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	<title>WIRL Project &#187; Health/Fitness</title>
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	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>Reality &#8211; What It&#8217;s Really Like</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/reality-what-its-really-like/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/reality-what-its-really-like/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 18 Nov 2015 16:00:17 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Brody]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Food/Drink]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Home/Garden]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Style/Beauty]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work/Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ABCs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[bedtime with toddlers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Born]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Challenge]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Marriage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mornings]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[No Coffee]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Real World]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reality]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Road Rules]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Toddler]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=9912</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This post is part of a series titled, “A-B-Cs – What It’s Really Like”. Each week a new letter and its word will be revealed. Each word’s explanation will illustrate significant personal meaning, application and ultimately demonstrate, What It’s Really Like… Back in 1998 MTV debuted the reality TV show Real World/Road Rules Challenge – better known as simply, “The Challenge”.  In reflection of my current life I have found that much my own reality is impacted by challenges from the real world and the rules of the road. *** BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS: 4:30AM – the alarm rings out.  The real world will begin after a few open handed smacks of the snooze button.  Is it mommy or daddy’s turn to take the boys to school?  Whoever’s turn it is has the first shower.  I can’t remember what she said last night.  Was it me or her?  She’s not moving.  Shit, I think it’s my day.  Yep, it is.  OK I’m up. Ouch!  How many times am I going to kick that laundry basket before somebody moves it?  Where is the light?  What’s the difference?  I can’t see anything anyways.  Toothbrush.  Man, the lights are bright.  I’ll try to rub my eyes a few times to clear my eyesight.  Whoa, wish I could not see again.  You look like crap.  When is the last time you worked out?  Ugh, I guess I’ll weigh myself.  That might motivate me to run tonight after work.  Please don’t be high.  WOW.  How is that possible?  I feel 25 pounds heavier than that.  I still feel like crap, though.  Lucky.  Probably still won’t run tonight, anyway. Pounding sinus headache.  Not a sip of alcohol last night and I feel like I’ve pulled an all-night bender and just stopped drinking an hour ago.  Time for the shower.  Don’t forget to turn the light on in Little room before you get into the shower.  It is taking a lot longer for him to get out of bed lately.  Maybe today I can get him dressed on his own without World War III breaking out.  Doubt it. What the hell do I wear today?  This closet selection is so sad.  God, I hate ironing my pants.  Why don’t I do this the night before?  Oh, Kathy’s up.  I’m not going to say anything.  She’s not a morning person.  That’s ok.  I feel like my head is going to explode and I don’t feel like talking either.  Let’s see if Little B is up while I wait for the iron to warm up.  Nope.  He won’t even move.  Why can’t he sleep this hard EARLIER in the night?  I’ll shake him to get things going. “Hey, buddy.  Time to wake up.  Rise and shine!” “No, no, nonono, GO AWAY DADDY.  Leave me ALONE!” When did my toddler turn into a teenager? “Five minute warning and we are going to get dressed.” “No, no, NOOOOOOOO!” I’m so glad he hasn’t learned any cuss words.  I half expect him to use a few one of these mornings. OK, I am dressed.  Now let’s get him dressed.  This has to be the worst part of the day.  What is my strategy?  He’s been terrible to wake and get ready lately.  Sneak attack?  No, that makes things worse.  I can’t bribe him this early.  Let him make the choice. “Who do you want to get you dressed – Mommy or Daddy?”  Classic line.  He usually picks the opposite. “Noooooo!  I DON’T KNOW” That didn’t work.  Now what? Have to try the bribe. “If you get up and get ready without crying we can go get donuts on Friday morning before school.  Do you want donuts?” “I don’t want donuts.  I don’t want to go to school.  Leave me alone, Daddy!” This is turning into a hostage negotiation. *15 minutes pass* I can’t take this anymore.  I am going to start yelling.  Now I’m yelling louder.  OK, now I am threatening to spank him.  Should I spank him?  He just woke up.  That’s really not right.  He is really pissing me off today.  I’m going to be late.  Enough is enough.  Well, that didn’t work.  He’s bawling now.  Kathy just walked in.  THANK GOD.  He has everything but his socks on now.  Good enough.  She can brush his teeth and comb his hair.  I’m out of here. I am starving.  It’s 6:25.  SERIOUSLY?!  I have not even eaten yet.  Why are there no clean spoons?  Cereal sucks when you ate the same exact meal as a snack before going to bed.  ARRRGHHHH!  I just remembered!   I have to pack my lunch.  Unreal.  I have no time for this.  I hear Little B coming down the stairs.  How did she brush his teeth so fast?  No wait, he’s at the top of the stairs refusing to come down.  Awesome.  He hasn’t eaten yet either.  Let’s try the line again. “What do you want for breakfast?  Mommy or Daddy’s cereal?” “I don’t want breakfast!  I want NUFFING!” I look at the clock.  It is 6:29.  Zero hour is 6:30.  The commute is only 15 miles, but traffic is horrific.  If I don’t leave before 6:30 I won’t make it to work until after 8:00.  Screw it.  Leftovers.  Where is the ice pack for my lunch?  Of course I forgot to put it back in the freezer yesterday.  Good thing we have a backup.  Cute, real cute.  The backup ice packs are so fat that the Tupperware doesn’t fit in my lunch bag.  Guess I’ll have to make a sandwich after all. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR BREAKFAST?” “NUFFING!” I’m pouring a bowl, I don’t care.  At least I can say that I tried. “Here’s your cereal” “I DON’T WANT IT” “OK, Daddy is going to eat it or throw it away” “NONONO!” (crying ensues)  “I want to eat it!!!” “Sit down at your little table and eat it then.” “Ok… I WANT A BIG SPOON!  I DON’T WIKE THE GREEN BOWL!  I WANT THE BLUE BOWL!!!!” You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.  You know what, I am not even going to fight him today.  Where is that damn blue bowl?  Dirty in the dishwasher.  Figures.  Well that’s out the window. “EAT IT OR IT GETS THROWN AWAY!” (Sobbing ensues) What time is it now?  6:34. I can still make decent time if I am in my truck by 6:45. COFFEE. This can’t be happening.  THERE IS NO COFFEE.  I have no time to make coffee. “Welp, there is no coffee!!!” “I’m so sorry Brody, I can’t do everything around here!” Oops.  That wasn’t for her to hear.  She did get Little B and Baby K ready without my help.  Doesn’t matter anymore. I explode. I light into everything in the kitchen.  Little B, Kathy, the freezer, coffee maker.  I’ll even cuss out my lunch bag while I’m at it. Shut up and get out before you ruin everyone’s day. Truck keys.  I’ve got to get out of here.  I’m going to be late.  I feel horrible for not helping Kathy.  She won’t want my help now because I yelled back at her.  Why do I do that? *15 minutes pass* We are all loaded up.  Deep breath.  We made it.  Start the truck, garage door down, aaaand adjust radio.  No Country this morning.  I need to calm down.  Where is the Jazz station?  There that is better.  Silence. “Daddy, I hungie (hungry)”. *** For me, reality comes in one giant cycle commencing and culminating with two massive countdowns for launching (departing the house) and landing (bedtime).  The road rules quality time spent with my children during three hour commutes in which I stare at the rearview mirror into the backs of their little eyelids after they have passed out from a long day at school.  