A letter to my sister on her 40th Birthday

Dear Theresa Green

Firstly, how did this happen, when did we grow up?

Being my older sister, my very first memories are of you. Of Holly Hobby wallpaper and you sleeping in the green bunk above my bed, the one that Dad made.

I have a few things to thank you for, and others to apologise for. 

I am sorry that I wasted all of your Little Blossom makeup in one go, and that you got the blame for it.

I need to thank you for carrying my school bag home up that massive hill in Geelong. Considering you were ten, carrying three school bags up a huge hill was quite an effort.

Thank you for introducing me to Boy George, it was the start of my dancing career, the one that's still to really kick off.

I am sorry for singing the same song, "I am a laughing Gnome and you can't catch me" over and over. 

I am sorry that I had to have the light on for so long when we shared a room when all you wanted was to sleep.

Because I thought you were so cool I pretended for a while that I too loved horses. We all know how that turned out, after two years of Saturday lessons I was still petrified of horses and riding in a double saddle so I didn't fall off. Finally, when we moved and you got your own horse, I never had to ride again. 

Thank you for giving me your ID even when you really didn't want to.

Thank you for not calling Mum and Dad when you caught me on top of a large wire fence trying to sneak into a Ballarat nightclub to see Boom Crash Opera play. 

Sorry that I had also knicked your brand new country road pants, ripped the tags off and teamed them with a new top I liked in your wardrobe. Remember what happened? I fell off the fence and ripped those pants to shreds.  And you, what did you do? You stuck within 2m of me all night making sure I didn't get in any trouble, especially when I dragged you backstage.

I still owe you for the pants. (Plus those other ones that got the battery acid spilt on them... the similar story...but you know, learnt my lesson that time).

And sorry that I dropped your full bottle of Eternity perfume all over the bathroom floor and smashed the bottle, at least the bathroom smelt nice for a few days.

You managed to be there for me through all those stupid times when boys dumped me, I was such a basket case. It was you who kept reminding me that only by meeting new people would I find the person right for me. You were right.

There was a time I thought it was a problem that you were not very confident. Let's face it, you are not always too confident. Back then I thought this was a weakness in you, something that I wished we could change, to make you more confident in yourself, to just hear you say something, anything that you were good at. But I was wrong, I thought confident meant brave and strong. 

It doesn't.

Because no one is as brave and strong as you.

Dropping everything, leaving your job, your house, your friends, and even your car and taking a chance on the other side of the country - that was brave. Going to the outback of WA to nanny for a family living god knows where. You slept outside and had to light a fire for your hot water. There was no electricity. That was strong. They were so happy to have you, and you loved those kids a lot, 15 years later, you still have contact with them.

I have done things in my life that others won't, but only because of you.
Who else drives across the Nullabor in a Mazda 121, a two-door car, in summer, without air conditioning, in a manual, with only three tapes, no radio other than Indigenous FM? The eagles eating the road kill nearly picked up the car, the road trains swept us along the road so much we had to spit out the dust for the next km. It was amazing. Best 5 days ever.

When I had to hold my baby down for blood tests and I was petrified, I texted you, saying I couldn't do it, you didn't send me nice fluffy messages saying it will be ok, you called and said, get over it, your baby needs you, grow up and deal with yourself later. 

I did. But only just, cos I am not strong like you.

There was only one name I could give your house when I visited to see you and your little family before I had my own.

Rancho Relaxo.

I arrived. I played with babies, fed them, cuddled them and soaked them up. It was bliss.

The night Lochie was born and the nurses wouldn't tell me if you were in hospital or not, I told them I would send an ambulance to your house to ensure you were ok. I was terrified of you being in labour, it scared me. They folded and told me you were there and I stressed for 9 hours til I got your call. 

I had nothing to worry about. Four babies. Drug-Free. Brave, Strong.

My visit to Rancho Relaxo on April 22 would change all our lives. 

To be honest, there have been days and weeks I wasn't sure how we could all keep going. But at the bottom of those thoughts were, that if you could be so strong, and keep breathing, even if it was just one breath at a time, then everyone else had too to.

If you could stand at a gravesite with your two-year-old son and two-week old daughter in your arms and bury your three year old son, and keep breathing, well, then I could be strong too. I just had to learn how, from you.

