs (FUN for me, but a BORE for the Monkey because too hard and a disaster for her brother)….

What do you think? Not bad, eh? Closer….

It even bends, yes. And no longer breaks thanks to the beauty that is duct tape….

RASCAL playing independently…. This never happens. Notice the WAND….

MONKEY’S drawing….

BAKING muffins. WOULD have been a joy in my day had Rascal not screamed the entire time (see recipe at The Kitch)….

Yes, baking these was an awful experience. But THIS made it worth it:

Mama: Monkey, what do you like better? Starbucks’ muffins or Mama’s muffins?
Monkey: Mama’s muffins.
Mama: Really? Why?
Monkey: I LOVE you!

Are you melting? Am still melting….

Love!
xo Haley-O

Today was the first day in a long time that I had the house to myself. Alone in my house. Alone. In my house. In my house alone. HOUSE ALONE.

Well, not quite alone….

These cushions: they KILL me. Can you say “uggers”? How ’bout “eye sore”? “Hot mess”? Hereby pledging to buy new cushions when the economy recovers.

And, you know? It made me realize. I am like NEVER ALONE. NEVER. ALONE ALONE. NEVER. Okay, I’ll stop that now. Forgives. It’s all just so shocking. SHOCKING. SO. SO SHOCKING. Okay. stopping. It’s out of my system now. Too bad that emotional eating fest in front of Y & R is NOT out of my system — SHARON AND BILLY CANNOT BE HOOKING UP. That’s just EW. And, WHY ISN’T LILLY TELLING CANE ABOUT THE BABY, YET? So hating that suspense. Need raisins — the only “candy” permissible on my binge. (TANGENT!) But, then again…. OOPS….

…I did it again. I CHEATED on my cleanse. With a (grrrr) Starbucks Soy Chai Tea Latte. Had to.

This morning was seriously amazing: me, alone with my computer; me, alone in the SHOWER; me, alone with my CATS (trust me, they loved it); me…. Me. But, the (measly) HOUR came and went, and, too soon, it was time to pick up the Monkey from preschool and Rascal from it’sgrandma’s. It was only 11:30am. The day ahead loomed before me. What to do after ANOTHER night of 3 hours of interrupted sleep?

I DID have an errand to do. (If you must know…, had to exchange a coat Monkey got at Old Navy.) So, we went to the mall.

There’s a Starbucks in the mall. I could smell it outside. As soon as I got out of the car. I looked in its direction. There was no resisting. Especially after The Incident.

You know by now that Rascal is DIFFICULT. He is a DIFFICULT toddler. The hitting, the WRITHING, the WAILING, the NOT SLEEPING, the TANTRUMS (on his back on the floor in a RESTAURANT), etc., etc.. Well, after the errand was done, I took them to the bookstore RIGHT beside Starbucks. And, Rascal. Actually. Played. ON HIS OWN….

It was HEAVEN. I even got to whip out a few emails and tweets on the pinkberry.

Alas………., and OF COURSE, five minutes into Rascal’s miraculous independent play SOMEONE decided she “NEEDA PEE! I NEEDA PEE!” FOR the second time at the mall.

Yes, she’s still wearing her CAPTAIN MOVIE-STAR TO THE RESCUE sunglasses everywhere….

Isn’t that fabulous? Don’t you love trips to the public washroom? How ’bout TWO trips in the same MALL? Don’t you love straining your back as you hold them for DEAR LIFE over the stinky public toilet seat?

Me: If you don’t want to put Pablo down wash your hands, don’t touch ANYTHING, okay Monkey?
Monkey: Oh, mama! My bum touched the door! Do I needa wash my hands now?

Rascal was NOT happy when I dragged him away KICKING AND SCREAMING (of course) from the Thomas-the-Train table. It was a nightmare. A nightmare that involved, again, Rascal on his back, on the floor, in the bookstore.

HUFF, WHEN is my Mother-of-the-Year Award arriving? WHEN?

I finally got them to the washroom. Rascal with his usual complexion: red-faced and tear-streaked. I prepared the toilet seat (mass disinfection, of course), lifted the Monkey over the seat and waited. and waited.

NOTHING.

Me: Monkey, what’s going on? Aren’t you going to make a pee?
Monkey: I don’t needa pee. I’ll pee at home.

Are you f*ing kidding me? That’s it. B-LINE to the Starbucks.

