Becoming Something

Just your average John Thomas, Dick, and Peter

We were playing Risk. Some of us, begrudgingly. *ahem*

Montana, laying out three sixes, said like Gollum: "Oh, my sweet sixes. My sixes!"

Me: "Uh... that's the sign of the devil, my Satanic friend."

Montana: "What?"

Me: "Isn't that even in the bible?"

Jude: "Yep."

Me: "It's like a symbol for the devil or something."

Montana: "I didn't know that!"

Me: "Whatever, Beezlebub."

Later, while bored out of my mind, waiting for everyone to kick my butt, because I couldn't possibly care any less, I rubbed in the fact that these kids have never said thank you for my giving birth to them (something relevant was said-- I don't remember) and hey-- didn't I also teach them English? They never thanked me for that either. And did I mention that I was in pain for a year after giving birth to Montana? A year.

Josie: "I'll birth people, too. Maybe... six. Or... maybe just two or three."

Me: "What would you name them?"

Josie: "I don't know. Jennifer and Mackenzie?"

Me: "You just picked the most popular name of my generation. Montana, what do you want to name your kids?"

Montana: "I think maybe Richard..."

I choked a little and glanced at Jude, thinking of the common nick name for Richard.

Montana: "...and Peter."

Me: "Oh gosh!" I snortlaugh. "Jude! Did you HEAR that?"

Jude, amused: "I heard."

I need to get my head out of the gutter.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Lots of rain equals all our garden rows coming up. We were late getting it in.
2. Had a delicious, lush nap this morning. Or, as the English would say: nappe.
3. Lulu's the cutest 3-year-old ever to grace the world. Curls that BOUNCE. Who can resist?
4. Sun's coming out.
5. Pethidine.

At the dinner table whilst eating perogies I nearly burned

Jude: We could leave you behind with Izzy, with bread and butter, fruit, cold meat. You'd be fine.

Montana:  If you left me here while you went jaunting in Wales, with just bread and butter, I would NOT be impressed. If anyone should be going to Wales, it should be ME.

Jude: "Jaunting"? Can you really picture me "jaunting", Montana? I'm not even sure I know what jaunting looks like.

Me: I think it's like this. A lot of 45 degree angles with the elbows swung high.

Jude: And a lot of swerving. As I head into shoppees.

Montana: "Shoppees"?

Jude: Well, the English, you know. They like to put an E on the end of "shop". S-H-O-P-P-E.

Me: *snicker*

Daisy: If you left me alone in the house with just Mischa and Izzy, I'd eat all the candy and the food. But I wouldn't really want to be left alone.

Jude: Are you sure?

Daisy: Yes, because I don't know how to turn on the tv. It's hard!

Jude: We could leave it on for you and teach you how to change the channels.

Daisy: *shaking her head, pouting*

Jude: And you could play on the computer all day and all night and you wouldn't have to wait for turns.

Daisy: And I could stay up all night, in my underwear, naked!

Family: *laughs*

Daisy: Don't laugh at me! [Cries.] It's not nice to laugh at me!

Me: We're laughing because you're funny. You told a joke that was funny. It's a compliment.

Daisy: No, you're meanies!

*sigh* Is there anyone who could front us about $2500 so Jude and I can go to Wales? I can pay you back with all the money I'll save on child care after social services comes to take away our kids whom we left unattended.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Those Burtons. Gosh, I love 'em.
2. Jude's a dear. He is so funny.
3. It stopped raining.
4. Buying presents.
5. Finding a new song I can play over and over until it loses all allure for a few months. Who says OCD isn't sexy?

Jude Law is stalking me

I don't pay close attention to my blog stats but I've been noticing the visits from London, England. The same person continually returns to read for a few minutes, on average, every other day or so.

I don't know anyone in London. The visits from my friends in Wales don't show up as being from London. No one has ever written me or commented, letting me know they're in London.

There's only one real plausibility.

Jude Law is stalking me.

Clearly, he was googling his name, my blog came up and maybe he was intrigued because I have the same name as his sister, a fact I admit I'm embarrassed to know. After all, I'm no stalker. I only aliased my husband with Jude's name because it's similar to his actual name and because he's a professional crime fighter. Jude LAW? Get it? And they have a very similar jawline and chin, same coloured eyes, and both have lovely, lovely lips (although my husband takes the cake on that).