The reality of “R” is a challenge that each of us faces every day. Rise, retain, remain, retire. Repeat. &#160;]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Stronger Because Of It</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/stronger-because-of-it-2/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/stronger-because-of-it-2/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 16 Nov 2015 12:53:06 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[M. Madamba]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[health]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Juvenile Diabetes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Type I Diabetes]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=9982</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[My oldest daughter, MJ, has type I diabetes.  I don&#8217;t write about it frequently although it is very much ingrained in our daily lives, but nowadays life just rolls along without much incident as far as the disease goes. I can&#8217;t figure out how something that drives me nuts multiple times a day and has a good bit of control over some of the function of our days has become sort of ho-hum and mundane. Our journey&#8211;which sounds euphemistic, but nightmare might be a little extreme&#8211;began six years ago. MJ had been symptomatic (unbeknownst to us) for probably about a year. Hindsight is so enlightening. I&#8217;m not a worrier, and she would complain of things that were isolated and seemingly normal or had a reasonable explanation. She would come home from school with a headache, and I would assume she was tired or needed a snack. Other days she would just be moody. Occasionally she would complain about her vision, while sitting 20 feet away from the kitchen counter, chewing her dinner, and telling me she couldn&#8217;t read the microwave clock. (I tried it&#8211;it&#8217;s impossible.) Anyway, the big tell was when she started getting up to use the bathroom EVERY night. Sometimes twice. Sometimes THREE times. We refused water before bed and still she got up. I was still pretty clueless, but my husband&#8217;s spidey senses were tingling. His brother is a type I diabetic diagnosed thirty years ago at the age of four. Type I diabetes is not considered to be hereditary, so we did not immediately jump to that conclusion. And one might think that having someone in the family with it would have given us a leg-up on the recognition factor, but The Sugar is quite a bi-polar animal. Low blood sugar is a serious concern for a lot of type I diabetics and my husband remembers being told what to look for if his little brother got dizzy or looked unwell. He remembers him passing out occasionally. Back then insulin was less reliable and so much less was known about the disease. What we were unknowingly dealing with was the opposite end of the spectrum and not uncommon for undiagnosed type I&#8211;our daughter&#8217;s blood sugar was through the roof. My husband was insistent that something was wrong, but I felt that whatever it was could be dealt with at her annual well-check, scheduled a few weeks from then. I said, &#8220;If you really think there is something wrong, then you call and get her an appointment sooner.&#8221; He did. The appointment was two days away. I was annoyed because that was Trick or Treat night in our town and the appointment was for 2:00 PM, so I had to take her out of school early. We got to our family physician&#8217;s office and went over the symptoms. She asked a lot of questions, drew some blood, and took a urine sample. Then we waited and waited and waited. For about 45 minutes. I was not thrilled about the wait and was starting to get anxious. What could be taking so long? Never in a million years would I have guessed that the doctor would come back in the room and say, &#8220;I suspect your daughter has type I diabetes.&#8221; The Sugar. My immediate thought was that we were going to get a pamphlet, go home, and come back in a few days for a follow-up visit. I had no idea. I think it took some time for the shock to wear off. Neither of us started crying until we were in the car on the way to the emergency room. Driving to a big hospital and an even bigger Unkown. It was probably a blessing we found out that day. If we had taken her trick-or-treating and then let her have one or two pieces of candy&#8211;our usual MO&#8211;she could have gone into a diabetic ketoacidosis. This is a serious condition that occurs when the body breaks down fat&#8211;as opposed to glucose&#8211;for energy. This is what makes extreme low-carb diets work. Breaking down fat produces ketones which, in large amounts, are poisonous to the body. This is what makes those diets potentially dangerous. Her blood sugar had been so high for so long that there is no telling what would have pushed her over the edge from functional to something life-threatening. Normal blood sugar should range between 70 and 100. Hers was over 500. In addition to the extreme thirst and blurry vision that MJ experienced, high blood sugar (hyperglycemia), can cause mental confusion. They tested her blood glucose level several times at the emergency room because they couldn&#8217;t believe she wasn&#8217;t acting loopy or having any issues functioning relatively normally. She is pretty tall for her age but was thinner than she should have been at the time since she hadn&#8217;t put much weight on the previous year due to her body burning fat for energy. The doctors surmised that her body had learned to adjust to its prolonged hyperglycemic state. We stayed in the ER for a few hours before being admitted. One thing the hospital was pretty good about was making sure that you were comfortable with the day-to-day care before they sent you home. In other words:  we were in for a few days, at least. I think spent less time learning how to care for her when she was a newborn&#8211;when I had less experience and more to do. Right away my husband and I agreed that we wanted MJ to try giving herself the insulin injection and that we would proceed based on her willingness or ability to do so. With some practice on a teddy bear designed specifically for that purpose, she mastered it. We were hugely proud of her. If someone had told me one of my children was going to be diagnosed with an incurable disease I would not have pegged her as one to take it so well, but she did. For all this disease can take away, it seemed to give her a certain confidence she never had before. It&#8217;s basically a big numbers game, but the numbers change constantly, so you can&#8217;t just skate by at any given meal. You have to do the math every time. It&#8217;s hard to get comfortable with things when you are measuring food, researching food and administering life-saving medication to your child. And that&#8217;s not a bad thing. But somewhere along the road things do get comfortable. You learn a lot, and then you learn some more, and a lot of things start to become commonplace in your life. Carb counts, test strips, ketones, syringes. It&#8217;s been six years this fall and things are not much different. We constantly assess how she is doing; we adjust things as necessary. We see the pediatric endocrinologist every three months. It is the ho-hum and the mundane. It is simply &#8220;Life As We Know It.&#8221; I occasionally wonder if we are too relaxed about it, but the alternative is living in fear, and I don&#8217;t think that is healthy. Could serious things happen with her diabetes? Absolutely. Do I want her in a constant state of worry about every detail of every activity and every bite of food? Absolutely not. Several years ago MJ wrote an autobiographical essay for school. She wrote about her family, places she had lived, things she liked to do, what she wanted to be when she grew up. She never mentioned her diabetes. I was a little surprised, since we deal with it constantly, but then I realized: as ubiquitous as it is in her life, it does not define her. She is not it, but she is stronger because of it. &#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8212;&#8211; This is a guest post from Melanie Madamba from The Not So Super Mom. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Q: Quality &#8211; What It&#8217;s Really Like</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/q-quality-what-its-really-like/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/q-quality-what-its-really-like/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 04 Nov 2015 09:00:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Brody]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Food/Drink]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News/Sports]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work/Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ABCs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Conversation]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Genuine]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Handwriting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Morris the Cat]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Old School]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Quality]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Quality of Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Race to Nowhere]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sterling Silver]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Time Spend]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Tupperware]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=9765</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This post is part of a series titled, “A-B-Cs – What It’s Really Like”. Each week a new letter and its word will be revealed. Each word’s explanation will illustrate significant personal meaning, application and ultimately demonstrate, What It’s Really Like… Traditionally when facing a major upcoming purchase I try to settle on a selection where performance meets value.  Usually there comes a point when I determine whether or not the price justifies the quality of the item.  “Quality” items generally harbor fine qualities, but not the finest.  For most, quality generally floats somewhere between the best and good enough. To me it’s more than that. My grandmother used to have a clear drinking glass that had Morris the Cat embossed on the side of it.  (For those of you not familiar with Morris the Cat, he was the mascot for 9lives cat food back in the 1970s.)  There was an illustrated thought bubble that was pointing from Morris’ head that said, “Morris on glass is like Sterling on silver.”  Apparently, Morris felt that the quality of his drinking glass was pretty damn good.  There were three things that my grandmother was fond of: sterling silver, genuine leather (she liked to pronounce it gen-U-whiiine leather) and Tupperware.  None of which boasted the finest qualities, but quality nonetheless.   “It is better to have second hand diamonds than not at all”, she used to tell me.  I suppose those are quality words to live by. Quality comes from the old school.  Literally.  Craftsmanship is a lost ability, even sometimes on me.  Many people do not know how to use it let alone spot it.  I occasionally tell my dad that I am disappointed in myself for not learning to be more handy and technically skilled with my hands like he is.  He has told me several times that my handy skills will be there when I need it.  I was proud of myself recently for selecting a beautiful solid oak desk from a local second hand store to replace our wobbly “L-shaped” corner desk we purchased from Staples for $75 several years ago as newlyweds.  I know that this is a quality item because the craftsmanship, detail and finish are a thing of beauty.  Plus, the thing weighs about 1,000 lbs. so there is no doubt that it was made well.  There is no substitute for quality.  They definitely don’t make them like they used to. Speaking of the old school…as a teacher I have discovered a lost academic art is in handwriting and conversation.  The handwriting of today’s teenagers is absolutely atrocious.  Carrying on a conversation can be even worse.  So many quality learning experiences are lost to the quantity of information attempted to be absorbed by an insatiable need of a smart device.  Take a walk down any high school hallway during a class change and you will see it firsthand.  Count how many students have their heads down while they walk, glued to their cell phones with ear buds in their ears.  It’s no wonder why this new upcoming generation has been said to be on the “race to nowhere”.   It is probably no coincidence that a capital cursive ‘Q’ appears to be shaped like the number ‘2’ and that it takes two people to carry on a quality conversation. In the baseball vernacular, when a starting pitcher completes 6 innings while allowing less than 3 runs it is known as a quality start.  As a parent, my QS% is quite low when my wife and I struggle to get our two boys out of the house each morning.   A parenting quality start should be a combination of no tears, fights (between parents or children), forgotten daily items, and making it to work on time. Lately I have found myself asking myself about quality quite frequently.  I often wonder where I spend quality time vs. where my time is most spent.  Within that poses the question of quality of life.  Personally, where does performance meet value?  It is why some of us opt for the car wash over spending time washing by hand or why some of us choose to put a loaf of bread in the refrigerator.  The tradeoff is time spent vs. quality of life.  I guess that is why my wife and I have decided we prefer quality of life by relocating back to our hometown to be near our families.  It may also be why we likely continue to keep putting the loaf of bread in the refrigerator.  It’s all about preserving the quality of life.]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>P: Poise &#8211; What It&#8217;s Really Like</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/p-poise-what-its-really-like/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/p-poise-what-its-really-like/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 Oct 2015 03:57:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Brody]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Home/Garden]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News/Sports]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work/Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ABCs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Collapsing Pocket]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Competition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Conversions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fall]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Football]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Opposition]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Optimism]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Panic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poise]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Possession]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pressure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Quarterback]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=9575</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This post is part of a series titled, “A-B-Cs – What It’s Really Like”. Each week a new letter and its word will be revealed. Each word’s explanation will illustrate significant personal meaning, application and ultimately demonstrate, What It’s Really Like…  Poise – verb &#8211; to hold (something) in a balanced and steady position The season of fall features a great dose of excitement for sports fans.  Playoff baseball, college/professional football, hockey and basketball all joust for the spotlight in the late months of the year in America.  As the days grow shorter, so do the sleep patterns of most sports enthusiasts attempting to absorb as much of the action as possible while still being able to have the strength to function on a day-to-day basis. I have always been able to sit down and immerse myself in an athletic contest even without knowing anything about either team playing.  The art of competition is fascinating.  As in most sports, skill, will and a bit of luck all play a role in determining factors in the eventual outcome of a game.  A man I used to coach with used to tell our players the competition was about weathering the storm.  Players should anticipate a violent storm during the contest.  It would be inevitable.  Would they allow the storm to disrupt the game plan and their top goal or would they hold steady during inclement conditions?  Most times, but not always, the team that does the best job at balancing the highs and lows emerge victorious. Saturdays and Sundays in the fall place a popular focus on the football gridiron.  Each game a significant amount of attention is paid to the quarterback position.  This is understandable for the large number of responsibilities the signal caller holds on each play.  Having played the position before I have an insurmountable respect for each player that gets under center.  Beyond ball handling and arm strength the quarterback position requires many intangible skills; most of which cannot be taught: composure, leadership, decision making, instinct, adaptability, internal clock and moxie.   Aside from athletic talent, all of those skills can be boiled down into one classification: poise. Great poise is undeniable.  