Sigh, it’s just not enjoyable.

Sitting at my computer four years ago all big and preggers in my Scholastic Canada Ltd. cubicle, I thought, I can’t wait to get out of the workforce. This sh*t is boring and frustrating and I just want to be AT HOME! But, man. THESE DAYS ARE HARD and not particularly enjoyable. I have to say it. The mall should have been FUN. Things should be FUN and EXCITING and ADVENTUROUS when you’re not stuck at a desk job playing solitaire and cold-calling authors and other publishers. But, today brought me to my knees.

Don’t get me started on how, after chasing Rascal around the bookstore, I had to WORKOUT (for ten minutes. a measly TEN. is that so much to ask?) with him SCREAMING at my feet for me to pick him up. And, see, it’s no wonder my doctor told me to take up the kickboxing. I needed it: my body is TENSE from the stress of mothering two young children.

Life, these days, is filled with fear, frustration, anxiety, impatience, anger…. Somehow, from somewhere, I’ve remembered COURAGE. Motherhood takes freaking COURAGE. Minute-to-minute COURAGE. It’s getting me through. Through the anxiety and the fear and frustration.

And, for the anger and impatience, like, when Rascal’s SCREAMING all the way home in his carseat, I turn up the music. Yeah, it wasn’t the measly chai (which tasted good going down, but left me full and nauseous and shaky), but this song — appropriately called “The Fear” — these words, for some reason, saved me today….

Of course, there’s also love. There’s nothing that I don’t take for granted. I love my monkeys so much is scares me. So much that the responsibility weighs on me, consumes me, brings me to my knees….

Thanks for listening to me. The posts these days are LONG. I have a noisy, nervous inner world these days…. I need to write.

Only a few more days to enter the Pure + Simple Giveaway. Go forth and ENTER!

Love!
xo Haley-O

People often thank me for writing about the trials and tribulations of motherhood. They tell me it makes them feel less alone, that they relate to me. But, the truth is, I have to thank you.

I’ve had a rough day.

A rough week.

Or so.

These pictures say more than I can right now. I’m exhausted. Here….

He cries all the time. Unless I’m holding him.

He will scream in his high chair — and not eat — until I hold him.

He will scream all night until I hold him.

He will scream when I change his diaper.

I have to hold him down to change him.

I cry every time I change his diaper.

This has been going on for a week.

My baby is so unhappy.

I think it’s teething.

He had a fever again today….

Everyone thinks it’s teething.

I’m trying Camillia tomorrow.

Today, I’m losing my mind.

And, no one could help.

No one could help when I had to teach yoga with my feverish, screaming rascal in my arms and the monkey running rampant (since I couldn’t leave her in the gym daycare while her sick brother got to stay with me). I couldn’t find a substitute teacher. And, I couldn’t find a babysitter. I tried everyone….

Heh…. She doesn’t go ANYWHERE without her Pablo doll….

No one could help me.

I didn’t want to blog tonight because I was feeling really down. But, how could I not when this is where I feel so supported, where I feel alive and important and productive. Where people want to know. Gorgeouses want to know.

So, thank you. Thank you for being here and relating to me and listening to me. I know you would babysit if you were here….

Love….
xo Haley-O

To show you my thanks, I’m giving away big prizes over at Goodies.

REALLY rough day today. At 16 months old, the Rascal still isn’t sleeping through the night. And last night was the worst night we’ve had in a long time. So, I’m half asleep writing this post. And my heart IT HURTS.

He woke up shrieking a few times last night and wouldn’t stop. I even brought him to bed with me, and he kept shrieking. He’s continued to shriek most of the day. I’m pretty sure he’s teething….

This….

…is a sweet, but rare, vision….

Since 5am this morning, he’s been crying for me. He wants me to hold him constantly. I even took him grocery shopping, and the little dude wouldn’t stay in the shopping cart (which is usually a favourite activity of his); he shrieked until I picked him up and carried him up and down the aisles. It was terrible.

It’s really getting to me. My heart, Gorgeouses…, it hurts!

It’s been hurting a lot lately. Not only do I have an extremely unhappy Rascal, but I’m now teaching yoga at the same time as my little Monkey has her dance class…. No more watching with hand over heart (and other hand holding camera) at the window….

And, I had such HIGH HOPES of being a STAGE MOM….

I’m going to miss all this…THIS….