We are very different, the city life is the one I have chosen and the harshness of country life is not for me. Sometimes I wonder why anyone lives out there, but last week I sat in a country pub, watched you, surrounded by country women, women of strength, value, courage and quite a bit of humour!  The kind of women that cook lasagna for a neighbour when they think it's needed, and I saw what you have. You have a community that loves you and that is worth more than anything the city can ever offer, and with them, you can always be yourself, there is no need to be confident, you just have to be yourself, they already have your back. They will catch you if you ever need catching. I get it.

So now, today on your 40th birthday, thank you for being my sister. For being someone who can be strong and brave and whip up a batch of biscuits while popping the cork on a bottle of bubbles when another woman needs someone to lean on. 

I am more than proud to say you are mine.

Are you a witch in the kitchen?

Popps recently asked me if witches are real.

This started a conversation about history and how sometimes men used to think that girls should not learn to read and write or be allowed to work in jobs that you needed to learn things for.

But sometimes women were very smart, and they taught themselves lots and lots of things, often they learnt about nature, and herbs and because they didn't have panadol and dimetapp they used lots of things from the garden to make people better. The men thought these women were magic and became scared of them and then called them witches, because herbs can do all sorts of things.

And because herbs are so good for us and can still be used for all sorts of things, while Mr H looks after most of our garden and yard I like to take control of the herbs. In a perfect herbalicious world I would have bountiful crops of parsley, mint, coriander, basil, dill, chives and rosemary.

Instead I have chives - which apparently match with roses - so they sit in a pot with a beautiful yellow rose bush. I have mint, but there is something wrong with it, the taste is not right for some reason, it must be some hybrid mint thing that is just a bit wrong. I have thyme growing like a weed, who uses thyme anyway, and what for? The rosemary was planted too close to the sandpit and became a too regular ingredient in sand pit 'cookery'. One time the basil went ok but further attempts to have this in the garden have failed. As for Dill - I am a dill.

But Italian Parsley. LOTS.

I also have silver beet, growing as it usually does, like a weed.

Today I decided to use a stack of the silver beet up and looked up some recipes. I found one that I thought might be ok. One that we might all actually eat. Silver beet soup, cooked up with onions and potatoes and with sour cream stirred though at the end.

It must have actually been a nasty witches brew recipe though, horrible horrible stuff and it is being ripped from the garden tomorrow.

So that left me with a garden of parsley and spring onions.

I chose the parsley. Used this recipe from Veggie Mama and the meal was declared a new favourite. Both girls had two bowls full and have requested the same again tomorrow night, I am declaring this witches magic, because it is so rare for my new dishes to be applauded so loudly.

Tomorrow, I am ripping the entire herb garden out and starting again. Witchy herb tips appreciated!

Are you a witch in your kitchen?



Image from Pinterest.

What are you writing?

Are you even writing?

Are you getting those pens out and putting them on the paper. Scribbling down your news, notes and letters to a friend or family member?

I know some of you are, you have kindly linked back to the Handwriting Challenge post – thank you all for doing so.

And for those that need a little help to get started, how about getting a head start on Mothers Day?

It could be your own mother, grandmother or mother in law. It could be to a friend who is experiencing their first mother’s day, including one that might be having mother’s day without her baby. Angel babies have Mums too. Or maybe it is a friend who has lost their own mother this year.

Whatever way you look at it, there is someone in your life that needs a card or a letter for Mother’s Day.

And popping up on facebook this week I saw this from Cat at Beloverly. Handmade Cards, with embroidery.

Very glam indeed.

But remember you don't have to be fancy, get the stamp pad or paints out and get your kids hand prints onto a piece of paper and turn it into a card.

Send a relevant or funny photo with a message that says I am thinking of you.

Whatever you do, get writing.

That’s why I’ve penned these verses, The simple facts to tell.

I recently found a poem in my emails going to and fro between my Dad and aunts and uncles. I was about to delete it, thinking it was more of the family reunion stuff that we had all attended recently.

I am glad I didn't.

Instead I got to learn quite a bit about a very wonderful man.

I asked my Dad to tell me more about Grandpa Willis  (my Great Grandfather) and this poem. 

This is what he said (he didn't know he would be being blogged!)

Grandpa Willis was a very quiet and humble man and I feel sure he would have recognised the author of this poem if it wasn’t him. Also, if it was a copy you’d think there’d be another version somewhere but I have shown it to various people who love war history and none have seen it before.

