I’m not sure if my brillers yoga teacher minds if I quote him (again), but I’m too shy to ask. And yesterday, in yoga class, a funny thing happened.

In Ashtanga yoga, which is the style of yoga I practise, you do the same sequence every day, 6 days a week. Once you’ve mastered the poses your teacher’s given you, you get to add on another pose (or more). So I’ve been “stuck” at Bhujapidasana for over 9 months now. UNTIL YESTERDAY!

David: How was your Bhujapidasana today?
Me: Umm, uh, good. I, erm, was a bit stiff in the neck, but I got my feet off the ground.
David: Okay, do Kurmasana.
Me: Umm.

DO KURMASANA. Just like that. After 9 months. NINE. NINE MONTHS.

SURE! No problem. Do Kurmasana. You want to see Kurmasana, Gorgeouses? Let me show you Kurmasana. Actually, let DAVID show you Kurmasana — LOOK!

And here’s a woman named Maria Villella demonstrating Bhujapidasana and Kurmasana (aka Hell on Hamstrings) very fancy-like on video — because you have to see these Kurmasana poses in action….

Right!? RIGHT. Do Kurmasana, he tells me. Just like that. And would you believe it’s even harder than it looks? I promise to video it when I can finally do it, ohh, 9 years from now?!

Anyway, I’m still in shock that I got a new pose. So I had to tell you all about it — even if you don’t share this crazy passion of mine. But, you know, this is my blog. And this yoga is my life saver. It makes me a healthier, happier, less OCD-anxious person. And it makes me a better — stronger, more focused, present and less nervous — mother. It’s kind of basically me. In a nutshell. Or nutshell-shaped pose. Hmmm….

And now for farm pictures.

We went to the farm near Montreal to spend the first night of Passover with Josh’s side of the family. And it was beautiful as ever. Except for that one bitty thing Betty White did. My in laws aren’t dog people, but they graciously allowed the dogs to roam free in the house, and, well, Betty White thanked them for it….

We had crated her in some cheap thing when we went out to the sugar shack (below) for a couple of hours, and the crate collapsed on poor Betty White! From the evidence we gathered, she then freaked out and started running all over the house looking for us — pooping in the living room and and AND decorating the entire upstairs with diarrhea….

A-ny-way…. She’s a GREAT DOG! I love her — like crazy.

So here are the pics! (Click to enlarge….)

We started at the sugary-sweet Sand Road Maple Farm. I was in a really good mood the first day — a true Canadian!

The whole family enjoyed an “authentic Canadian maple meal,” as I watched (since they don’t serve anything green or remotely vegan there other than orange juice). And the kids tasted their first authentic taffy stick…

…in their own special way….

The Canoe Race was a hoot. I was still in a good mood for this…. I was really into it!

…Of course the view helped…!

Unfortunately, none of the rowers opted to go through those RAPIDS OF DOOM. They all portaged. Boooo. So we stood out there for an hour for nothing….

But it’s okay because I was in a good mood and Betty White was warm….

Other than that, I planted my butt on a country chair and transcribed a couple of interviews (for hours!), and I started to get moody after feasting at the Passover Seder. Maybe it’s the yoga finally sinking in — but if I don’t eat clean (no sugar or overeating), I feel awful. Kind of like how Betty White’s puppy-cousin Kugel felt in a kippah…..

But the yoga helped. Saved me. And it’s always a treat to be out of the city and immersed in nature….

Birds….

Betty….

Love!

xo Haley-O

I’m trying to write this blog post right now, but my husband’s going on and on about The Bachelor. He’s loves it (even if he won’t admit it). And he has more to say about it than I do. So I think he should start his own blog. In the meantime….

The Rascal thinks we own the cottage.

He refuses to accept that we’ve been going to my parents’ cottage all this time. But I guess it doesn’t matter. Especially since he’s been decorating….

It’s the solar system. But I didn’t need to tell you that. He taped it onto my parents’ his fridge himself!

…Right after his sister climbed onto a stool and taped her own masterpiece to her grandparents’ fridge. And when I say masterpiece, I mean masterpiece. Gorgeouses, we have a real artist on our hands (click to enlarge)!

Which one is your favourite? For me it’s a tie between the 6th in from the left and the 2nd in from the right (with the, you know, the hair!).

And the fridge isn’t the only thing she’s been decorating. She decorates EVERYTHING. THE WORLD IS HER CANVAS. My little Picasso is always at work creating worlds and decorating, umm, my stuff….

