I’ve been loving this season’s So You Think You Can Dance. I wasn’t sure about the new “all-star” format, but it’s working for me. Love it. ANYWAY, if you happened to miss Billy and Ade’s contemporary piece last night, you must checkit — to borrow Mia’s words, it was “sheer perfection”….

Phenomenal. The artistry, the philosophy, the beauty, all speak to me. FAHKLEMPT!

Things are a bit insane around here as we plan for a 10-day trip — first to the in laws’ farm and then to the BIG APPLE for BLOGHER (talk about MAD WORLD…)!

We’re driving, so please wish me luck. If you knew my kids (like, in real life), you’d know I need all the luck I can get. As per my kids’ orders, I’ll be filling my iPod with various versions of this damn song that they both beg me for constantly (GGAHH!) — Rascal: “Mama, I wah ‘Aw da way up, aw da way down’”….

Don’t ask….

I’ll also make sure I have a good lineup of what the Rascal thinks are songs from his favourite movie Cars — but that are really all my favourite songs from the Glee soundtrack. Hee.

You can definitely find me on twitter throughout the week (say hi!), here at Cheaty Monkey as often as I can make it, and I’ll be keeping my celeb blog up to date at Today’s Parent, among other things there.

Oh, and guess who’s coming with us?

BETZ! Betty White is coming with us. And a cat sitter is staying with the kitties. You can see he’s thrilled about it….

Lip….

Okay! I have a 6am Ashtanga yoga class to get up for. Good night!

Love!

xo Haley-O

Rascal said the weirdest thing to me the other day from the backseat of the car. It was too weird, too funny, too sacred to pull over the car (screeeeeech) and tweet.

I’m driving. I’m driving. And all of a sudden I hear a quiet voice in the backseat. Before I tell you what this quiet voice said, let me remind you that he’s TWO AND A HALF.

So, I’m driving. I’m driving. And all of a sudden I hear a quiet voice in the backseat, just loud enough to pierce through his sister’s dialogue with her doll:

“Mama,” he said, “AM I WEIRD?”

“Am I weird?”

“Am I weird?”

It sounded more like “weewd,” for the record, but I heard it.

“Am I weird, Mama?”

If I were a different kind of blogger, or maybe if I were feeling less tired, less sick (this cold…), I’d sit here analyzing it. I’d contemplate its origins, possibilities. I mean, I’ve always thought I had to censor my little weight preoccupation for my daughter’s sake — but never my weird….

Am I weird? Yes. A lot less weird than I used to be, alas. But I still have my quirks. I have a dog named Betty White (who could really use a groom, now that you mention it — she’s booked for next week)….

I’m not into tarot cards anymore, but I do love crystals. I really really love crystals. I’m usually wearing one on my neck or carrying one in my pocket. I’m not quite as advanced as Spencer Pratt or anything….

But I love my crystals. And to calm the storm that is Rascal’s general state of mind lately — with the constant crying and screaming — I got myself a really pretty pink quartz necklace, and I got him an agate dragon skin stone….

Don’t laugh! He loves it….

If he’s wearing it, I tell him to hold it up and say “DRAGON WARRIOR” when I sense him slipping into tantrums. Recently, though, he replaced the crystal with a giant triceratops doll that he loves….

…He loves to jump around with it, saying, “ribbit. ribbit. ribbit.” Weird?!

I’m not who you thought I was, now, am I? I might just be more than a little weird for you. A total Internet kook! But, sadly, it feels like my quirks have all but vanished in my extreme busy-ness and the emotional storms of toddlerhood. Aside from The Crystals, I pretty much go to work, come home, play with my son, pick up his sister from camp, make dinner, work some more, read in bed and go to sleep.

Then I wake up disgustingly early, and I practice yoga for 2 hours….Weird? Or just crazy? Or the smartest, most normal thing one could ever do to keep up with life without totally losing oneself, or even one’s weird, in the busy-ness, in speeding time (so fast — have you noticed?).

As for my son? I don’t know where the question — “Mama, am I weird?” — came from. And I’m not going to analyze it. I’m simply going to bask in the weirdness of it. And keep laughing.

Love!

xo Haley-O

The couple months have been crazy for me. Recap: tooth trauma, new job (aka lifestyle overhaul), new dog “Betty White” (aka lifestyle overhaul), new nephew, loved one in hospital (was released TODAY). I think it’s time for a little mundanity, don’t you? Checkit….

I just ate a slice of raw vegan strawberry cheesecake from Live. It’s yummy, but a little too walnut-y. Someone snuck a cheaty little taste before I could slice into it.

There’s a family of cardinals living in our backyard. Deep inside this tree….

It’s rare that you see a female cardinal, you know. But we see the mama bird all the time. Isn’t she beautiful?

