As many of you know by now, I am a woman of extremes. One day I’m letting it go, and the next, today, I’m reining it in. What is up with my karma, Gorgeouses? I have some major, major karma to deal with. I mean, obviously, it could be worse — like, Oedipus (dude had some bad Karma), Anne Boleyn or George Costanza…. But this is definitely a karmic situation. And I’m not talking this Situation, for the record….

Looove. Seriously. Not in a Clive Owen kind of way.

I just struggle. I really struggle with the day-to-day stuff. My problem is that I just want to do whatever I want. Period. I struggle between my intense desire to do whatever I want and my severe desire to live an ideal life. I get completely overwhelmed by the idea that there may be a balance between these two extremes — freedom and restriction — but, I know, there is freedom in restriction, and that there is so, so much restriction in, erm, gluttony….

Woahh, this is getting to heady for us.

Take my puppy Betty White, for example. She knows exactly what she wants or needs to do. She’s perfect at it if you think about it — running in the yard, eating when she’s hungry, attacking me with kisses while I’m driving…. She’s definitely one of my idols when it comes to my karmic situation. Not this Situation, for the record….

Looove. Seriously. Not in a Javier Bardem kind of way.

Before we continue our very important conversation here, can we talk about Mr. Bardem’s serious hotness in Eat, Pray, Love for a second? Omigosh, SWOON. Hold on a sec, here….

Paaaaaaauuuuuse………

Sure, I’m one lucky woman. Not as lucky as Julia Roberts, who got to spoon Javier Bardem….

But she did it. Or, her character, Elizabeth Gilbert did it, or at least wrote the book about it. Elizabeth Gilbert — the same woman who reminds me that no woman, none of us, really knows what she’s doing these days. We have oodles of choices, and, having no oodles-of-choices predecessors, we struggle with what to do with these oodles. Here, let her say it herself….

No wonder, amid a sea of Eat, Pray, Love haters (I know you’re out there), I love Elizabeth Gilbert. She and I are, like, the same person: neurotic and struggling among the extremes of pleasure, restriction and relationships, and we are a wee bit obsessed with yoga, writing and eating. Fast forward to the last few minutes of the video….

Oh, heady again.

…When all I meant to write about was Betty White at the dinner table….

(Underbite.) She’s out of control!

(Tongue. Also chili.)

And he! He stole my favourite lip gloss!

(Bottom-teeth gap.)

And this. Between me and my macbook….

(Withkerth.) — You have to say that one out loud to understand it.

Out of control. Or, in Canadian speak, OOT of control. I’m starting to talk like that, Gorgeouses. For real life, eh? (“For real life” is actually Monkey speak for “For real” — FYI.)

Sighh. Anyway, I think I’m going on a diet (ish). And I’m doing Ashtanga yoga again — an hour or so every day but Saturdays and moon days.  Because it’s one or the other for me. I just feel like there’s freedom in it. In not having to choose all the time…. Dammit.

One day I’ll write the book on my karmic roller-coaster journey among extremes. And I’ll call it Dogs at the Dinner Table. It has a ring to it, right? On the cover, a picture of me and Betty White in downward-facing dog pose…. You can read it on your Kobos (my latest obsession. see twitter).

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

Why? WHY do kids love pressing buttons?

I’m not talking door or elevator buttons — although they love them, too — I’m talking my buttons. Why do my kids love pressing my buttons? Like, the hottest buttons they can find? “Let’s piss Mama off” might as well be their mantra lately.

Now that I have to scramble the Monkey off to (FULL-DAY) camp early in the morning, my mornings have become chaos — a cacophony of button pressing by both her and her brother.

Is it that entertaining for them to watch me writhe? Or is it just plain fun to be obnoxious, like, for obnoxious’ sake? Have I forgotten the joy of obnoxiousness? Obnoxion! (OED people: “Obnoxion” should definitely be a word, FYI.)

Maybe I should just try to be obnoxious with them, then? As in “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” Just let it all out and be obnoxious. Yes! I’ll just press their buttons…. Mwahaha! Theirs. I will! I will do it! I will press their buttons! My new mantra: “Let’s piss off the children! Mwahaha!” I can hear it now (can you hear it now?): “Mamaaaa! NOOOOO! NooooOOOooo! Mama! Stoooop it!” And then he’ll cry. The Rascal will cry. Because that’s what he does. All the time. But that’s another blog post.

I’ll keep you posted. On Operation Obnoxion. I probably won’t do it. But, a mother can dream. A mother can vent. On her blog….

To calm my nerves and get healthy and in shape, I’ve been doing Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga every morning. A key element of the practice is drishti, or gazing. The problem is, when I practice drishti, I’m gazing at, erm, this….

When I go to lie down at the end of my rigorous practice in the all-important savasana pose, I see this if I dare open my eyes….

Betty White! Gahh. That black mass on the bottom would be my bosom, fyi. And never mind cleaning my mat at the end of a sweaty session because….

It’s okay, though, because Minden does it anyway….

Anyway, before Betty White eats the latest issue of Today’s Parent….

I have to show you a little something-something on the inside….

Closer….

Tada! ME! I’m the third name down in the TODAYSPARENT.COM section. Woohoo! And those are my peeps! My beautiful, awesome, beyond-nice (I love that) colleagues. Love love love. So, pick up your issue of Today’s Parent IN STANDS FRIDAY!

Love!

xo Haley-O

While most of Canada takes the day off tomorrow for an extra long weekend, I’ll be waking up at 6am to dash to a 6:30am Ashtanga Yoga class, and then off to work for 8:30am….

I really have to get to bed. But, before I go to bed, I want to wish my fellow Canadians a HAPPY CANADA DAY. We walked and walked and walked today, basically (what did you do?)….

Even Betty White enjoyed herself. Right now, I’m trying to calm her down (between sentences) because it’s like a war zone in my neighbourhood with the fireworks! Boom! Pow! Luckily my kids are like me, and they’ll sleep through anything. Even through Betty’s squealy barks.

Also, before I go to bed, I want to remind all my fellow cat-lovers that, even though I’m constantly writing about Miss Betty White these days — who, I just noticed, has conveniently placed the Monkey’s shoe in her dog bed, hmmm — Minden’s still getting plenty of attention. Indeed, it is still HE who completes me….

And don’t worry about MAARGE, either. She’s your stereotypical “elusive cat.” I’m pretty-much the only human who ever sees her. But, here, I give you this rare privilege – checkit:

I’m also reminded, before I collapse on my bed and slip into much-needed sleep, that ever since we saw Toy Story 3 in 3D the other day (the Monkey, shaking, had to leave the theatre halfway through with her dad, but Rascal, who covered his eyes throughout the previews, loved it even if it was a little “gehwy” [scary]), I’ve become very suspicious of, if not freaked out by, the Monkey’s favourite baby dolls….

Gahh! But she really is the MASTER of “found art,” or “assemblage,” don’t you think!? The MASTER! Still, that baby doll, whom she’s named “Rose-Marshmallow”? Creepers!

Speaking of creepers, Betty White has to go outside. Cross-your-fingers, she’s almost fully house trained, no crate required. (After one episode of returning home from work to find her covered in poop and vomit in the crate? That crate was gonzo.)

Goodnight, Gorgeouses!

Love!

xo Haley-O

PS: If you didn’t see Alex and Twitch’s hip hop routine on So You Think You Can Dance yesterday, I posted it over it at Celebrity Candy. CHECK. IT.

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.