Anyway. It's clear that he found my blog and is now obsessed with me. I think it's the prim and proper Mormon thing he must find appealing. Shut up. I could be prim and proper-- you don't know!

You think that Sienna Miller had endearing diarrhea stories to tell? You think that his ex-wife Sadie Frost had such charming depressive episodes? Ha.

And of course he can't say hello because I wouldn't believe it was him anyway and he knows that the only way to stop himself from professing his infatuation is to just say nothing at all, to sit on his hands and bite his tongue. It's just easier that way.

Jude, it is possible for you and I to have a relationship. I've noticed that you need a stylist and it just so happens that I have very excellent taste. It's the only thing I'm really good at, actually. Here's some free advice:

1. Skinny jeans. Donate them.
2. Pointy-toed shoes or boots. RESIST.
3. Vests with no shirt underneath? ARE you trying to put out a message that you play for both teams? Because I'm okay with that. But if you're not, put a freakin' shirt on. We already know your shoulders are lovely.
4. Men shouldn't wear capri pants. Ever.
5. Please no more tattoos. What were you thinking? If anyone's body was ever a temple.... Sigh.

Basically, more of this and less of this.

As for love, my heart is taken. You're on the back-up list, you lovely thing, but you'll have to become Mormon; I need a spiritual connection. It will do you good. Help you kick that smoking habit. And maybe the sleeping with nannies thing.

We can swap songs and recipes but not spit. Too bad. I'm a good kisser.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude Law is stalking me. So flattering. ;-p
2. My Jude is on vacation.
3. I don't have cancer.
4. At least I still have two computers that can type the letters Q, A, and Z, although neither are laptops.
5. Comfy lululemon pants.

I don't live in an igloo and it's pronounced ZED, not ZEE, okay?

Today is Canada Day. And while I'm tempted just just put up the Foy Vance song, The First of July, it has nothing to do with Canada day. It's a great song, though.

Instead, I bring you a beer commercial. It's my heritage.

And why not let Edmonton Oilers fans sing the national anthem? Can't think of a good reason why not.

And though I'm aching and so sick with allergies, Montana and I made a video, singing O Canada in French.

Happy Canada Day! Mwah!

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude is on vacation for 2.5 weeks.
2. The kids enjoyed a free pancake breakfast, a sandpile with loonies and twonies in it ($1 and $2 coins), and a bouncy house.
3. When I don't want to wear something from my own closet, I can dig into Jude's and his jogging pants and sweaters are just slightly big enough to be nicely roomy.  And then I go to bed and cry. Because ouuuuuch.
4. My camera.
5. The weather is unseasonably cool.

