I wrote this post yesterday — Tuesday, December 21. But then my blog went haywire. Apparently we were “raided.” Raided. This is sooo because of the solstice/lunar eclipse. Because a) when on earth does that ever happen? and b) I’ve spent the past three days dealing with the IT guys at work, too — all of whom are flummoxed by the computer problems I’m having. I am cosmically clashing with technology. Anyway, read this now — before your computer poofs into stardust.

It’s the winter solstice, December 21, and there was a lunar eclipse last night, woahh! Double Rainbow! In celebration of this monumental event — when was the last time there was a concomitant lunar eclipse and winter solstice in your very own backyard? — I give you Random Mysterious Lunar 21.

1. At 3:43am last night, which was approximately smack-dab in the middle of the eclipse (2-5am), I bolted awake, looked at my clock as I always do when I wake up 45 times a night (thanks to a little boy who refused to sleep unless he was on top of me for three years), threw on my fuzzy pink slipper boots, a too-short black coat, and dashed out the back door with Betty White in tow. I was a little bit afraid of vampires and zombies, but I sucked it up. And this is what we saw alone together in the backyard in the starry black of night….

2. Betty White refused to look up at the moon no matter how frantically I snapped my fingers in the air so she’d tilt her head in the moon’s general direction and maybe lock eyes with it for a second and become enlightened. But no….

3. Minden also refused to become enlightened when I tilted his head to the sky…. But I still think he’s brilliant.

4. MAAARGE!

5. Josh came outside when I nudged him unapologetically awake, and he took this really creepy-awesome picture apparently while slipping in the snow….

6. Speaking of mysterious round things, check out BAKED APPLE. All you need to do is fill a cored apple (leave apple bottom in tact) with crushed walnuts, raisins, cinnamon and a drizzle of syrup, and place it in the oven covered with a little water on the bottom at 350°F for half an hour or so. I’ll post it in the kitch with more deets when I’m a little less lazy….

7. My wise friend/yoga buddy/brilliant macrobiotic counselor Alice would approve of my baked apple. I know because I just ate her surprisingly delicious “Intuition Stew,” which she was awesome enough to leave for me at the yoga shala today — verklempt. I feel so intuitive right now.

8. Alice asked me if the Monkey knew our Dreidel video may be shown to thousands of people. “Of course!” I said. “She couldn’t sleep the night before her teacher showed it to her Kindergarten class three times, and shrieked with utter glee, ‘I AM ON TVeeeee,’ and tilted her head inquisitively while asking, ‘Mama, why don’t you show my face? I want my face on there.’”

9. Justin Timberlake as a Cup o’ Soup. OMG. I can’t deal.

10. Just like her mama, the Monkey (already) loves boys. But apparently they’re not allowed in her room. Which brings us to our next mysterious round thing….

11. And other mysterious drawings…?

12. …among the many others that she taped onto her door. Never mind Bawbara — move over Debby Travis AND Martha Stewart!

13. Mysterious WRITINGS have also mysteriously popped up on her now-mysterious radiator…

14. …and on her now-mysterious dresser…

15. Please send eco-friendly children’s marker (and sticker) remover? Who’s the PR rep for that. We could do big things together here!

16. She’s talented, that Monkey…. Karen Kain and Mikhail Baryshnikov must also move over. Bring it on, So You Think You Can Dance! Bring. It. On.

17. One of my favourite parts of the Monkey’s dance show was definitely the bar work. That fifth position is tricky! (I also loved the part when another little dancer interrupted the teacher to whisper “I have a Zhu Zhu pet” in her ear.)

18. The Monkey’s brother’s favourite part was no doubt the candy-cane-Rice-Crispy-square-and-cupcake “pawdy” (trans. “party”)….

19. Mmm, food colouring. I was so proud.

20. I’m also so proud because (are you ready?) THE RASCAL IS FULLY TOILET TRAINED. Fully and FINALLY toilet trained. Turns out he had no idea that he could “hold it in.” I literally had to teach him how to “hold it in” — to do what moms would call kegels and what yogis would call bandhas. Yes, I taught my 3-year-old son kegels and bandhas, and he hasn’t had an accident since. Go Rascal!

21. I can’t keep up at all with my email. And I feel terrible about it because I rarely get around to responding to your comments. To fix this problem, I’ll be responding to all your comments in the comment section — unless I have something intensely personal to share with you.  (I’ll definitely email to say a special “hey” once in a while, though.) It’s going to be fun, Gorgeouses! So check back after you leave a comment, okay? Also, leave comments. You know, so we can test this out…. Oh, okay, what blogger doesn’t love comments?

Happy solstice! And congratulations to all of us for getting to the end of this post. Did you happen to see the eclipse? DISCUSS.