We found the poem in Grandpa’s old trunk after he died. There he kept his War diary (in which was a well preserved poppy from the Western Front) which we all knew about but the poem wasn’t known about then. 

Grandpa was always loath to talk about the War – he felt it was a stupid and senseless waste of life. He was wounded in one of the major battles there and as kids we were always fascinated by the piece of shrapnel that they dug out of him back in England where he recovered, and the scar in his side from the operation. 

I’m a bit of a fan of the history of the Western Front and the famous part the Aussies played in the eventual victory, they were involved in many heroic battles to turn the Germans back - the town of Amiens was a key to the German hopes of pushing the Allies back to the sea, then crossing the Channel to take England. There was a decisive battle where the Aussies under their own General John Monash using a new and more modern approach to warfare beat and started the eventual retreat of the Germans and this "Key to Amiens" is a proud recollection of that. 

Grandpa was wounded in another famous battle, the Battle of Le Hamel which is a village not far from Villiers Brettoneux.

So today I have a treat for history lovers, for those that like poetry, for anyone who likes good writing and all that live a free life thanks to the bravery, courage and ultimate sacrifice of too many.

Lest we Forget.

How Amiens Was Saved

They boasted a front of granite strength

Which nothing on earth could shake

The arms and skill of fifty years

Defied our men to break.

They bent the line  for forty miles

And flushed with victory

Were pushing on to Amiens

To drive us to the sea

Across the smiling meadows

His columns held their sway

To the tune of “Rule Germania”,

And the song of “To the Day”

When Germania rides to victory

And the Kaiser doffs his crown

And the eagle sounds the trumpet

That “Britain’s trampled down”.

They roll the Allies forward

And Amiens is the key

It is the final flutter

For the channel and the sea

But now at Villers Bretoneux

They get a mighty shock

For the army of Australia

Is like a piece of rock

Entrenched upon the plateau

With Amiens in the rear

Are half trained rough Australians

Who never knew a fear.

He made his thrust at daylight

With the mighty Prussian Guard

But Australian sons of British blood

Refused to yield a yard

And back he came mid trumpets

And bullets poured like rain

But our duty was to hold the line

So we knocked him back again.

It was the morn of April

He made his great attack

With explosive shell and bullets

They failed to push us back.

We faced the cruel bayonets

But put him on the run

And we won the key to Amiens

Though they were three to one

And when the reliefs took over

We passed back to the rear

Silent by the fallen

For the price we paid was dear.

And the people of Australia

Safe from the slush and mud

Enjoying a life of freedom

Away from the stench of blood

And the mothers of Australia

Away in the Homeland dear

Saddened souls of affection

For a loved ones distant tear.

They knew not how they perished

Or how those brave men fell

That’s why I’ve penned these verses

The simple facts to tell.

Many a good and honest girl

Was struck with a sudden pain

Longing for her dear lover

Who’ll never return again.

Many a bright Australian child

Wailed at home in vain

Crying to greet a soldier Dad

Now numbered with the slain.

Mothers, fathers and sisters

Though the salt tears coursed like rain

Were proud of the soldier heroes

Whose fight was not in vain.

Many a fine Australian boy

Caused a mothers tears

By dying to save Australia

The land he loved so dear

Their graves are scattered o’er the land

And wild flowers clothe their bed

And springtime’s scent of glory

Spreads fragrance o’er the dead

Bright  poppies grow beside them

In bloom of scarlet red

Poppies, blood red poppies

Wave proudly overhead.

They’re buried where they perished

Where death had taken toll

And drops of blood have written

A long and glorious roll

The town boy from the office

The bush lad from the plough

The stockman and the rover

These  sleep forever now.

They gave their lives for Australia

And the German thrust was checked

And we won the Key to Amiens

And the Kaiser’s plan was wrecked

Possibly (Most likely definitely) written by Private Michael Willis, 14th Battalion - 4th Division. Wounded at the Battle of Le Hamel.

The App I Like.

No shopping list or piece of paper is safe in our house these days. As Popps learns to write a new letter each week in the class room she is also changing her writing style and playing with the way her letters look. It is important to her to get the letters correct and to look like the teacher wants them to look and she practices on anything that doesn't move. And sometimes on things that do (it was only chalk, dogs don't mind having their names written on them).

I stumbled across the rED Writing App and it has saved a handful of work documents from being drawn on. Not many, but it's a start.