Coach K writes in his book (Beyond Basketball) “…poise is the opposite of panic…it (poise) requires maturity.  It’s about remaining mentally and emotionally balanced all the time, no matter what is taking place around you.”  I obviously no longer play football, but that does not mean that I have stopped trying to sidestep the oncoming rush of the opposition.  One of the first cardinal rules to follow as a quarterback is to take care of the football and maintain a possession.  Many aspire to be placed in a position to call the shots having no idea what it takes to stand in the pocket and play the game.  When faced with pressure are you converting or turning it over?  When the rush is on and the pocket is collapsing how do you protect what is important and maintain possession of something you have worked so hard to claim?  Poise or panic?  We all play our own game.  We all face a different opponent.  Only you can answer that question. &#8220;Clear the mechanism&#8221; -Billy Chapel &#8220;Ease the pounding of your heart by quieting your mind&#8221; -GMa &#8220;Keep calm and carry on&#8221; -WWII Brits Evidence and reminders of poise are all around.  Face each day possessed with optimism, meet your opposition with poise and keep on converting. ]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>O: Odor &#8211; What It&#8217;s Really Like</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/o-odor-what-its-really-like/</link>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 12 Oct 2015 14:04:49 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Brody]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Food/Drink]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Home/Garden]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ABCs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Did you Fart]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dirty Deeds]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dirty Jobs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dunder Chief]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fallen Soldiers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Like Father Like Son]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Odor]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[parenting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Smell Test]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=9272</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This post is part of a series titled, “A-B-Cs – What It’s Really Like”. Each week a new letter and its word will be revealed. Each word’s explanation will illustrate significant personal meaning, application and ultimately demonstrate, What It’s Really Like…  Did you fart?? These are the famous last words of parents with children under the age of five before discovering the source of a particularly pungent smell. This statement is usually uttered while driving down the road or while settling in the living room to watch a little late evening TV. If you are a parent you know the job can be smelly business. I am still waiting for Mike Rowe to do an episode of Dirty Jobs on the occupation of parenting. Our house possesses no shortage of a variety of smells. Some days are better than others. It usually is a balance somewhere between locker room, gourmet kitchen, waste water treatment plant and field full of wildflowers. Like Father, Like Son Unfortunately, my oldest son has inherited his parents feet. His feet are wide like mommy’s and stinky like daddy’s. Since he is growing so quickly we usually elect to buy him shoes that are an off-brand to save money. I am not sure if the lower grade material amplifies the smell or that his feet stink that much. Living in the south produces challenges on its own with high humidity and high average temperatures. You can imagine the stench that is produced when a sweaty preschooler removes his shoes in the back of a car after playing hard for an hour in the July Georgia heat. *Author’s note &#8211;   Although he has been running around the house today without shoes on, my son just ran by and crop dusted me on the way to the “potty” as I was sitting here typing this post.  Trash Tricks Another problem that poses itself in the southern heat is the trash. During the summer months my wife and I have to strategize the week’s menu based upon its “smell factor” by which it decomposes in the trash can. I can always count on having chicken on Tuesday or Wednesday leading up to trash day on Thursday to shorten the life of the horrendous rotting odor that is emitted with discarded chicken scraps. Typically perfectly cooked chicken can turn over in less than eight hours in the southern summer months. Fallen Soldiers Leftover snacks, juice/milk sippy cups and fallen foodstuffs all leave an undesired wasteland in family vehicles. Some of the items are immediately found others are discovered later when the real catastrophic mess happens. Usually by then the damage has been done and the smell has made itself permanent. One of the most difficult things to do is to keep a car clean with a toddler and a newborn. This is near impossible to accomplish this feat in the interior of a newer car. Tack on a wife who has the family nickname, “Puddles” and you could have yourself a real problem. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap I used to have a roommate in college who thought the lyrics to this ACDC song were, “Dirty deeds and the Dunder Chief”. After he was called out on his lyrical snafu, some of my college friends actually considered dressing up as the Dunder Chief for Halloween. After much debate and many adult beverages, the costume idea died after no one could decide on what the great Dunder looked like. That story reminds me of another fine skill that I learned in college, The Smell Test. You can only imagine the types of smells coming out of an all-male college apartment. (Let’s not omit the other gender population. Ladies, I have been in plenty of all-female college apartments 10-times as nasty as our little hole. I will not pass judgment or gender discriminate. In elementary school learned about Santa and in college I learned that girls are not sugar and spice and everything nice.)  The dominating odors that I recall lofting through my college apartment were a delicate perfume blend of stale beer, rotting pizza, Hawaiian Breeze Plug-ins and musk. Somewhere in the barrage of college life, hopefully one does laundry. During the hustle and bustle of a college week, laundry comes and goes and most of it rarely gets put away. Laundry does not come with a born on date so it is often difficult to know its shelf life. This is especially true if you were anything like a typical college student that when it came time to do laundry chances are you took a truckload of it home with you to your parents’ house every four weeks or so. It was there on campus that I perfected the smell test with the motto, “When in doubt, sniff it out”. The Smell Test has become an important attribute of fatherhood as it can signify a diaper change, time of death of a fallen soldier (see above) or when a toddler DIY post-#2 “all by myself” wipe might not have been mission accomplished. Parenting requires the versatility of steady nose and the ability to breathe out your mouth. “Where Did That Come From?!” Potty training your toddler will cause your nose perk up and ask, “Where did that come from?” and your eyes ask, “WHERE DID THAT COME FROM???” Flatulence, bowel movements, “tee-tee”, formula burps, spit up, projectile vomit, snot waterfalls  – parenting is not for the faint of heart or the non-iron stomached. In high school, my brother’s friends could make our friend Mike almost instantaneously vomit just by making gagging gestures and barfing noises. Today he is the father of two beautiful children. I am still not sure how he persevered during the “bodily fluid years”. I will never forget on a recent road trip home for Thanksgiving with my first born son. We drove straight through the night so that he would be asleep for most of the trip. Around the beginning of rush hour we were making our way through Cincinnati, Ohio.  While maneuvering in and out of traffic at 75 miles-per-hour my wife and I hear a gurgling sound from the backseat that was surprisingly louder than the car radio. She and I looked at one another wide eyed and turned around.  