And her little brother’s one of her biggest fans….

Yes, there’s a lot of cuteness around here. But also a lot of tiredness. My little artists’ young minds — brimming with so many ideas, art, GENIUS — continue to create through the night. HAVOC.

I’m exhausted.

But they’ve promised not to wake me up tonight. And they’ll never keep it.

I’m really run down, Gorgeouses. And I’m hoping that returning to yoga tomorrow — after a long, forbidden holiday — and committing to my daily practice again no matter how little sleep I’m on, no matter how much I’m working, and no matter how cute and cozy my kids look in the morning, will help rejuvenate me. Tired.

Yoga is another thing on the long list of things I SHOULD do every day. But it’s also something I can count on. Something consistent and predictable and unchanging (for the most part) and just for me.

No decorations.

Just me.

Sleep?

Love!

xo Haley-O

OH! And check out how I’m doing on my fitness journey HERE!

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

Depression’s a weird, complicated thing. There’s still a stigma attached to it. Everyone just wants it to go away. Everyone around you gets concerned and starts doing the Tom Selleck “sympathetic head tilt” from Friends. Remember that?

I probably shouldn’t blog about being depressed because my neck is a little stiff from all the “I’m okay head bobbing.” No. It’s actually stiff because the Rascal has been climbing into bed with me every night at 2am. I wake up as stiff as a board trying, in my sleep, not to fall off the bed.

Rascal. Who threw an EPIC TANTRUM at the giant bookstore today…. All I could do was laugh. He shrieked at the top of his lungs because I wouldn’t buy anything for him — this, of course, after 8 days of Hanukkah presents — red face, snot everywhere, and did I mention shrieking? “Shrieking.” Where are the dictionary people? I need to submit a PHOTO. You had to laugh. Everyone laughed. Poor thing is too cute for his own good.

Even though I’m still feeling depleted, I’ve come out of this depression I think. I still wake up with a subtle sense of dread every morning, but I dash out of the house to my beloved yoga “shala” and sweat out all the pain. And it is the best thing ever to start the day doing something awesome and magical and surprising.

I’m lucky I get to do that every day. It’s a little gift I’ve given myself — and everyone around me.

When you’re depressed, everyone gets concerned, and they tilt their heads and you bob your head. But the thing is depression is okay. As long as you can function and care for yourself and your family, it’s okay. It might even be a good thing.

Just like when you get a cold, people say it’s your body telling you to rest. I get sick in emotional ways because my nerves get so depleted from all the anxiety and worry and constant-doing and overwhelming responsibility and I-want-I-want-I-want and no-no-I-said-no that comes with motherhood. When I get depressed, it’s like my soul has a cold; it tells me I need to rest and nurture myself.

So I didn’t go to the basketball game with Josh and the kids, and I didn’t blog, and I slept in until 11am, and I walked my dog, and I called a friend, and I made a soup…. And I watched a Real Housewives marathon…. And I felt better. I feel better. I’m lucky.

And, Gorgeouses? Before you know it, I will be skiing for the first time in my life because I’m lucky….

And this is the landscape I’ll be gazing at for many weekends to come….

Because….

My parents bought a cottage….

And it’s hard to be down and out when you’re surrounded by family…and forest and lake…and when you’re skiing!?

They are lucky, my kids.

I’ll never discourage them when they’re feeling depressed. I’ll never insist that they be happy when they’re not. Because depression can be a gift if you use it wisely. Kind of like a winter lake. Dark and cold — but sparkly in the winter sun, and rife with reflection.

Love!

xo Haley-O

P.S.: Check out pp.64-65 of the January issue of Today’s Parent Magazine! My article “Resolutions for Real Parents” is there! Should be on stands later this week. Hope you like it!

I think I just wasted 20 minutes of my life (which I’ll never get back) adding two new words to the Urban Dictionary.

GORJ (= gorgeous)

AGORJABLE (= both gorgeous and adorable)

We’ve been using GORJ around here for years now. But AGORJABLE’s definitely a new one. It emerged on twitter (as so much does) when I was direct-messaging my AGORJABLE friend, Ms. @Lindseyjay, who also happens to be GORJ. There — I just used both words in a sentence, in one sentence.

The Urban Dictionary’s not quite the OED, but I’ll get there. I also invented the word LAPPAH, if you recall….