Popps loves this app and it could be one of my most favourite ones ever for purpose and entertainment. I also showed it to her Prep teacher who was mighty impressed, in fact she is getting ipads for their class room and wanted to know if this app could be used on iPads too - which it is, but only the phone version not a special ipad version.

Popps is also constantly asking us to write out notes, words and stories for her and it has helped that we know how she is meant to learn the letters, Mr H can barely read his own writing so I am going to suggest he starts playing red writing too. I tend to do my r in an old fashioned way so I am trying to write it 'correctly' for her.

Immy so far is interested in only the letter I and the number 3, because they are hers, and no one else anywhere is allowed to have them.

This is not a review, just sharing an app that I think is actually worth downloading.

From the app site is this: Teach children ages 3 - 7 how to write the letters and numbers of the alphabet the same way they are taught at school. Co-designed by an Australian teacher for children aged 3-7 years old, rED Writing contains 8 x education approved handwriting fonts used throughout Australian schools (QLD, NSW, ACT, VIC, TAS, SA, WA and NT) to trace and learn.

Have you got any favourite apps? Share them here so I can update my gadgets.

If you are playing along, how are you going with your #6Letters?

The place we keep going back to

We headed off on the weekend for our favourite getaway that is only an hour from Melbourne.

Pop on over to Bub Hub to see where we went and what we all thought of it.




Click here if you missed it the first time.

iHappyMonday

Monday is the one day of the week that Immy and I have a day at home.

Today we had a visit from the shiny new baby.

We made  biscuits,  broke up easter eggs and added them in.

While I do some paid work from home she is sitting here doing some decorating and 'helping'.

And if you are a fan of Instagram, we are also going to play along with the new meme #iHappyMondays

On Instagram I am Claireyhewitt (bet you are surprised about that one). Join in, if you are also an Instragram addict.

I am doing a handwriting challenge, come and join me too.

If I could hand write this post straight to the interwebs I would, but I have no idea how to do that.

Instead you will all have to do the writing yourself.

If you want.

It's time for a mini handwriting challenge.

I have been thinking about doing this since Eden mentioned handwriting. I have been making more effort to ensure I send the odd letter, note or card to people.

I also received the most surprising and lovely card in the mail last week. It made me cry. It could not have had the same effect if it was typed, texted, facebooked or even emailed to me.

Mail, actually written by you has a secret power that you never even realise. Only the receiver gets the magic. That extra smile you have when you get a surprise letter, the joy of hearing from someone real, of learning some news, of knowing someone far away was thinking about them.

I know lots of you might be thinking the following things:

- I have no one to write to
- I don't have any nice cards or paper
- I have no news to tell
- my handwriting is too messy, my spelling too poor

And I am telling you these are just excuses.

Write to your family members, an old friend or a friend you see every week. Write to your kids and put the letter in your drawer until they are 21. Write to your husband and put the letter in his wallet to read at work. Write to your grandma, even if you never have, especially if you never have. Send birthday cards to old friends that you have not sent to in some time. Send a thank you letter to your favourite shop or cafe, tell them why you love their service, often it is the complaints that come in first.

Cards and fancy paper are limiting, they reduce the space you have to write on, use printer paper, folder paper or a note pad. Use the back of your kid's artwork, recycle some junk mail. Send one sentence on a sticky note or copy an old photo of you and a friend and add a note on the back.

You always have something to say.

Your handwriting is perfectly fine. The beauty of handwriting is that it is all you, it is not meant to be perfect, straight and planned, it is fluid, wobbly, personal and flows out on the page.

So here is my challenge for myself and if you want to join along just let me know.

I will add a special side bar in my blog that includes everyone who is taking part, Bloggers or not.


It is really very simple, the challenge is just

Six letters to six people in six weeks.

That is just a letter a week for six weeks.

It can be harder than it sounds though so let me give you the tips to help make sure this happens.

Get your envelopes and your stamps ready at the beginning. Choose your paper of choice or buy a collection of cards if you think you want to send cards. Having to get to a post office six times is annoying so get all you need on one trip and just pop things in the closest mail box.

Keep a pen handy in case you get a spare moment to write to someone.

Try and decide at the beginning who you will write to, write them on a list and tick them off as you go.

And lastly, let me know if you blog any thing about your handwriting. I have a button over there on the side bar that you can use on your blog sidebar, or your posts or wherever you use such things.