We knew that the enormous amount of dairy that he had just consumed at the hotel continental breakfast (milk and yogurt) was about to appear in the backseat. Nearly three seconds later there was a milky shower pouring in, out and over his car seat. The sour odor of dairy by-product immediately filled the warm interior of my car that had its heat blasting to take the chill off from outside. After several treatments with carpet cleaner and Febreze, I resorted to covering nearly my entire backseat with baking soda. I rode around for the next month and a half until the remedy finally conquered the smell. Absolutely awful. Take it from me, as a parent of two boys and after changing an infinite number of diapers I now know exactly what the Dunder Chief looks like (and smells like).]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>M: Memory &#8211; What It&#8217;s Really Like</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/m-memory-what-its-really-like/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/m-memory-what-its-really-like/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 21 Sep 2015 07:30:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Brody]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Food/Drink]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Home/Garden]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ABCs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Authentic]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Concussions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Experience]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Food]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Grandparents]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memory]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Prized Possessions]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Roses in December]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Senses]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Term Memory]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=8842</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This post is part of a series titled, “A-B-Cs – What It’s Really Like”. Each week a new letter and its word will be revealed. Each word’s explanation will illustrate significant personal meaning, application and ultimately demonstrate, What It’s Really Like…  “God gave us our memories so we might have roses in December” You would be surprised how much you can pick up while dining on a ham and cheese sandwich, three bread and butter pickles and a can of 7up. You might even be shocked what you may learn on a Friday at noon while sitting around consuming a weekly traditional Friday McDonald’s Fish Filet. You would certainly be astonished to discover what can be absorbed while sitting around the dining room table after a Sunday family dinner over coffee and a piece of pie. Most of the memories in my life are not shrines to individual occurrences but a museum of eclectic experiences that draw on meaningful connections meriting reservation deep in the vault of my mind. These collections are deeply enriched with attributes of all the senses: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch – the more of the senses that are involved with a meaningful experience, the clearer the memory. For me, emotion is the X-factor in my personal memory because in recalling a vivid memory I can likely tell you how I felt in that exact moment. Food plays an important role in memory for me personally. Most of the meaningful education that I would ever receive was not obtained in a classroom, on an athletic field, or on the job, but around the dinner table. This is where I learned to communicate, manners and respect and about my family’s heritage. It was here that I also learned the art of storytelling and to appreciate the craft of an authentic, genuine narrative. Maybe that is why I became a history teacher. Some of my most fond memories were of the chronicles, sidetracks and matter-of-facts that my grandparents would tell during and after a Sunday family dinner. Most often we would take turns exchanging material on a topic only soon to be lost in a distant memory of “who is he/she related to” and “how do we know this person so-and-so and to whom is he/she related”. This traditionally would go on for hours leaving me glued to the finish of our dining room chairs and convinced that my grandparents knew every single person on the face of the earth. Many of those stories are now lost upon me either because I could not follow the viney scaffolds and extensions of our family tree or because it has been replaced in my mind with something far less meaningful, for which I am ashamed to admit. One of my most prized possessions is my memory. One of my biggest fears is losing this possession. I often get after my wife because I believe that we do not take enough pictures of our family and experiences. A memory I will never forget is from the 6th grade. Our teacher chose to do a class service project for senior citizens in a local assisted living home. I was so excited when I learned that it was the same home that my great-grandmother was in. Each member of the class was to be assigned to one member of the home and to create a greeting card to deliver on a visit during the late fall. I made sure that my great-grandmother would be receiving my card during our class visit. My great-grandmother had been placed in assisted living because she was suffering from severe Alzheimer’s disease. Periodically, I would ride along with my grandfather to visit her. At a very young age I saw her on very good days and very bad days. I remember how scared and horrible I felt when she did not recognize my grandpa. During my excited preparation for the delivery of my greeting card to my great-grandmother, my mother cautioned me that she may not recognize me on the day of our class visit. I shrugged it off and had a strong feeling that she would be having a good day when I would stop by. On the day of our class visit the senior home I could hardly contain my excitement. I was the only one in my class who had a relative staying here and I of course let everyone know that I was going to see my great-grandmother that day. To help out, my grandpa let me tag along on a visit a few weeks before to potentially help increase the odds that she would recognize me. He never told me that, but I knew what that visit was all about.  When I arrived I spoke softly and clearly. I introduced myself and handed her my card.  After she read the card she thanked me.  I wanted to make sure she recognized me. I reintroduced myself by stating my name and that I was her great-grandson.  She replied, “Oh yes, you are Rhoda’s son.” I was elated! I couldn’t believe that she remembered!  Looking back to that visit I believe I had five good minutes with her. It was just long enough to feel confident to safely give her a hug and a kiss and introduce her to my best friends. Quickly, I would transform from family member to complete stranger. By the end of the visit she had no idea who I was. As I walked back to the school bus I did everything that I could to hold back my tears. I grew up a lot that day. Even as painful as that experience was I learned a lot from what memory can and cannot be.  Over my lifetime I have developed an innate ability to remember. I had a best friend in high school that told everyone that he didn’t need to remember anything because I would remember it for him. In high school I was a walking Rolodex, telephone book, sports encyclopedia and jukebox. I could tell you when, where, stats, lyrics and just about anyone’s telephone number (pre-cell phones, folks). I suffered several head injuries before I was the age of eighteen. With all of today’s neurological studies on the brain, most notably in contact sports, I would have likely been disallowed from playing high school football if these findings had existed then. One of the worst concussions I ever experienced was in 4th grade where a sled riding accident left me not knowing who I was for nearly 48 hours.  