Love!

xo Haley-O

I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to write here, as I sit down to this empty screen, eyes half closed, the monkey still up watching “Star Party” — aka the Dancing with the Stars finale.

Team Grey!

I just popped an oat-bran bagel in the toaster oven — probably my last for a long time as I embark on, yes, another diet. Well, not really a diet, more like a way of life. It worked this morning when I enjoyed my oatmeal-and-almond-milk-with-syrup-raisins-walnuts-and-cinnamon breakfast and the resulting stable moods and unexhausted energy level for hours.

“You’re very quiet today,” my co-worker remarked as she passed by my desk this morning. It’s because I didn’t have that blasted morning Starbucks soy-no-water-tazo-chai latté that makes me bounce off the walls every morning. “You really know how to have a drink,” the barista told me the other day as my dreaded order rolled off my tongue dreamily, effortlessly. “I know,” I said, drooling and shaking. “I know.” Gimmemychai….

But this afternoon was a big fat FAIL when the Rascal BEGGED to go to a bookstore — with a Starbucks in it. Danger! DANGER! BEEEP! BEEEP! Moods plummeted. Patience erupted. I believe I may have even roared at one point when I noticed the dishes in the dishwasher were clean. Don’t worry, the kids were out of earshot….

Betty White (the dog) is looking at me with a “what’s wrong with you?” look on her face. I think it’s because I’m not only watching Skating with the Stars, but I’m PVR’ing it, too. And one of the judges actually just said, “you have a spiffy personality.” That same judge’s name is Dick Button. And, woah, it’s time to announce each judge’s score, and the host(ess) calls his name out unnaturally seriously: “Dick. Button.” Josh just asked me if this show is a “spoof.” No. Not a spoof.

I was also quiet at the office today because my beautiful MARRRGE is very sick.

The fact that she only weighs six pounds, and is losing weight as I type this, has nothing to do with Betty White, as I, in denial, suspected, and everything to do with something called hyperthyroidism. Apparently it’s very common in cats. But I WILL NOT send her to that radiation centre they recommended — where people in full radiation garb and Darth Vader masks give her food and scoop her poop for a whole week and just maybe pet her wee head with giant gloves. She’s almost 15 years old. That would KILL HER. Plus, I keep thinking of that guy who died on 24 of radiation poisoning while trying to save the world. Awful. And do I really want a potentially radioactive cat in my home? She’s creepy enough already.

I just have to keep her comfortable and happy. I don’t need to cure her with anything that glows in the dark and requires total isolation and (did I mention?) serious money, and the Darth Vader masks. Thankfully, I managed to find a less freaky therapy that’s a little high maintenance, but relatively comfortable for MARRRGE (3 R’s) and affordable.

Now, I’m going to send you off with something funny…. Maybe you had to be there to find this funny, but I’ll go for it anyway.

As you may know, the Rascal has a favourite stuffed animal that he calls Doggy. There’s the background.

So this morning the Monkey was brushing her hair (“it’s gold now, Mama!) and marveling at the freshly-brushed softness. “TOUCH IT TOUCH IT IT’S SO SOFT TOUCH IT!” she insisted. When she got to the Rascal, she bent her head down and said:

“TOUCH IT. JUST TOUCH IT! Touch it and you’ll forget about Doggy!”

O.M.G. funny!?! I think it’s brilliant. You had to be there?

If it’s not funny, it’s a lesson for shampoo advertisers everywhere:

“Hair so soft you’ll forget about your binky….” Do you love it? You heard it here first, Gorgeouses! Hee!

NO, Josh, this is not a fake show. Skating with the Stars is, sadly, FOR REAL!

One more thing before I go to bed. I’ve been writing nonstop articles over at Todaysparent.com — hence the shortage of posts here. It’s been crazy! Also, be sure to look out for my two-page personal (“humour”) article in the January issue of Today’s Parent Magazine! Eek!

Love!

xo Haley-O

One problem with blogging is that people think they know you — I mean, the whole you — based on the posts you write. It’s happened before that people have made assumptions about me based on this blog. And while I now have no problem with that, it’s still not the whole truth. It’s all true, of course, yes! But you’ll never get the whole truth from twice-weekly, or even daily, blog posts. Or even seeing someone in real life, for that matter. People are sort of different every time you see them, don’t you think? I may dislike someone one day and LOVE them the next. Everything’s fragments.

And still you come back here and you read, I guess, the truth of this moment. And how much do I love you for that? Because it does get lonely behind this screen sometimes.

So today I give you A BUNCH of truth fragments in one post, and then maybe I can take the rest of the week off because I am tired. That’s probably the whole truth right there. If you see me in real life, go right ahead and assume I AM TIRED.

Checkit!