If twitter is your thing, I will be using the hashtag #6letters

And I will be using the handwriting challenge as an excuse to write about all sorts of things related to handwriting from time to time during the six weeks, which might also be a reminder for you to get writing.

I hope someone feels like joining me, but either way, I will enjoy writing and sending my letters and hope six people have an extra skip in their step as they walk away from the letterbox knowing they have a real letter and not just bills to read for the day.

Happy writing.




And a huge thank you to Liz at Mumstrosity for making the button. Lady is a genius of late night blogging magic.

Fixing things that go kabung.

Mr Smeg has long been a disaster here but recently the Rangehood extractor fan thingo also went kabung.

Mr H pulled it apart and confirmed he had no idea what was wrong with it.

We would need an electrician and the spare parts from Mr Smeg, but we didn't really want to spend money on that.

The front loader washing machine, my favourite piece of equipment, (washer/dryer combo, self timer, a wash that sterilises things at 90 degrees and also a steamer to save taking clothes to the dry cleaner) well, she is leaking from the front door, this is not good news.

As for the stuffed up dishwasher from Fisher and Paykel, which has already been paid for once in the last 12 months to be to fixed, well it is stuffed again. Works some days, others it wont, so it is pretty much on 24 hours a day, deciding when to start and stop itself, including the moment it started up while I had my head in it - Apparently this was pretty funny for those brave enough to laugh at the time.

But if we can save a penny than Mr H will try and fix things himself. Not always a good thing.

Last night when I got home from work I thought Mr Smeg had been around to fix the rangehood.

But no, Mr H worked it out.

We had to turn on this switch. Hey Presto, the Rangehood works.

Which surely means we can now use those funds to fork out for this? Right? 

The dishwasher and that sink would be great.

How to Faux Camp. Your step by step guide.

Every Easter Family de Hewitt pick a place to go camping. Not just the four of us, no, we don't do little at  celebration times. Just like at Christmas, when around 65 of us come together, at Easter we do the same.

There is just one little problem.

They go camping.

I am just not much of a camper. I have a long list of reasons why, but I think we can classify most people into two 'camps'. The campers and the non-campers...and then there is me, the Faux Camper.

Here is how you Faux Camp.

Start with shopping for Easter clothes

• Tell people you are going camping at Easter, especially the kids.
• Pack: This takes a couple of days, you need the fishing rods, the Esky to be cleaned from last year, gumboots need to be found (has anyone seen Popps' red gumboots? Brand new ones lost somewhere in the house) Include multiple outfits for the kids. Include excessive amounts of food. 
• Get up really early Easter morning
• Drive to Family de Hewitt Easter camp
• Unpack.

This is where the kids now run off, Mr H sets up fishing rods, you start chatting with everyone and request another fire closer to the river, please.

Excuse the random VB bottle, must have been from another family. Three Generations of campers, Grandpa is now also a Faux Camper!

You now start the walks back and forward to the toilets as apparently the girls never need to go at the same time.

You watch Mr H have to jump in the river to fish out the fishing rod, sans fish.

Your kids learn about the pest of the Australian Rivers as a pile of dead carp begin to grow.

Sausages and burgers are cooked over the fire.

An Easter egg hunt of massive proportions begins as cousins big and small work together to build a stash of eggs and ensure they have not left a single egg hidden in the bush.

Who needs shoes? There is a mud pit, so you just let them go in it. You know where it is going to end but it doesn't really matter.

The smalls will empty out the worm bait bucket and start playing worm families. Some Aunties will gladly accept live worms in their pockets, you know, to keep the babies warm.

There is a lot of talking around the fire.

Everyone is happy.

Now it is dark.

Your camping trip is nearly over.

To end the Faux Camping:

• Throw everything into the car.
• Bribe the kids to get into the car as they start asking why we can't sleep here like everyone else.
• Start the drive home. 
• The kids will be asleep within 10kms and transfer straight to bed.
• Shower in your own bathroom. 
• Jump into your own bed.

The following day your laundry will still smell like a campfire.







PS We were at Bridgewater in Victoria. For those that love camping, this spot is available FREE for the rest of this year, but there are no powered sites, it is going to be developed into something non campish very soon, so get in before it really is all gone.