Several other minor sports related concussions would follow. Around the time I was a sophomore in college I started to notice that I was losing my short term memory at a very rapid rate. I was not sharp and I grew increasingly frustrated that I had become extremely forgetful virtually overnight. I feared that the consequences of too many concussions had caught up with me. I was scared to see a doctor, flashing back to thoughts of my great-grandmother and what a life without memory was like. I decided that rather than seek medical attention that I would try to retrain myself to remember day-to-day activities. I bought myself a bunch of post-its and began to write down various to-do lists for tasks that I had coming up that day, week, the following week and the month. Each day I reviewed the post-its (some days several times) and soon I retrained myself to remember short-term. Still do this day I have to write things down. I am convinced it is not because I need it, but simply good sound organizational practice to be thorough and reliable. My biggest fear is that at some point in my life I will have absorbed so much meaningless information that it will begin prioritizing space in my brain; much like a computer hard drive or the dwindling memory of a base model iPhone. What to store and what to delete? Do I/Will I have control over that? In education, we teach students that the brain is a muscle that must be exercised or it will atrophy. If you do not use your brain power you will lose it. How can you possibly exercise the brain enough to possibly maintain all that it possesses? My brother gifted all of the groomsmen in his wedding with a leather bound journal with each member’s name engraved on the clasp. He requested that we use the journal to record out greatest life experiences. Although I do not write in the journal daily, I have committed myself to recording my greatest experiences in order to answer the question I posed at the end of the previous paragraph. Hopefully this will allow me to take back my cognitive capacity, rid myself of the cobwebs and render myself less of a victim when it comes to degenerating memories. It is my hope that I can always remember the lessons I learned over lunch with my grandparents so that I can share them with my own grandchildren. Even the lesson on how to shoot the paper off of the straw while sitting at the table (thanks, GMa!). After all, the mind is a terrible thing to waste. “Nothing is a waste that makes a memory”]]></description>
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		<title>The Greatest Gifts are Small Packages Wrapped with Love</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/the-greatest-gifts-are-small-packages-wrapped-with-love/</link>
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		<pubDate>Tue, 18 Aug 2015 09:00:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Alisha Askew]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Products/Shopping]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Style/Beauty]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Work/Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Business]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[dreams]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Entrepreneur]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[moms]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[passion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Self Care]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=8202</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Have you ever felt like you were doing something just to be doing it but you really didn’t know “why” you were doing it? Or… have you ever felt as if you had this grand vision which caused you to work yourself to the bone but the end result only left you feeling exhausted, deprived, and unfulfilled? One day I was door to door marketing for my Rejuve-N-Luv Body Scrubs when I came across a sweet lady who really supported my vision and mission. Not only did she invest in my body scrubs but she also gave me a purple wooden paddle that quotes, “Do Small Things With Great Love”. As my heart overflowed with warmth and my eyes filled with tears, it was a simple reminder that the greatest gifts come in small packages and are wrapped with love. The funny thing is, before ever meeting this kind woman, I have always told customers that my Rejuve-N-Luv Body Scrubs were handcrafted from the heart with love. Even though it is something so small, I pour my heart into the creation of each product; and although I have a grand vision for empowering moms, I will not let my final destination consume “me” or the greater purpose behind “why” I do what I do. In the beginning of my journey I got caught in all of the hype of trying to be a successful a mompreneur and life coach which caused my focus to be misaligned with my what my heart desired and the greater purpose that I was serving. See, what often happens is that our eyes start to get bigger than the view in front of us and then we easily get distracted, side tracked, and rerouted all because we lose touch with where our heart and true desires were leading us. Be intentional! Whatever dream, goal, or vision that you are setting out to achieve, know that it does not have to have be monstrous, glamorous, or shiny in order for it to light up the world. As long as you follow your heart, act intentionally, and execute it with great love, no matter how small or how big the deed is, your light will shine&#8230; and it will shine BRIGHT! But most importantly, remember that a woman who listens to her heart and walks purposefully towards her dreams will attract the divine opportunities and people with her light. So the next time that you are “going”, ask yourself, 1) what is the greater purpose that I am serving and 2) am I following my heart and acting with love. &#160; &#160; &#160; &#160; &#160; &#160; &#160; . &#160;]]></description>
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		<title>F: Faith &#8211; What It&#8217;s Really Like</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/f-faith-what-its-really-like/</link>
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		<pubDate>Mon, 27 Jul 2015 14:00:01 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Brody]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ABCs]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Belief]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Differences]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Faith]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Faith is Funny]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Inward]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Outward]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Personal Faith]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Prayer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Siblings]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7895</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This post is part of a series titled, “A-B-Cs – What It’s Really Like”. Each week a new letter and its word will be revealed. Each word’s explanation will illustrate significant personal meaning, application and ultimately demonstrate, What It’s Really Like…  Faith is funny. It is presumed that all of us believe in something bigger than ourselves. Peace, love, religion, science, etc. Harmony for all humans, love will prevail/conquer all, trust in the power of the supernatural or higher being, or simply having faith that the sun will come up tomorrow. Out of all the words that I have chosen for this project Faith may be the most difficult to “own”. Maybe it is because I am still learning how to take ownership of it. It has been nearly one month since my mother was diagnosed with Stage-4 Lymphatic cancer. Unofficially to date, this will be her third major encounter with the disease. I learned of the diagnosis late on a Friday night. She would immediately begin an intensive 6-month round of chemotherapy the following Tuesday. Our family’s world, just as in 2005, would be rocked again. In the fall of 2005 my parents would reveal to my brother and I that my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. The announcement came only a short time before she would undergo a major surgical procedure to help combat her condition. Fortunately my brother and I were attending the same college just 35 miles from our home. We would be there to do whatever possible to ensure the health and healing for our mother during this time. Either out of frustration or fear both of us became angry with my parents after the initial numbness of the announcement subsided. Why did they wait so long to tell us? What good could have come out of holding this news close to the vest? Why were we not included in the updates while the testing process was playing out? We wanted to know why we were being protected like children and not treated as the adults we were. As the elder brother, I became the spokesperson to vent our grievances toward my parents for not disclosing this news beforehand and the virtual blindside of the situation. My father calmly explained that they wanted to be absolutely sure before letting us know (a wise order of operations that I would not understand until many years later with all of the tests and close calls we have endured over the last decade). At the time I felt the explanation was unacceptable and I made both of my parents to swear that they would never withhold any critical information from us again. I finished my proclamation by scolding my mother pleading, “Why wouldn’t you tell us? Don’t you think people may want to pray for you?” Faith is something that I keep very personal. I recall asking my mom when I was a teenager why we discontinued attending church. She said that our involvement in sports and other activities during the week (often on Sundays) made it difficult to stay on top of tasks around the house and attend church regularly. While she acknowledged that it was a poor excuse, our regular attendance would dwindle to part-time to eventually not at all. I also asked her if our absenteeism bothered her. She told me something that I will never forget. She said that even though it bothered her that we no longer attended church, it did not change her relationship with God. “Everyone is different.  