I just have to keep reminding myself that I’m teaching yoga, really, so that I can buy HER more clothes — and organic food…. I work hard for the money, you know. And, it’s not like yoga gigs are easy to come by.

But, MY HEART IT HURTS!

Anyway….

Good thing I went to yoga class today. I was exhausted and stressed out from the Rascal’s shrieking, and in desperate need of PERSONAL SPACE.

So, I went to yoga about 15 minutes early. I grabbed a blanket and lay down in Savasana. My heart was heavy. Could hardly relax. But, eventually, I surrendered to gravity and “dropped down.”

Next thing I knew…. The teacher was talking. I opened my eyes and everyone was doing their poses! Yes. I’m Haley-O, and…

The class started at 10am, and I woke up at 10:30. There you have it. I’m a big DORK.

But, I woke right up, got right into the class, and yoga did its magic. I left feeling happy and rejuvenated. As my brillers teacher told us today, just BEING AROUND yoga (even if you are ASLEEP) is healing. Everything in the room is positive. Everything that’s said about the body is positive. Which is why, I give you moi. Bending over backwards. A hard pose, yes. But, I’m blessed with freakish flexibility. So, don’t go trying this at home!

Yes, finally, I’ve lost enough pregnancy weight to feel O.K. posting pics of me doing freakish yoga poses for your entertainment (and, let’s face it, for Bloggies votes — I mean, of course, c’mon, who are we kidding!? You asked for BRIBES! I give you BRIBE!)

Even though yoga class was bliss today, my heart’s been heavy ever since. It’s hard to see your child in constant pain. It’s also hard to give him the attention he demands when I have another child who needs me, too…

Love….
xo Haley-O

“I Fell Asleep in Yoga Class” Button image created at Cool Text: Logo and Button Generator – Create Your Own.

I am completely paralyzed right now. Not answering the phone. Not answering emails. Not opening my mouth when spoken to. Not accepting cat cuddles (you know it’s bad when…).

I was THIS CLOSE — THIS CLOSE — to calling my boss from FOUR YEARS ago to ask for a job. THIS CLOSE. My day was THAT BAD.

Whine alert. Prepare for serious whinage. (And I’d dress that up with repeated LARGE CAPS and exclamation points as I usually do with everything, but this is not that kind of post. No, this is me FAREAKING OUT inside RIGHT NOW as Rascal breaks out into WAILS again. AGGGGAAAAIIIIINNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!! SLEEEEEP!

That felt good. Actually it didn’t. I was just too paralyzed to lift my fingers off the keys. And, part of me was kind of hoping emoting in words would feel good and help get me out of this funk, even as I sit here with a totally blank expressionless face. But, it didn’t make me feel good because I am, indeed, paralyzed on the inside, and on the outside because fat Tigger is perched on my lap. At least she’s warm.

{gratuitous picture of said fat cat would normally be posted here, but can’t because numb inside, and going increasingly numb outside — legs! Here’s a picture….}

In her case the camera actually subtracts 10 pounds. She’s a total raccoon.

Anyway, I’m on virtually no sleep for, like, the second day in a row because Rascal’s decided he enjoys wreaking havoc and making a misery of my life. Because this IS my life we’re talking about. And, it’s two against one. Two little monkeys decide my fate every day. It shouldn’t be like that, but it is. THEY have a bad day? I have a bad day. They have good day? In some cases, I STILL have a bad day.

Some of today’s mantras for you:

“MOMMY HAS THE RIGHT TO EXERCISE”;

“SO GO PEE”;

“YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF”;

“NO, RASCAL”;

“RASCAL, PLEASE DON’T THROUGH YOUR FOOD ON THE FLOOR.”

And, how ’bout this one? It’s my favourite:

“F———CK!”

Only I didn’t say it out loud. Which is a good thing because I did say “Oh, SH-T” in front of the Monkey today, and she was — vocally — very excited about her new word. Sigh.

Stay-at-home parenting is mind-numbing. It’s frustrating. It’s depressing. It’s isolating. It’s HARD. No, it’s REALLY HARD. So, I go to Josh, at the dinner table this evening, “I can’t do it. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m going to look for a job.” And, then I look at Rascal, and his rosy red cheeks (red from pooping and, it seems, teething), and I don’t want to leave him. It’s just a bad day. A really bad day. And, I am allowed my share of those.