Kidspot Ford Territory Top 50: Feel the difference

The one task I have to do as part of the Kidspot Top 50 bloggers is to write a blog post with the topic “Feel the difference - your journey into blogging and what sets you apart from other bloggers”.

I’ve really struggled with this topic and had to think about it for some time before I could actually give an answer. Initially I couldn’t think of how I was different to any other blog, my blog journey is already up on the ‘My blog, My story’ page, and I couldn’t put my finger on my point of difference, that sometimes invisible thing that makes me different.

But the answer came to me in the question.

It’s a feeling.

Clairey Hewitt the blog is a bit like a Safety House. It’s a blog of discussions and ideas and dilemmas of modern day parenting, with some advice, but only if that’s what you’re looking for. Clairey Hewitt provides a place to drop in and chat, where you won’t be offended by what you read.

If Clairey Hewitt were given a TV rating it would likely be a PG at most. There is limited swearing, but at times there may be talk of poo, be it from a child, a dog or when Mr H gives me the shits. No violence or bullying is tolerated.

There may be advice or suggestions here, but not criticism if the ideas are not for you.

Questions are asked but nasty replies are not welcome. You may not have noticed, but troll and nasty types tend to not enter the house of Clairey Hewitt. At times they have sent me emails with a bit of a bullying slant, but I don’t bother sharing them here, this is not the place for people to have their negative thoughts displayed.

Clairey Hewitt the safety house may sound dull, boring, lacking of fun and entertainment but that is not it at all. It’s the opposite, it’s having all the good stuff, the conversations, the chats, the comments where people are talking about the good, the bad and the rather ugly without being attacked or ridiculed.

If Clairey Hewitt were a real moving thing she wouldn’t be in the latest Vogue magazine for style. She wouldn’t make it on to MasterChef. She would like to think she might one day be asked to perform  on Dancing with the Stars, but knows this is not about to happen, and that that is ok.

There is comfort in knowing the feeling you are going to get when you click onto a blog. Here you may end up really laughing at or with me (either is fine) you may cry with me, you may wonder how I come up with so many odd thoughts and why do I have to ask so many questions!

You may get surprises when I do some things and lots of talk about what I think about marketing campaigns, both good and bad.

But you wont get abuse.

You wont get sex, drugs and jail terms.

And I can only hope, when you feel the difference here, you like it.

Ivy's Virtual Hat Parade - Get Crafty!

I took this image straight from Ivy's Mums blog.

I have written before about the amazing Ivy.

The last weeks have been rather horrid for Ivy and she has been stuck in hospital fighting very hard.

For a little girl, stuck in hospital means you miss out on lots of things, but one of the things Ivy was sad to miss was her school Easter Hat parade.

So it is Internet to the Rescue.

Today until Sunday, it would be great if you, and your kids could get crafty and upload your Easter Hat pics on to Ivy's Mums facebook page.

There is no catch, no conditions, just upload your pics and we can have a virtual parade.

Ivy is the judge of the best Easter Hat and she will announce her winner on the facebook page on Easter Sunday.

The winner may receive many virtual cheers, the honour of being chosen and possibly a virtual certificate of winning from Ivy, if she is well enough to draw it up.

So get your crafternoon going people.

The more people who join in the better so if you are a blogger or social media person, feel free to write/share the idea around too.



You can read about Ivy's story on her Mums blog My Three Ring Circus

Where's Clairey?

We did a day trip on Monday to the best kids park in Victoria that I have found so far...and I have been to quite a few.

To read where, why and what I thought you need to pop over here.

From little things, big blogs grow

Once upon a time there was a Mum, lets call her Clairey, she was thinking about blogging and set off to find some decent ones to read.

Clairey arrived at the kidspot top 50 Aussie blogs list and enjoyed reading through them all and checking out all the different blogs and people behind them.

Clairey went about her business and started her own blog and a couple of years later was amazed to report that she actually got selected to be part of the 2012 Kidspot Top 50.

Clairey looked at every other blog in that list and started to poo her pants as it seems possible that she is one of (if not the) smallest blog on the list. This is scary for one little reason.

VOTES.

Half of the judging comes down to votes. Big blogs have lots of voters. Little ones don’t. And that is scary scary.

Clairey had one choice only.

Begging.

So here I am. Begging you to give me a vote and try to win yourself $5K in the process.

Tell your friends, your enemies and use your kids email accounts if you have to.

Just a little click here, an email address and you are done.