Everyone has a different measure of faith.  As long as you have a chat with him (God) once in a while and know that he is always there, I think that is what matters most.” At closer look, much of my faith is deeply internalized likely due to this lesson from my mother. Many readers may have already clicked to another page because they assumed I would continue plugging religion, making for an uncomfortable read. I understand and I am no different. I get extremely uncomfortable when I see continuous expression from individuals on subjects of politics or religion. I believe you are entitled to your opinion, but prefer you keep most of it to yourself. I internalize most of my opinions on these subjects out of respect for others. So much so that it wasn’t until over the course of the past year that I have become comfortable praying in front of my wife. Faith is one element that I have never allowed to become outward and public. Fast forward to 2015 less than 24 hours after learning my mother’s diagnosis… During a break from yard work I began a rare, aimless flip through Facebook to discover that a well-connected colleague of my brother’s had announced my mother’s diagnosis and asked for prayers via a status update. While I appreciated the sentiment of the announcement, I quickly began to boil over in anger. I waited about a 30 minutes before shooting off a text message to my brother, hoping that he would acknowledge what I believed to be a mistake. My thoughts: To this point, I have not heard directly from my parents. My brother filled me in on the diagnosis the night before. Surely they had not notified the family yet. How awful would it be for a family member to learn of my mother’s condition via Facebook? I explained in the text to my brother that while I appreciated the gesture, I did not think the timing was appropriate. In the 15 minutes I waited for a response I convinced myself that my brother would apologize for the mistake and call my mother right away to set it straight. What I would receive in a reply was completely the opposite. For nearly an hour my brother and I went back and forth via text messages about our positions regarding this serious announcement. I claimed that it was a private issue that should be shared with the family and that mom could decide whether or not the information should be shared with the public. My brother countered with chastising me for not giving more credit toward those who were trying to call on faith and the power of prayer to help lift up my mother during this time. We stopped the exchange after we discovered that we were at a complete impasse. During our conversation I challenged my brother to reach out to our mom to guarantee that it was appropriate for this information to be made public without her approval. Once again, I was shocked find what followed. At just a few minutes before midnight, 24 hours after I learned of the diagnosis, an email hit my inbox just as I was getting into bed. It was from my mother to the rest of my immediate family. In the email she apologized for the relay of information and explained why she authorized it to be delivered this way. She cited a moment back in 2005 recalling when her young son Brody said, “Don&#8217;t you think people may want to pray for you?!” I nearly dropped my phone when I read the sentence. Up until that point I did not recall saying those words. The same action I had demanded in the past had been granted to me and I did not like the results. Almost instantaneously I realized that it was not my call and I was in the wrong. This was about her. She went on to parallel some of my brother’s statements from our text message fight: a prayer army is better than a prayer group. I have not publicly shared about my mother’s condition until now. My brother and others have shared her situation with others on social media asking for prayers of hope, strength and faith. After thousands of likes and hundreds of comments I am beginning to realize that this is something I can’t take on in my own small group. Faith is funny. It can be inward or outward. I prefer to be inward. Together it can be extremely powerful. You may ask &#8211; if you are so inward, why are you sharing all of this personal information? The answer is that I am still learning to own my faith beyond something bigger than myself. WORRY STOPS WHERE FAITH BEGINS. – GMa’s Journal &#160;]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Thoughts on &#8220;The Scissors&#8221;</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/thoughts-on-the-scissors/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/thoughts-on-the-scissors/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 09 Jul 2015 17:00:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Alessandra Macaluso]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Big Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[boy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Children]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Complete]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Complete Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Crazy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[fun]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Girl]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[kids]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mistake]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Multiples]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pregnant]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Scissors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Second Child]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Snip]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Surgery]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vasectomy]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[It wasn&#8217;t until I was in my twenties, that I learned I was a mistake. I was sitting at my parent&#8217;s dinner table. We were just chit-chatting about life, school, and other, you know, normal, non-life-altering conversations that could make you re-think your entire being, when it casually came out. &#8220;A mistake?&#8221; I said. My dad looked at me like I had ten heads. Then, in his thick Italian accent, and very matter-of-factly, he said: &#8220;Well, we had-a four boys. Then, we finally had your sister &#8211; our girl!&#8221; He paused, put his hand on mine, looked right into my eyes and said: &#8220;Why de fack would we want another one?!&#8221; I stared at him blankly, wide-eyed and slow-blinking. My mother piped up, in her strong New York accent: &#8220;But we&#8217;re so glad you&#8217;re HEA!&#8221; Umm, what &#8220;de fack&#8221; just happened?! Anyway, I&#8217;m thinking of this a lot today because I am 18 weeks pregnant, and yesterday was the day we found out what&#8217;s cooking. Turns out, it&#8217;s a BOY!! One of the first things people have said to us over the last 24 hours after hearing the news is &#8220;Yay, now Greg can go get snipped!!!