Where was I? I had to leave…. Just lost another 10 minutes of my life (which I’ll never get back) adding LAPPAH to the Urban Dictionary. Please tell me this isn’t as addictive as twitter, or chai lattes….

By the way, don’t search for any of my new words yet. The Urban Dictionary editors have to approve them. But I’m thinking if they approved Sh–––g– and F–––@*&%$, then they’ll probably approve GORJ, AGORJABLE and LAPPAH.

Shh…. Betty White is sleeping, so we have to be quiet….

And I know what you’re thinking. She looks JUST like the dog “Kyle” in Despicable Me with that halucious underbite (and no you’re not having a déjà vu — I’ve definitely mentioned this before, but I like these pictures better!)….

Oh gosh! HALUCIOUS isn’t a real word either, is it? Gotta go.

Addictive.

My Urban Dictionary addiction is healthier than Starbucks, I guess. I suppose I should see if UGGERS and BRILLERS are in there, too…. Ugh. Tired! Hold on.

I’m back.

So, Gorgeouses, in addition to all these super-exciting new words, I’ve made two significant changes in my life. (And no, this isn’t a déjà vu either.) I officially-officially quit Starbucks-soy-no-water-tazo-chai lattes AND I’ve been going to the Ashtanga yoga “shala” every. single. day. Except Saturdays and moon days (it’s traditional not to practice yoga on the days of the new and full moon because the body has less energy and is more prone to injury).

Somehow, it was always okay to go to the gym every day. Why not yoga, until now?

It just so happens I’m not the only crazy “Ashtangi” around these parts. Have you seen Eden Kennedy’s brillers Yogabeans! blog? I’m doing what those action figures are doing every. single. day.

I never thought I’d love sweating in a hot shala every day doing intense yoga that has my heart pumping, face beet red. Yoga was always about bliss before, and breathing into your toes…. Now it’s about tradition, strength, focus, presence and, more than ever (and unexpectedly), community. I have the support I need to get strong and fit and calm(er) and healthy. That, and I get to be with other crazy Ashtangis every day. And they are a cool people. I’m telling you. Cool. (Although I’m a little irate with some of them for being in MEXICO right now on a dream retreat. Grrrr….)

After my yoga practice today, Alice left a “reward” for me at the front desk. And I’ve been verklempt about it ever since. It was the most delicious thing I’d tasted in a long time because it was a homemade, macrobiotic, nourishing nourishing treat. Look how pretty….

Alice says it’s my reward for going baked-goods FREE until January. Mmmm-mmm! Be part of the challenge, get the recipe, and potentially earn your very own “rice triangle sandwich” at ALICE’S NEW Macrobiotic food blog — you’ll see my pretty sandwich and I are featured in her post!

I’m telling you Gorgeouses! I have a new lease on life. Finally, I’m taking care of BOTH my family AND myself. At 3 and 5 years old, my kids are thoroughly entertained and excited by their mama’s curious passion. And I see how good it is for them to see me taking care of myself and doing something, to think!, for me (who?) — which, really, is ultimately for them…. Because practicing my yoga and eating right make me a happier, healthier and more present mom (and person all around).

Now, sit back, and watch me melt off 20 pounds with joy….

Love! xoxo 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

Imagine if I could wake up at 6am everyday, do yoga everyday, cook healthy food everyday, drink herbal tea instead of Starbucks’ chai cracké every day…. Is it possible?

I live every day in the aimless shadow of this perfection. So let’s figure out what’s going on here, what’s actually attainable, and what I might be like, what I might look like, if I could possibly live this near-perfect lifestyle. Because what I might be like, or what I might look like, is in part (I think) what I’m afraid of.

Emotions aside, there are three obvious things to think about now that enough is officially enough:

A) I can do this. People do this. It’s possible. Anything’s possible, they say — except maybe somersaulting all the way around the world. In the air. With your feet behind your head. And your eyes crossed.

B) All the constant striving has to stop. Either just do it, or stop striving and accept things as they are (which won’t work because this just isn’t healthy, or the way I want to live, and enough is enough, and more about that over in the kitchen).

C) This striving is actually who I am. A Virgo. Quintessential. Perfectionista. Which means I’m constantly disappointed in myself because no one can be a perfect mother or person — but certainly clean eating and an hour of yoga a day and a dog that doesn’t jet down the street every time you open the front door is a kind of achievable perfection, no?