How to be in a bad mood

1. Stay up late watching The Proposal with your man. So funny.
2. Get through church having only yawned 30ish times. You're looking forward to that Sunday Afternoon Three-Hour Nap.
3. At lunch there's only unhealthy carbs to eat, unless you want to get really creative and MAKE stuff. You don't. You're tired. So, you eat a cheese bun and fresh spinach ravioli with parmesan and butter. It's good but does nothing for your weight loss goal and one day it would be nice to fit into more than one pair of jeans.
4. Look online for your friends in Wales. You seem to have missed them by an hour. Spend an hour putzing around the internet, hoping they'll be online again. WHY AREN'T THEY ONLINE?! It's been two whole days. Aren't they in Natasha [or whatever your name is] withdrawal? Finally realize that they probably decided to go to bed at a sensible hour for a change and resign to having to wait until they finish sleeping to find out how their weekend went and to ask why there aren't more photos of the London temple on Facebook. Geez. Sheesh.
5. Might as well go have that nap while your man goes home teaching. And again with the people in Wales.
6. The bed is soft and lush and once again you want to marry your bed but frankly, the premarital relations are sweet and you like your relationship just the way it is. You're deliciously groggy and exhausted.
7. Just as you fall asleep, a kid or two shrieks. Roll your eyes, grumble, curse your consistently bad Sunday Afternoon Three-Hour Nap luck. Once you've awakened, it's just about impossible to fall back asleep, even if that sleep only lasted 64 seconds.
8. Realize, holy carp, you're so tired that you can probably fall right back asleep again.
9. Do so.
10. Wake up again, shortly after drifting off because kids are all screaming at each other about something.
11. Breathe out purple mists of venom.
12. Decide to try to go back to sleep and failing that, decide that you're going to stay in bed as long as you please and fantasize about living in a cottage, about being rich, about fun you can't easily have because it's that time of the month AGAIN? ALREADY?
13. Decide that you hate men. Yes, those two thoughts are logically related. Are too.
14. Your man comes upstairs in his silky, worn, white cotton tee and why are his pecs so hard? Gosh, he feels good. He shows you his dimple. STOP SHOWING THAT DIMPLE.
15. ARRRGggghhhh.
16. He needs a nap and you need to make salmon for supper. Oh, and your son is making muffins BUT DON'T BE IMPATIENT.
17. THANKS A LOT, you think. Because you know what this means.
18. Your son is about to dig into cream cheese with a measuring spoon because the ONE CUP of sour cream the muffin recipe requires is moldy and this seemed like a logical substitution. THEY BOTH USE THE WORD "CREAM". And that whole situation just gets worse from there with kids getting stressed out and fighting and making a mess and YOU NEVER AGREED TO REFEREE THIS CARP. You HATE refereeing kid cooking. Especially when exhausted.
19. You start to make salmon. There's no lemon. Not a lemon in the house. What happened to the lemon? (Later your man tells you that someone knocked it into the sink. "But not me!" he says with, was that a hint of fear? Which is kinda funny. Is he afraid of your wrath? Heh. That's cute. Anyway, the implication is that he let it go into the garbage disposal. A perfectly good lemon all germed up, had to be ground up. And it's Sunday and you don't shop on Sunday.)
20. You use garlic, capers, and sliced cherry tomatoes.
21. Someone knocks on the door. It's a kid saying that your dog is in his yard. Your man's not fully dressed so you stomp barefoot across the street and your dog is in heaven because the best game in the world is Keep Away.
22. SHE DOES NOT COME WHEN YOU SAY COME. She's fast and keeps dodging you, the suicidal freak.
23. Your man comes out and tells the dog to come. The dog listens. He has treats in his hand but you don't think the dog even sees the treats. She just listens because it's HIM and he's the one who walks her every morning.
24. Your love for that dog vanishes. You breathe out small pox-laced purple venom with mini daggers. You yell at the dog to lie down and when she doesn't listen, you drive her head to the floor and yell at her and tell your man that you're getting a muzzle for this dog to teach her submission. Except that you can't think of the word "submission" because your entire brain is full of exhaustion, stress, and frustration. And not being able to think of a word you want to use when you're angry is second in frustration only to not being able to have sex when you want to.
25. Remember that punishing a dog after they do eventually come is terrible because it teaches them that obeying the command reaps punishment.
26. Stupid dogs. It's all their fault.
27. Supper is gross. The salmon is a tiny bit mushy and it doesn't taste like anything. You eat a piece of toasted bread crust with butter, which really suggests how depressed and peeved you are because you never eat bread crust because you're a princess.
28. Finish off a bottle of fake wine. No alcohol. It tastes similar because of the metabisulfate, you think. But, ya, it's not the same thing. Which is good because you'd be an alcoholic in the blink of an eye if it wasn't for the Word of Wisdom.
29. Complain to your man that Daisy's 6th birthday is on Saturday and you don't know what to do because she only wants a pool party and all her friends are already going to another party that day, to which she wasn't invited, probably because the mom doesn't like you, which is weird because you're so delightful. Realise that you don't want to do anything for Daisy's party because she isn't happy with anything anyway these days. But she's been talking about her birthday for A WHOLE YEAR, so the pressure is really on.
30. Oh, and your man's 45th birthday is on Thursday and you don't know what to do for THAT either. Because he's impossible to buy for.
31. And GEEZ, wasn't it just Father's Day??! How often do you have to do something nice for this man? EVERY MONTH?!?
32. Oh, and you have writer's block that makes you feel stupid and imagination-less.
33. And it's hot out. You hate being hot. Or cold.
34. What do you really need a uterus for anyway?

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude is too good for me. Obviously.
2. My kids are healthy.
3. I managed to run 2 kms yesterday. Not bad for a beginner with flat feet and bad hips.
   And an annoying blister.
4. Remarks From Sparks is always good for a laugh and maybe a head shake or fifteen. ;-)
5. This Seabear song still does it for me. Mmmmm. The stress is diffusing.

Dreamy and magical

A dreamy, magical song for you from Seabear. Ya, I'd never heard of them before either. Thank you, iTunes Genius. You always know just what I like.