&#8221; I think this is funny, and totally get why people say that &#8211; it makes sense that someone would want a boy and a girl. Maybe we never looked at it like that because I am the youngest of six children; 4 boys, then my sister, then me. My husband is one of four children; an older brother, a twin brother, and a younger sister. So I guess our parents kind of took the concept of a &#8220;complete&#8221; family and ran with it. And this extends beyond our parents; one aunt and uncle had six kids, and another had four. There were so many first cousins running around on any given family party that I don&#8217;t even know how anyone kept track. Our families didn&#8217;t have babies, they had litters. In our case, our choice to have another baby was not a mistake; we knew we were ready to grow our family. Truth be told, Greg actually wanted another girl, and we both really were convinced that a girl it would be. It&#8217;s not that he has anything against boys, it&#8217;s just that he is a little worried about what kind of boy he would produce. Him and his brothers were off the walls growing up, so he is a bit terrified. But it doesn&#8217;t matter &#8211; we&#8217;re having a boy! A little boy!! So yes, one and one. For now. Because we never even talked about, you know, the snipping. I mean, what if we&#8217;re not done yet? What if, after another year or two, I&#8217;m not ready to hang up the &#8216;CLOSED&#8217; sign? What if our upbringings get the best of us and one day, after I finally begin to feel like myself again, and the two miraculously are sleeping and eating and on manageable schedules, I drink too much cheap wine, go bat-shit crazy and decide I still want to birth a litter under the stairs? THESE ARE THE THINGS I JUST DON&#8217;T KNOW YET. I have no idea if that will be the case, or if it would even be possible. Maybe two is our magic number. I do know that, after having Penelope, as much as I love her, there were moments where I couldn&#8217;t even imagine entertaining the idea of having a second child in the first place because WHAT WAS I TAKING CRAZY PILLS?! I thought of women who had multiples and was in awe. I still am. Because babies are a lot of work. I mean, I knew it, but you don&#8217;t reeeeeeally know the ins and outs, the messy, tired, repetitive, taxing parts of it until your little one is here. Of course, you made the decision to have a child. Of course, you are going to do your best to take care of this tiny human with a fierce kind of love and determination you never had before, the kind that trumps getting poop on your finger, spit-up in your hair, and makes you constantly second-guess if you are even doing this right, for crying out loud. My mother had all six children within eight years. That&#8217;s not a typo. Let&#8217;s just say it &#8211; she is a special kind of crazy. I often ask her, &#8220;What were you thinking?&#8221; and each time, she shrugs her shoulders and her response is always the same: &#8220;I wasn&#8217;t!&#8221; When I ask her how the heck she handled all of us, she just says that she still has no idea, and that you just do it, you don&#8217;t have time to think about it. My aunt Angela had an entirely different response than the norm when I shared the news. Instead of reaching for the scissors, she said: &#8220;Yay! Then next time, whatever it is will be a sibling of the same for him or her!&#8221; Wait &#8211; what? Next time?! &#8220;We&#8217;ll see how two goes first,&#8221; I said, &#8220;I don&#8217;t know how you guys did it!&#8221; But she gave me the best response. She said: &#8220;All I can say is, if you like it, it works, no matter how many there are. Don&#8217;t think of it as work, it was a lot fun. Nothing is like a house full of little kiddies. I would have had two more.&#8221; At this point, I&#8217;m just thankful for happy and healthy. I feel so content with Penelope, and all I can think about is watching this tough little cookie give her little brother a run for his money. This, to me, right now, feels complete, but we will see what the future holds. My point in this little rant in which we run to put the scissors away, is this: a &#8220;complete&#8221; family is exactly what that is &#8211; to you. Maybe it&#8217;s a boy and a girl. Maybe it&#8217;s two little girls, or two little boys. Maybe it&#8217;s one child. Maybe it&#8217;s ten. Maybe it&#8217;s none. Maybe it&#8217;s you and your husband, maybe it&#8217;s you, your wife, and two dogs; maybe it&#8217;s you and your non-wedded partner for life; maybe it&#8217;s the two of you, your pet iguana named Fred, and a boat. Maybe it&#8217;s simply, beautifully, YOU, living your life to its fullest and doing just fine, thankyouverymuch. &#8220;I would have had two more. Don&#8217;t think of it as work, it was a lot of fun.&#8221; I&#8217;m raising my non-alcoholic beverage to you, putting the scissors in the drawer, and saying that, no matter what your situation, let&#8217;s make it fun. &#160; This post was originally published by Alessandra Macaluso on Punkwife.com. ]]></description>
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		<title>What It&#8217;s Like to Lose 100 Pounds</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-like-to-lose-100-pounds/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-like-to-lose-100-pounds/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 29 Jun 2015 18:00:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Sara Borgstede]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[100 Pounds]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Accountability]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Diet]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Exercise]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Faith]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Lose Weight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Scale]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[support]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Therapy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[weight loss]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Today I was at the post office. Handing my I.D. to the clerk, she examined it, looked at me, and looked at the photo again. &#8220;Wow, you look really different!&#8221; I get that response often so wasn&#8217;t too surprised. I&#8217;ve considered ordering a new driver&#8217;s license since I&#8217;m slightly worried I&#8217;ll get stopped at the airport for not being the actual Sara M. Borgstede. (I&#8217;m really me, I promise.) &#8220;Thanks! I&#8217;ve lost a lot of weight,&#8221; was my response. How did you DO it? The next question I hear is usually, &#8220;How did you do it?!&#8221; I have a variety of possible responses: Short answer #1: I&#8217;m still doing it. Short answer #2: Therapy, prayer, exercise, life-style change. Slightly long answer #1: Therapy, more therapy, sweat, tears, food and calorie obsession, slow progress and back sliding then progress, prayer and railing at God and more prayer and trust, triathlon, exercise I hated, exercise I loved, support from my husband, time alone with my thoughts, emails with a dear friend who &#8220;gets it.&#8221; Weight issues are so public yet so private. We wear our addiction for the whole world to see in the form of unwanted pounds. I see the longing in the eyes of people who ask me this question. I know the desire I felt when I asked that question myself when I was at my heaviest. What was the secret that would get me out of the prison of food and weight obsession in which I was trapped? My struggle with my weight was the heaviest of coats I wore no matter the weather, the burden I carried and from which I never got a vacation. On my blog, The Holy Mess, I share in the 100 lbs lost series the outside tools I used to lose weight &#8212; which diet plan, which exercise methods and which foods I ate. None of those really matter all that much, though. I had tried and used those methods at least 50 times before, when I lost the weight and then regained every pound. Nothing on the outside will fix what is broken on the inside. Changing my thinking, my core beliefs about who I am, and my deepest realizations about the way God loves and accepts me, are what turned my life around. I&#8217;ve done it and it&#8217;s absolutely possible you can do it too! &#160; The 5 Keys to My Weight Loss The main keys to my 100 pound weight loss: Therapy. Not just with any therapist, but with one who knew about eating issues. All the diets and programs in the world didn&#8217;t work for me until I got my head on straight. An Accountability Program. For me that was Weight Watchers. For you it might be something different, but I had to have something to keep me on the rails. I started Weight Watchers online program about 6 months after I was going to therapy regularly. Faith. I&#8217;ve been a Christian all my life, believing in Jesus as my Savior. Through this journey I needed to rely on God in new ways. I also had to have faith that losing weight and overcoming my eating issues was really possible. At times it was just a tiny speck of light, but I held on to it. Support. Binge eating tends to be a solitary activity. Losing weight needs to be done with support. I couldn&#8217;t do it alone. I am here for you! Other people in your life will be too when you reach out for it. Exercise &#8212; later. Eventually exercise became a huge component to my weight loss journey, but I didn&#8217;t start with it. &#160; Do you struggle with your weight and fitness? Leave a comment below and join in the discussion. &#160;]]></description>
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