So I think what we need is A+B+C. I accept that I’m a perfectionist. But I can’t keep beating myself up all the time and giving up on things I want in this short, precious life. Yet I know this one thing I want for myself (and ultimately for my loved ones) is attainable. As my brillers yoga teacher told me, and as @lindseyjay kindly reminds me every day, “I can have this if I want it.”

As I write this, my little guy’s sticking his fingers on either side of my mouth, and streeeetching — you see why I only blog once a week now, sighh…. No longer the perfect every-day blogger I once was. Is everything FAIL? WAH! Wah wah. I know.

So I have a new focus, and hopefully this will do the trick. COMMITMENT. Eureka!

It’s not: “Should I or shouldn’t I have that chai fa-ri-ckin latte?” Instead it’s: “How committed am I right now?” If I find my level of commitment is 3 out of 10, I need to take a few breaths, conjure up an image in my mind of Jennifer Aniston in a bikini (at 40!), and raise it to 5, and then to 8, 10, 11, and drive right on by the seductive green sign.

Maybe this sudden new focus, new urgency, explains why I’ve been dreaming constantly about this guy….

…and seeing him and elephants elephants elephants everywhere. Ganesha, Remover of Obstacles. How awesomely fitting.

I think it’s time.

No. It’s time.

It’s time for a rebirth. Not of the old, pre-motherhood me — who was skinny and fit and driven and self-obsessed — but of a new healthier me who just so happens to set a better example for her children and maybe even for others, too.

So it’s on. Starting (necessarily, I think) with a cleanse. The Fall Fast begins…………NOW, with the famous Feel Good Guru of Toronto. Who’s with me?

And it’s on. Yoga six mornings a week — with a break on Saturdays and Moon Days — as the Yoga Guru prescribed. No need for aerobics. Ashtanga Vinyasa yoga is crazy rigorous. Though it’s so much more than a workout…. How committed are you?

Join me for a complexion-clearing, calorie-buring green smoothie? Cheers!

And now the Rascal’s calling me “Hayay.” He still can’t fully pronounce those L’s. Haley. Hmm. Who’s that? Who will that be (or look like) if I attain this attainable goal? Time to find out again. Not scary at all.

Love!

xo Haley-O

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No! It’s….

“Come on, people — look at my pine cone! PleeeeeeEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEase? Ah, aah, aaah!”

He’s in a whining phase. My little superboy is always whining. Just this weekend a close family member told me this: “I feel sorry for you. I really do.” That was after I pointed out his latest favourite phrase: “aah, aah, aaahhh!”

At first I felt vindicated when she said that. The Rascal IS really high maintenance. He’s a needy little guy when he’s with me — constantly. But this isn’t a reason to feel sorry for me. Sure he’s one whiny little dude, but he’s smart and funny and adorable, and he’s loving and affectionate. And his friend poked him in the eye today and it’s all grotesquely bloodshot and hard to look at, but he’s still ridiculously gorgeous. And he may crawl into my bed every night and wake me up every hour on the hour, but he gives. the best. back rubs. No one should feel sorry for me. But everyone should just trust me when I tell you he’s high maintenance and I’m tired.

Still it was a good Halloween. I ate too much candy, but I’m fasting for the next three weeks with The Feel Good Guru (more on that later)…. And in the midst of Halloween preparations, I stole away on my own for a bit and celebrated the second-year-anniversary of my beloved yoga studio with their annual “yoga Olympics” — look how fabulous!

I thought I’d better go to the Yoga Olympics because I had the weirdest dream the other night that I was a child around the Monkey’s age (5), and I didn’t want to play, like, at all. I didn’t want to play ANYTHING. It was actually kind of a nightmare. Really sad. I figure I’d better do more things I really enjoy doing; I figure I’d better play more.

Here’s my amazing teacher, David Robson, demonstrating the down-dog relay….

And here’s the uthplutihi contest….

While I was having my own unique (I know!) kind of fun, Betty White was at the top of the stairs at home trying to figure out what the deal was with our Halloween decoration….

REEEEEEEEOWWWW! Don’t worry, Betty White! SUPERGIRL will save you!

Halloween night was a lot of fun (even for me who apparently hates playing, BAH!). The kids had a great time — even though there was a lot of “ah, aah, aaaah!” which escalated to “wah, waah, WAAAHHHHHH!” when we walked by some neighbours who were hiding behind the bushes, scaring the little kids. *Cough.*

While our pumpkins weren’t quite Martha Stewart or Sue Sylvester material, they weren’t bad…. What do you think? I did the Mickey Mouse one start to finish  (Josh carved Tinker Bell) because the Rascal HAD to have a Mickey Mouse pumpkin…ah, aaah, aaaah!

