<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss version="2.0"
	xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"
	xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/"
	xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
	xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"
	xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/"
	xmlns:slash="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/slash/"
	>

<channel>
	<title>WIRL Project &#187; love</title>
	<atom:link href="http://www.wirlproject.com/tag/love/feed/" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
	<link>http://www.wirlproject.com</link>
	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Sun, 31 May 2026 16:15:24 +0000</lastBuildDate>
	<language>en-US</language>
	<sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod>
	<sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency>
	<generator>https://wordpress.org/?v=4.1.37</generator>
	<item>
		<title>There&#8217;s No Place Like Home</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/theres-no-place-like-home/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/theres-no-place-like-home/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 20 Aug 2015 09:00:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Home]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New York]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[No Place Like Home]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[North Carolina]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[travel]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=8241</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[As my time to leave New York quickly approaches, I prepare for the tears and overwhelming emotions that I know are about to take control of my mind and flow silently into my heart. Each year I am blessed to have a family who supports me in most of my decisions, who encourages me to be successful, and who loves me unconditionally. There are truly some people I could never go without thanking enough for giving me a path to follow that is all mine. Being in New York with my family is an entirely different experience every year. I go different places, I see new things, and most of all I appreciate what I have around me more. I spend time with those I love, who I know love me just the same. I build a new foundation every summer. A new place to call home. But at the end of every summer my &#8220;home&#8221; is broken down, as I am sent back dragging myself along to North Carolina. Although NC is where I have been raised since I was 7 months old, I can&#8217;t help but think that it&#8217;ll never be my home. The constant downpour of love and support comes from a very few bunch of people, but it&#8217;s those people that allow me to grow as a person without worry or struggle. It&#8217;s the time I spend here that shows me what makes a house into a home. Money doesn&#8217;t matter. If someone is struggling, you probably won&#8217;t ever know. Family is family, and they help when and if they can. The beautiful scenery and the fresh air remind me all too well of a place I&#8217;ve made up in my head called home. For a foundation like this I owe thanks to my mother. Had it not been for her moving me away from NY I wouldn&#8217;t have a foundation this solid in this beautiful state. Instead it would&#8217;ve been like everyone else here that see each other day in and day out. Eventually I would get in a routine and that routine would turn into a habit and that habit would eventually grow old. NC is a habit that has grown old. Somewhat of a disease I can&#8217;t get rid of. Had I grown up in NY, I would see a whole different disease right at my finger tips&#8230;. the addiction of a warm heart. Never once have I experienced multiple people excited to see me and welcome me into their home&#8230; not worried and unquestioning about anything in my past. In any family there are ones who try to bring you down, but the ones that lift me up are irreplaceable and rarely found. If this wasn&#8217;t home to me and this wasn&#8217;t my Utopia, then I&#8217;d probably never visit at all. NY may not be London,  Paris,  Mexico, Brazil, or Italy, but it doesn&#8217;t have to be big and fancy to make me feel like this is where I belong. Leaving a select few in this family is one of the hardest, most heart breaking things I face each year. In the few days before I leave I wake up hoping time stood still throughout the night just to make my time last longer. The biggest problem with all of this is that this isn&#8217;t where I will end up. The even bigger problem is that this isn&#8217;t where I&#8217;ll have my children grow up and as cheesey as it may sound, I have followed the yellow brick road each year and it has never failed to lead me home. A piece of my heart is left behind but that piece is meant to stay. This is my home&#8230;.. and sadly I let myself leave each year, telling myself I&#8217;ll be fine without it all&#8230;. but I never am. I wait all year for this&#8230;..  and my heart is split in places my arms just cannot stretch. So as I say goodbye to my life in NY, I remember that good things can&#8217;t all come at once&#8230;.. and that one day, the place I am meant to be will drag me to it. And if the tears don&#8217;t flow when I leave, I know I haven&#8217;t left a piece of my heart, letting me know it isn&#8217;t home&#8230;. &#38; that I need a new place to start. After all, there is no place like home.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/theres-no-place-like-home/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<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>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7567</guid>