Favourite lyrics:

"Our girl-- coldwater eyes. Fill the past with friendly nights. Human skin can be hard to live in. You'll feel better in the morning."  I thought John and Louise would like this one. 

I dedicate the following song by Andrew Bird to Katie and Pam because the song makes mention of what brought us together. Not sure that this is really Pam's kinda song but Katie will like it.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Free 5 minute scalp massage and cleansing treatment before getting my dye job touched up. Niiiice.
2. Izzy was the most laid back I've ever seen her on her walk tonight. She's usually good but she was like a senior citizen tonight, which was awesome. Because I'm way past being a senior citizen in dog years; I'm a vampire.
3. I'm not the least bit sad that Michael Jackson is dead. In fact I'll sleep a little more soundly tonight. No more child molestation from at least one person on earth. (Edited to add that it's possible that I've been misinformed about the sexual assault cases. The information I remember hearing on Oprah (a long-time sympathizer of Michael's, until the sexual assault cases) and elsewhere was very damning. And that information was in line with commonalities that pedophiles have, says my husband, an expert on the  matter. Besides that, most people agree that Jackson had some mental illness(es) and was on a lot of prescription drugs. Was he a good role model for children? Is it possible that Blanket is less likely to grow messed up now? And besides that, people die. Everyone dies. It's not like he was 20. He had a lot of life and maybe now he can be in peace and become something better.)
4. Sun that's not too hot.
5. Love without strings or explanation.

What really irks me about writing

I could write some really good stuff, some really compelling stories, some achingly vivid descriptions of relationships. But I would not want to be held to any expectations of being LDS or being a mom or being Natasha. I'd want this writing secretly published. But secrets like that are never really kept.

So I don't write these stories or emotions and I'm starting to feel like they're trapped inside, growing insistent. And the reason I have writer's block and the reason I think my writing sucks much of the time is because I'm not writing that which is demanding to be written, because I fear anyone reading it. Where can I write and store something that no one will find? Write and burn? No, I could never do that. If it's worth writing, it's worth being read. I just don't want my name attached.

I believe that personal writing should be an accurate representation of the writer, not a pretense of things or feelings. If a writer is retelling a story, including quotations of what someone said, is it appropriate for the writer to edit what's been said? I know that if I'm being quoted I don't want anyone taking license with my words. So then, if the writer is the subject herself, should she edit the subject's thoughts, words, or deeds?

Must writing be a vehicle to uplift the reader and the writer?

What are some purposes of writing and art? Must everything have lofty goals? Or can these vehicles for self-expression be sufficiently good and useful just by reflecting human experiences? Isn't it enough to just be, to just share, to just create a home for a soul who is in that exact same place emotionally, right now, today? Or, can it create a world in which people can live safely, giving them a taste of something different, without having to actually venture beyond their comfort zones?

Can the reader live in Africa, through the writer? Can the reader feel what it's like to be a man or a woman or remember what it's like to be a child though she doesn't really remember? Can the reader experience hard life on a farm, or the pain of infidelity, or childhood abuse? Can art inspire compassion and isn't compassion enough of a justification for art?

Alice Walker asked a similar question:

"Deliver me from writers who say the way they live doesn't matter. I'm not sure a bad person can write a good book. If art doesn't make us better, then what on earth is it for."

When an amateur seeks answers, it's not a bad idea to consult professionals. I like these quotes on writing. They ring true to me.

"One of the obligations of the writer is to say or sing all that he or she can, to deal with as much of the world as becomes possible to him or her in language." -Denise Levertov

"The test of literature is, I suppose, whether we ourselves live more intensely for the reading of it." -Elizabeth Drew

"Writing is a solitary occupation. Family, friends, and society are the natural enemies of the writer. He must be alone, uninterrupted, and slightly savage if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking." -Jessamyn West

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart..." -William Wordsworth

"There's nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."  -Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say."  -Anaïs Nin

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia."  -E.L. Doctorow

"The poet must not avert his gaze." -Werner Herzog

I am also feeling self-conscious of Style. I never used to be until I started paying more attention to the style of those I admire and I thought, If I enjoy their writing and mine isn't like theirs, doesn't that mean that mine is not as good? Namely, I wondered if I should try to be more lyrical. I wondered if my writing was too choppy, too matter-of-fact, too hard. I am somewhat concerned that my writing gives off a different impression of who I am than who I actually am. Three people have told me that I'm softer in real life than my writing suggests. It's true that in real life I'm mostly cheerful, warm, excitable, easy going, easily amused, and I blubber all over my words and I talk too much. What does it mean if I surprise people in that regard? Is this okay? Is this common for writers? I have no idea.