I watched the daddy cardinal feed the baby — beak to beak. Amazing. Needless to say, Betty White’s not allowed in the backyard when the birds are hunting. I hardly want her near MINDEN….

(legs….)

(she wears short-shorts….)

In the course of writing this post, my children have come down the stairs four times.

The Rascal and I went on a moonlit midnight walk with Betty White just last night….

Tonight he’s wearing a Paul Frank T-shirt and bathing-suit shorts to bed. I asked him why he was wearing bathing-suit shorts, and he said because “I yike to, Mama.”

The Monkey says “babing suit” instead of “bathing suit.” and I like it better. Really. Otherwise the Monkey’s quite articulate.

I took Monkey, Rascal and Josh-O to the office the other day to retrieve the whatchamacallit I dropped down the elevator shaft in front of an elevator full of men — all heads bobbed as the whatchamacallit bounded off the elevator ledge and into the shaft (plop). Facilities went down, way down, and got it for me.

This is what they did at 4pm on Father’s Day….

Josh-O’s a great dad. Too bad he doesn’t read my blog. Or is it? If he did read my blog, I wouldn’t be able to call him a nutball, or tell you about the astronomical parking ticket I got illegally parking in front of Starbucks the other day — which I totally just quit, again, just now — now would I? He’s laughing at me right now because I couldn’t figure out that my whatchamacallit thingy I dropped down the elevator shaft is called a “parking pass.”

This morning, at work, I wrote about Kim Kardashian’s cleavage of the buttocks. When I took breaks, I spun around in my chair and looked at the great view by my desk….

Did you know ornithology is the most popular hobby in the world? Loved One told me when had brunch at the hospital yesterday morning. Apparently heard it on the radio.

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

It’s been very hard to find time to blog lately. I’m THAT busy. I’m also THAT tired because I’ve been working on a big project for CottageCountry.com. I’ve been staying up pretty much until Rascal wakes up every morning — 2am, which is also, apparently, the time the fun begins…. Between the tiredness and the busy-ness (I’ve got to get back to work, like, NOW, or it’ll be a 3am night, which may conflict with someone else’s li’l schedule), I’m gonna make this quick. I give you, Gorgeouses, a rundown of what’s been going on at the very busy Cheaty house (aside from the Project) — check it:

1. I’ve been planting. Spinach! I’m a bit of a loser, though, because I planted it two days ago and thought I saw spinach sprouting just today — alas, it was WEEDS. #duhh. Let’s be realistic here for a minute: the day spinach grows in my backyard, as a result of my square thumbs (did you know Megan Fox uses hand doubles in her films because she, too, has square thumbs, or “toe thumbs,” or whatever — but I say OWN IT, Megan!), is the day I quit Starbucks. There. #nothappening.

This photo was taken by THE MONKEY! Love!

2. We are spring cleaning. MAJOR spring cleaning….

3. Minden’s licking my yoga mat again. See?

What’s up with that? It’s totally clean. I never use that one. (Then again, this is the same cat who eats onions and spinach when nobody’s looking.) I put it out earlier because Rascal wanted to do Sun Salutations, complete with loud ujjayi breathing…. You should hear this guy do yoga. If I blindfolded you and led you into our living room during one of his sessions, you’d think you’d walked in on the great Iyengar himself….

There’s nothing like yoga in pajamas….

Can I have my mat back, now?

4. Josh threw out my boots. He literally smuggled them out of the house when he went to do an errand and threw them in a donation box. MY BOOTS. MINE. He hated them THAT MUCH, and he knows that I’m the type who wears winter boots well into May. I can’t for the life of me find a picture of them. They were black nylon “Elements” boots. This is the closest photo I could find of what they looked like….

Wahhh. Miss…!

7. This should be a post in itself, but I may not get around to another one ’til Thursday, so check it. Rascal, as you know, likes to start words he can’t pronounce with “f.” This has become increasingly hilarious, and, at times, problematic. Check it:

a) F*CK: truck;

b) FACKET: jacket (which, if said aloud, can be rather offensive in two ways);

c) FUSTIFATED: frustrated, as in “Mama, are you FUSTIFATED?” (*cough*);

d) FIFFY: filthy….

Rascal also likes to start “L” words with “Y”:

a) “Mama, I wan pay Sixth and Yadders“: Mama, I want to play Snakes and Ladders.

b) “Yook! Mama, YOOK!”: Look, Mama, LOOK!

c) “Mama, you yips smell yike YEMEN!”: Mama, your lips smell like LEMON.

Okay! Gotta go. This post took me way yonger than I fought it would…. And the cat’s giving me the stink eye….

Yuv!

xo Haley-O

P.S.: Check out the awesome promo this month at GOODIES – 20% off totally hot organic clothes for kids from www.minimioche.com!