1. At the end of my much-interrupted 6am yoga practice this morning, I lay down in savasana (or corpse pose), and Rascal stood over me and asked, “Mama, are you dead?”

2. He also asked if he could lie on my back while I was in a seated forward bend — nose to knees. I let him, of course. And he’s a feather. I felt nothing.

3. The Monkey is obsessed with Netflix’s preview of The Swan Princess, which is basically this song….

I’m telling you, plunk your kids down in front of that video, show them how to make it play again, and go make dinner, or read a novel (the whole thing), shave your legs…. You deserve a break.

4. Rascal says “rorot” instead of “forgot.” And he says it a lot — reminding me never-too-often of him….

Rrrrroobydoobydoo!

5. He also calls my Macbook a “puter” (pronounced “pewdah.”)

6. Because 2 cats and a dog aren’t enough, we’ve adopted a new member of the family. Meet “Pixie Hollow”:

7. I may only be blogging here once or twice a week, but I’m blogging over HERE up to FOUR TIMES A DAY, sometimes even in a British accent.

8. I only APPEAR outgoing. I’m very very shy and uncomfortable at blogging events……

9. The Monkey’s been obsessed with drawing hair lately…. (Click to enlarge.)

10. Speaking of hair…, the Rascal wants his hair cut. But I say “no,” because there’s nothing like 3-year-old bed head. There just isn’t….

11. Betty White is apparently a very long dog. This jacket is size MEDIUM. She’s a tiny dog — there’s no way I’m getting her a large….

12. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. He…completes me….

Love!

xo Haley-O

I’ve been complaining a wee bit about waking up at 6am every morning to do yoga and I think I’ve figured out what the problem is.

I wake up at 6am — usually after a late night working — so I can do something for me. Something QUIET and JUST for me.

Usually, my kids wake up at around 7:30am (also 2:30, 4:45, and 5:40, but that’s for another blog post). So I figured if I wanted to do any sort of thing that was JUST FOR ME under my roof, I better set my alarm a little earlier, pad softly down the stairs and enjoy.

Not so much.

The moment I shift into consciousness, the moment my eyelids dare part, HE wakes up….

And then SHE wakes up….

Thankfully, SHE stays put in bed….

But occasionally — and with special thanks to DAYLIGHT SAVINGS — she gets up too and at some point, usually midway into my yoga practice, wants breakfast….

We’ll not talk about the horrid cat situation. Okay — twist my arm — briefly: HE wakes up shortly before 6am (of course), steals my last precious minutes of sleep by locating any perceivable piece of plastic and crinkling it (i.e., threatening to eat it and die), or spilling the water on my night table (i.e., right-next-to-my-Kobo).

Sic ‘em, Betty White…!

So waking up at 6am would be EASY and maybe even JOYFUL if I didn’t have to contend with all of the above — not to mention that pesky little voice in my head that goes on and on about stuff like, “You could sooo, toooootally stay in bed until 7:30,” “what’s one day off of yoga?” “You need a break,” “You deserve a break,” and, of course, “can we have a chai latte later? Maybe don’t do yoga and have a chai today, and then be PERFECT tomorrow?” “You’ll never lose this weight, so screw it!” Ugh.

It’s truly amazing, then, when you think about it, that I actually got up at 6am every morning this week AND got start-to-finish through my yoga practice. I let out the dog, I set Rascal up on the couch (he never stays there), I break up cat-and-dog fights, I get Rascal water and the Monkey some cereal and blueberries…. “Can I lie on you?” Rascal asks, as I fold over in janu sirsasana C….

It’s not exactly meditative like yoga’s supposed to be…. But occasionally, like in a semi-uninterrupted janu sirsasana B, my mind gets really quiet, and 5 breaths can feel like 5 minutes…and I can maybe sense a sweet little surrender.

But, there ARE people who do this sort of thing no problem. A friend of mine with a 1- and 3-year-old wakes up at 5am to workout blissfully in her basement. Her kids, however, aren’t high maintenance….

My yoga teacher, who has a 5-month-old, wakes up a THREE A-M to practice…. I knowww!

Still there are others like Sarah, mom of FOUR. She wakes up at 5:30am every morning because that’s WHEN HER KIDS WAKE UP. Does she get any time to herself at all — let alone to workout? Who am I to complain about a self-imposed 6am?

So questions. Is it selfish of me to EXPECT time for myself at 6am? It’s not even like waking up at 5am would make a difference, I remind you, since the Rascal LIVES for “up time.”  I mean, my kids are 3 and 5. Isn’t it healthy for them to see mom taking care of herself and taking SOME time for herself? Thoughts?