I think writing is simply an avenue of self-expression and often the self that does not get expressed enough is the self that emerges in the writing. I think that quote above about schitzophrenia was suggesting the same sort of thing (except I think E.L. Doctorow meant "multiple personality disorder").

Mark Twain made me feel better about my non-lyrical writing: 

"I notice that you use plain, simple language, short words and brief sentences. That is the way to write English - it is the modern way and the best way. Stick to it; don't let fluff and flowers and verbosity creep in. When you catch an adjective, kill it. No, I don't mean utterly, but kill most of them - then the rest will be valuable. They weaken when they are close together. They give strength when they are wide apart. An adjective habit, or a wordy, diffuse, flowery habit, once fastened upon a person, is as hard to get rid of as any other vice."

Writing is a great struggle and I tend to assume that if I'm any good, it wouldn't be a struggle. I shouldn't need a thesaurus. I shouldn't stop and start, unable to keep my own attention. What if the mood doesn't strike? What if the perfect words just aren't there but the feeling is eating at me and wants to be written?

These quotes encourage me:

"I don't wait for moods. You accomplish nothing if you do that. Your mind must know it has got to get down to work." -Pearl S. Buck

"Every creator painfully experiences the chasm between his inner vision and its ultimate expression.  The chasm is never completely bridged.  We all have the conviction, perhaps illusory, that we have much more to say than appears on the paper."  -Isaac Bashevis Singer

Sigh.

Get down to work. Be alone. Be intense. Be slightly savage. Open a vein. Live as much of the world as you can. Do not avert your gaze.

But... but... what if I have to wipe a 3-year-old's bum? What if I have to do a kindergarten pick-up? What if the laundry is piling up?

My circumstances are not ideal; like many things, writing would be so much easier without children. But then, where would the soul of my writing come from? Who would I be?

And does anyone care to venture an answer to any of these questions that were not entirely rhetorical?

Daily Gratitudes

1. Feeling safe with someone.
2. Being able to say sorry for having a spat with Jude, only minutes after the spat. We're so much better this way than when we were first married.
3. I really ran today. I mean, it was pathetic for most anyone else but for me it was the best run I've had in years. I didn't need to stop for breath. I was steady at a good pace. I was in a zone. My breath wasn't too strained. I could have gone on like that for a while... if my left hip hadn't started hurting. Stupid hips.
4. Tomorrow is the last day I will have to pick anyone up from kindergarten at 11:45 for... 14 months. And then it will be Lulu's turn.
5. It keeps raining just enough on my grass seed.

What sexy is NOT: Gym edition

Those skinny little girls all decked out in LAYERS of spider-leg mascara who come to the gym to do 20 minutes of light cardio, then a couple of yoga stretches, then maybe make an effort at a weight machine, lifting 20 lbs 20 times, one set, because they don't know what a set is, then saunter out slowly in their tight lululemons:  NOT SEXY. 

If your face isn't dripping with sweat, if you're not breathing heavy, if you're not pushing weight until you grimace unattractively, if you're not doing three sets of [whatever, depending on how you want your muscles to look], if you're not running for your life... maybe you should check out the nearest single's bar. Or, maybe you're just working your way up to the level of the prematurely aging chick who pushed out four kids, has anemia, and hypothyroidism.

And for anyone who's packing a lot of weight, too much to feel comfortable going to the gym, and you're afraid that everyone will be staring at you, let me tell you:  You are my inspiration. In all seriousness now, no one in a gym, working their hardest, can be faulted or should be judged.  You're not the only one there and you make me show up on the days I'd rather go to the library.  Bless you and keep at it. It's hard at first but the muscle will come and start doing some of the work for you. 

Everyone: eat your protein!

Working it til you're disheveled and want to cry?  That's sexy.

Daily Gratitudes

1. While I could only do 3 sets of 15 reps of 70 lbs on the leg press two weeks ago, I can now do 115. Progress.
2. I have a great babysitter I can trust who likes to play with my kids and who takes charge even when I'm still kicking around.
3. Video chat, email, telephones, texting... it's all astounding.
4. Rain after I laid down some grass seed.
5. Jude gave me the okay to go to Sault Ste. Marie in September for the Great Big Sea concert where I will also be able to meet up with friends I haven't seen in 11 years! I can't go for long though because of course he's scheduled in court already. Grrr.