It would be awesome to go back to work. I’m losing weight just thinking about it. But, a few thoughts go through my mind when I consider it:

“If I can’t handle staying at home with my own kids, how can I hire someone else to do it?”;

“The thought of someone else taking care of my kids makes me cry (more than I’m crying right now)”;

“Rascal wants ME, deserves ME — who am I to take that away from him because I’m having a wee emotional breakdown right now, which (c’mon we all know) is probably completely HORMONAL?”

“I am a lousy nine-to-fiver. What makes me think going to work won’t make me way more depressed than I am now.”

Because, really, I am happy. I’m just hormonal and sleep-deprived and in total sugar and Starbucks withdrawals…. If he sleeps tonight, I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine I’ll be fine I’ll be fine.

I just love them. So much. That sometimes I hate myself. Because I’m not perfect. Because my best isn’t good enough. And, because I’m way overdue for some extended me-time.

I’m way overdue for some extended me-time.

I was THIS CLOSE to quitting this stay-at-home gig. But, just…. Just listen to this…. (Enjoy…!)

Even after a day like today, I could listen to that over and over (well…).

So, I’m sticking to it. I just have to make it better tomorrow. After all, red IS the colour of a Valentine. MWAH! (Did you hear the kiss in the vid? Oy…!)

Awww, look how cute they are. MONSTERS! They are MONSTERS! EVIL! HORRIBLY TERRIBLE ARRRRRGHHH! RAAAAAAAAAWWWWRRR!

Inhale. Into the belly. Exhale. Feel the belly press into the spine. That’s right….

I taught yoga today. I should be swimming in goodness and PRANA — THE LIFE FORCE. Magical glorious MOONBEAM life force should be flowing through me so I’m, like, glowing RAINBOW COLOURS and shooting SPARKLES from my pores (like I usually do after yoga…….).

Inhale into the belly. Exhale and let the belly meet the spine. That’s right…. That’s how you energize yourself without chai lattes. Now, curl your toes under and press up into dog pose. Beautiful….

I should be floating on air with no negative thoughts whatsoever. If my children don’t say thank you when I give them a PRESENT, it’s okay because I just taught yoga and know better than to take things personally.

Silence the ego…. That’s right…, hush little ego….

Dont. You. Cry. I cook dinner. I’m a little exhausted, so I resort to organic chicken fingers (never mind MY dinner because MAMA doesn’t need to eat because she’s a robot and feelingless — i.e., not WALL-E), but I spend a good half hour peeling and slicing sweet potatoes to make baked wedges from scratch. I steam up some broccoli, grind up some almonds to sprinkle on top, and I slice up the ole red pepper that they never refuse. I set Rascal down to a high-chair table with a little bit of everything, and he starts THROWING. EVERYTHING is on the floor. My blood begins to boil….

Breathe into the belly. Deep, hollow ujjayi breaths through the nostrils…. Cool on the way in. Warm on the way out….

Timely as always, Monkey blurts out: “I NEEDA PEE I NEEDA PEE I NEEDA PEE I NEEDA PEE I NEEDA PEE I NEEDA PEEEEEEEE!!!”

U-JAAAA-Y-IIIIIII…..AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!

Josh-O comes home, runs up to change so we can all “relax” and finish up dinner together. Monkey climbs out of her seat, and Rascal continues to make any mess he can.

Huff puff huff puff. Starting to hyperventilate now. Head on verge of exploding. Turning into female version of incredible hulk. It isn’t pretty.

Okay, THAT’S IT. Dinner’s over. I take Rascal up the stairs and tell Josh it’s BATH TIME and I AM DONE!

Ahhhhh…. Bliss. Turn TV on. Turn computer on. Summon kitty cat. Heart rate comes down. Breath moving down to the belly again. Purring kitty spreading calmmmmm….

And the first Terrible Tuesday of 2009 comes to a close….

Oh, but how cute is THAT? He got on the car behind her BY HIMSELF…. AND, he took some more steps today. AND, he pooped in the toilet. YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT — THE TOILET!

They may be cheaty. But, they’re MY cheaty little MONSTERS. And, I’m CRAZY about them. CRAZY. Nutty. Insane. Commit me. Sendhelpnow…!

Oh! And, I figured out why I love Starbucks Soy Chai Latte. Because I love maple syrup. This drink? Is syrup in a cup. SYRUP IN A CUP! (Clearly, am still in withdrawal….)