PS: After writing this post, I got emails and comments suggesting that I’m too hard on myself. You don’t know the half of it, I’m afraid. But, it’s the way I am, and I’m working on it. Recognition goooooood. I suppose a very good product of all this is that I’m surprisingly not hard on my kids. I hope (pray) they’re never this hard on themselves, and that I can learn to be less hard on myself before they start to notice. Taking care of myself, I think, is a start — even if it means embracing a little discipline. Now, please excuse me, I need to go lift my puppy off my dining room table again. (Special thanks to RJ….)

PPS: MARRRRRRGE!

PPPS: My colleague told me Minden and I look alike.

Love!

xo Haley-O

I’m keeping this post short because I’ve already used up any possible sense I can make over at Today’s Parent — given the current state of EXCRUCIATING PAIN I’m in after the unforeseen gum surgery I had on Friday afternoon. See? Not making sense. That painfully said, here’s some proof my house is funny, as in I can’t make this stuff up.

*Gums are throbbing.*

In case you didn’t know, I work in office until 1:30pm every day (and I finish the day’s work in the evening). The other afternoon, I came home from work to THIS dancing (seated) on my living-room floor….

It was cooking day at school, apparently….

*Cough.*

Also *owwwwww.*

Speaking of “also,” there’s also this situation….

At least Betty White’s crate is good for something…. But then….

Minden: “Help. Me.” Also: “I was here first, meow meow.”

Betty White: “Kisses? Rawr!”

Poor Minden could use a break. He and Betty White fight literally like cats and dogs….

Off to go gargle and writhe for a while. Seriously, Gorgeouses, THE PAIN!

Love!

xo Haley-O

I love the number three. Right now, as I think of the number three, a vision of the swimming pool at my in law’s country house surfaces in that hazy space between my temples — the monkey taking another step into the cold, sparkly water: “Mama!” she proudly exclaims, “I’m on the THREETH step! I’m on the THREETH step!”

Threeth. I couldn’t bare to tell her the word is “THIRD.” “THIRD.” Because the word should totally be “threeth.” Totally. “Threeth.” Don’t you think?

Wait, so it was somebody’s birthday today!!!!!

Woahhh! How’d that get there. Oh. I guess it’s dinner time. (Heh. Isn’t he GORJ?)

So it was someone’s THREETH birthday today!

Even if I DID put pictures of my kids’ faces on this blog, I’d never be able to catch his. Not today. He’s been too busy playing with the best birthday present EVER (if I do say so myself). It cost a little more than I wanted to spend — but it was so worth it. Look at his little hand. He’s so into it!

I could definitely write a sappy love post to my Rascal. There’d be no shortage of words or sweet nothings. THAT HAND. But I’m a little fahklempt right now. THREE(th). Tired from making this day as awesome as possible for him. Feeling like being quiet.

So here….

Celebrate with us (we had cupcakes).

Rascal, you’re three. You’re my little buddy. My sidekick. My little MAN with your mucka and your moe. I just LOVE you. I cover you with sloppy kisses, you KISSER you. And you whine at me and whine and whine when you’re tired. And you’re so HIGH MAINTENANCE. But it’s worth it for the LOVE and the way you replace your Ls with Ys and the way you drool sometimes when you’re really into what you’re doing or what you’re saying. So full of LOVE you are. And you DO love your mama. You love your mama more than anything, and what a gift it is to be loved more than anything, and I thank you. I love you with my whole heart and soul and every cell and nucleus and atom of my being I love you. I LOVE YOU, my baby.

Sweet Rascal, Happy Birthday.

Love Mama.

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

This is my theme song for the day. You better turn it on and listen the whole way through and bob your head to the rhythm, or beware MY WRATH….

Look at me.

And a bad bad hair day…. Note, however, the sparkly piggy paint nail polish on my stubby nails. I was so miserable this evening, I stole it from the Monkey and started polishing MADLY. It’s amazing how civilized nail polish can make you feel (it’s only been 80 years since I last wore any) — even if it’s piggy paint. No one has to know….

A bad bad day.

This one’s driving me nuts….

And this one’s been waking me up at 4am….

…and this one (on the right) at 4:30am….

I’m exhausted and frazzled with back-to-school, and my beloved part-time nanny on hiatus for a couple of weeks, and Rosh Hashana, and the Toronto International Film Festival (which I’m proud to be going to as Press, but all ALONE!?), and a birthday party to plan for the Rascal, and the Monkey’s, erm, art projects all over the house….

And Pillars of the Earth is over, and I have headache, and I ate ketchup for dinner, and head is throbbing above right eyebrow, slight twitches in left eyelid and right side of upper lip. Snarrrrl.

At least I still have Bachelor Pad….

And MARGE….

I’m going to bed. With Marge.

Think of me at 4am…. When you’re sleeping soundly and I’m running furiously down the stairs to get Rascal fresh water. Aaaargh!

Love!

xo Haley-O

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