Jude: A poem

The rough landscape

of his body

knows no limit

of tenderness.

Do they make his sort anymore;

is he a sign of the Second Coming?

Who would I be had I known a man

like him a little earlier

from the cradle?

I would take away all his burdens

so he could be free

to love the world as he loves

these four

and me

and men would be men

and families would stay

and women would be cradled

in the palm of worship

and the work would go forth

and cats would sleep, purring

and dogs would not shed

and the sun would sigh to sleep each night.

But I cannot.

So he labours to serve, to preside, to protect

to walk the dog in the rain at 6 am

and bring me breakfast in bed

as an exclamation mark upon this day that's his

he sings his instructions to the little folk

in operatic climes

he cares for the babies, desecrated and left for dead

and his name stands for them

and for all the souls who knew not

a man like him

as men should be.

Then comes home

he makes me dinner

he brings me to dance in the kitchen

and I know the bounds of compassion

are too far off

for me to ever fall off

before his strong arm peels me back

and it's not even 8 pm

and he tucks the babies into sleep

and walks the dog

and does the dishes

and gives me space

and bids us pray

and bids me come

to all that's sweet

before becoming my night time sentinel

the caretaker of my life

the angel who measures my breath

as I live off of his

and shares the covers and sacrifices pillows

and hours

only to rinse, lather, repeat.

And Oh! world, if you only knew

how far you have to aspire

and Oh! my gosh

I really need to step it up a notch

(or a few hundred) in repayment.

You might enjoy this video. It's awfully inspiring and beautiful and simply told. My Jude is every bit as wonderful and committed and strong as this man. My Jude is the kind of man who cleans up another kid's poop that's been smeared about in the men's bathroom at the church, not once, but TWICE. (Yes, friends, it happened again.) He is the kind of man who makes me believe in God because oh, Lord, I know he was sent to protect and to love me and my babies. He is the kind of man who turns around and drives the other way so that Lulu can see the little weiner dogs on the sidewalk because she was the only one who couldn't see them out the window as we drove home. And he's the kind of man who says that, Yes, we can adopt Mariah should something ever happen to her parents because, oh my, he knows I love that little girl so much, and then says that we can adopt any child we know who needs it.

And I share this not to brag but because some people have the ability to inspire us all to betterness, to becoming something, and they don't need recognition for themselves but for us.

Daily Gratitudes

1. My skirt fit better today than before.
2. I love my local church peeps soooo much.
3. I have a pretty easy church calling.
4. When I'm feeling down about how incredibly ugly our backyard looks, Jude says that our yard, unlike our neighbors', is a work of art, of the utmost creativity. The brown pee spots tell a story, where their yards are a blank canvas of cold inhumanity. Or something like that.
5. Jude is patiently, patiently waiting for me to make him a nice supper, after he patiently let me have a long nap. I love that I know he won't get mad at me or grumble about how slow-going I am. Phewf.

Helping Gabrielle after house fire, after bankruptcy, after emergency surgery

My friend Gabrielle Valentine recently experienced what was probably a miracle when a policeman rescued them from their burning home. They did not know the fire was above their heads, in the attic.

They have lost most everything.  It's all smoke damaged and toxic to their health.

They had renter's insurance but most of what they had was of little value anyway and insurance only pays the value of the items as they were, not what it would cost to replace them.

The Valentines are barely getting by as it is. After leaving her full-time job to stay home with her kids, the high cost of day care factoring in, they changed their health care plan. During the one month limbo when they were not covered, this young, healthy mom needed emergency gallbladder surgery.  Did I mention that she doesn't live in Canada?  After a $50,000 bill, she and her husband decided to declare bankruptcy and foreclose on their home. They were already struggling to make ends meet and they still are.

She's had a rough go in life and though she has an impressive, fantastic outlook on everything that has happened, I want to help them out. We've compiled a list of things that they need and if you would like to send some money to help with replacing furniture, beds, etc. or if you'd like to send small items like nail clippers, diapers, face cloths, etc. please contact me at natashaschmnasha@gmail.com.

This family is tired. If everyone spared just a bit of love, I know Gabrielle will do great things with it and I know it will bless your life.

If you'd like to share this story on your blog and help this family, please feel welcome.