How was your Halloween? Eventful? And tell me, pleeaeaaeEEEEasse, what do you do for “play”?

Love!

xo Haley-O

P.S.: One of these days I’ll figure out how to use my new(ish) camera. Fuzzy pictures – bygones!

Finally a good photo of Betty White’s under bite….

I told you it was insane. Oh, and the Rascal got his nails did by the Monkey’s good friend “M,” seen here doing a fabulous job, dahling, on the Monkey’s nails….

So much talent. Speaking of which…. Here’s Betty White’s under bite IN MOTION….

If you’re wondering why she’s wet up there, it’s because SHE WAS ON THE TABLE….

And for some reason I thought I could discipline her like a cat — and spray her with water whenever she’s on the table: “DOWN! DOWN!” SPRITZ SPRITZ…SPRITZ! Needless to say, it didn’t work….

…because SHE LIKED IT. She kept drinking the water. Can you smell the wet dog? So I turned the spray bottle on the monkeys, who also, of course, loved it….

Off to bed. I have to wake up early to do my yoga. My Ashtanga yoga teacher, David Robson (whose gorj wife *MISS STAN* is one of my all-time favourite bloggers, by the way, check it — their new baby is beyond adorable!), told me I could “have this if I want it.”

Gorgeouses, I can get my body back, and I can achieve all those unnameable things I’ve been wanting all these, what, 27 years I’ve been practicing yoga — as long as I DO IT. All of it. Including the food part. So I’m quitting. I’m quitting Starbucks soy no water tazo chai lattes once and for all. And I’m doing this. All of this. Because I can “have this if I want it.” What am I waiting for?

Big changes, Gorgeouses, HUGE. And the amount I sweat today during yoga — I looked like I showered in my clothes when I got home from the studio — is proof.

To cement the deal, Daniela the barista gave me a free chai yesterday — “because,” as she put it, “it’s [my] last.”

I can have this if I want it. Did he know that little bit of encouragement would be so big?

Love!

xo Haley-O

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrring!

[I hand the phone to Rascal and press the "on" button.]

Papa’shere (my dad): Hello? hello?

Rascal: Hi, Papa!

Papa’shere: Hi, Rascal, How are you?

Rascal: Good.

Papa’shere: What are you doing?

Rascal: I paying six an yaddahs by moysewf! [Trans. "I'm playing Snakes and Ladders by myself!"]

I’m swimming in what seems like a never-ending, black-with-purple-swirls sea of chaos. Everything from my childcare situation to the major celebrity mom I’m interviewing first thing Thursday (totally scared) morning in a Yorkville hotel room, to a whole mass of other confusions that I can’t get into right now partly because my eyes are glazing over and partly because your eyes would glaze over.

To navigate the purplish swirly sea of chaos I’m spinning in (dizzy), I have yoga. Except that I started bawling in yoga the other day. Well, after my teacher David Robson talked to me about why I find myself on the verge of tears after assisted twists. Something about my Samskaras, which I’m still trying to find time to research…. He tried to explain it to me, but I was trying to keep the tears from streaming and the lips from quivering embarrassingly. When he got to the “eating” part, though — something about “everything from our something-something to our experiences to our something-something to what we eat,” DING! — the lip got out of control. The tears at least waited until after he compassionately squeezed my arm and returned to the yoga class. Streamed and streamed, mixed pretty with the purple.

THIS:

He’s watching me…!

While I’m working at the office all morning, someone’s thinking of me. He’s thinking of me. He’s thinking about me doing yoga. He’s painting me doing yoga. My HEART!

She’s on the table again. She thinks she’s a cat. But she’s sorely mistaken. She’s a Maltese. With a massive underbite that makes it hard for her to pick food up sometimes. When she’s not on top of the table, she’s downstairs burying her (vegetarian) bone in the cat litter. She comes out of the litter with a white nose. It’s terribly unhealthy, and I’m slightly anxious about her lungs. Ahh, anxiety. Samskara. Also, if she has to poop while we’re still sleeping or when she’s alone in the house, she’ll sometimes do it in the beside the cats’ litter box. Poor thing is so confused.

Just like her mama.

Love.

xo Haley-O