		<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>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/thoughts-on-the-scissors/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>I Chose to Love</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-chose-to-love/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-chose-to-love/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 30 Jun 2015 08:00:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Heather]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Confess]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[constitution]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friends]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Gay]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Gay Marriage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Homosexual]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Marriage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rights]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Same-Sex Marriage]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Secret]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Supreme Court]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7290</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This past Friday was a huge day. In case you&#8217;ve been without any sort of contact to the outside world, on June 25, 2015, the Supreme Court ruled that the constitution guarantees a right to same-sex marriage. “No longer may this liberty be denied,” Justice Anthony M. Kennedy wrote for the majority in the historic decision. “No union is more profound than marriage, for it embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice and family. In forming a marital union, two people become something greater than once they were.” Marriage is a “keystone of our social order,” Justice Kennedy said, adding that the plaintiffs in the case were seeking “equal dignity in the eyes of the law.” I have to admit, when I woke up on Friday in my hotel room in Detroit (I was away for a Direct Sales event) I immediately had tears streaming down my face when I read the news. FINALLY!  Friday&#8217;s ruling made my heart happy. Why? That&#8217;s easy, because I choose love. I chose to love when I was in college and a close friend opened up and told me that she was in a relationship with another female. She was the first person that I knew personally that was out. I remember the look in her eyes, the fear that I would turn my back on her when she announced her secret. I remember her telling me how it hurt when she heard other friends talk about gays. I remember her telling me &#8220;I didn&#8217;t fall in love with a gender, I fell in love with a person, with someone&#8217;s heart. Love does not have a gender&#8221; Wow. I knew from that day, that I was an ally, an advocate of love. Straight love. Homosexual love. Genderless love. Just Love.  I chose to love when I sat with another friend while she came out to her parents. I held her hair back when she was so worried about what the conversation was going to be like that she physically made herself sick worrying about it. I remember closing my eyes and wishing that I wasn&#8217;t hearing the words correctly that were coming out of her parents&#8217; mouths. The words of disapproval, ignorance, and hate. I held her as she broke down after the conversation and we spent the night watching Super Troopers and Napoleon Dynamite hoping that laughter would help erase the previous hours. I chose to love when another friend came out and after a year of harassment and hate couldn&#8217;t take it anymore and took his own life. He was only 22 and the words and actions of others over something they thought he &#8220;decided to become&#8221; could not be pushed out of his mind. I chose to love when a friend from my hometown expressed how much he needed to move to a town with more acceptance. So he packed up everything that he owned and with a close friend moved west, where he felt more free to be who he was. I chose to love when a relative brought his boyfriend to Christmas dinner this year and quietly introduced him as &#8220;a friend&#8221;, it was his quiet way of coming out to those of us that picked up on it. After a late night Facebook conversation with me assuring him that it did not change my opinion of him, he admitted how fearful he was that it would change how others in the family looked at him. It broke my heart that night&#8230; not because a relative was gay, but because he was so afraid that those that love him would change their minds once they found out who he loved.  I chose to love when I watched the documentary &#8220;Bridegroom&#8221; and bawled during 95% of it. (It&#8217;s on Netflix if you haven&#8217;t watched it.) I cannot imagine having to fight to see my husband in the hospital or to not be able to have a say in his funeral if something happened. I cannot imagine not having basic rights as a spouse. I do not expect everyone to believe the same things that I do. However, I do expect others to understand that everyone should have the same rights. September 10, 2011 (yes, 9/10/11) was an amazing day. It was the day that my husband and I got married. We were able to stand in front of our friends and our family and declare our love. We didn&#8217;t have to worry if our marriage wouldn&#8217;t be accepted or honored if we left the state. For the longest time, I couldn&#8217;t imagine my friends and family not having that same right to share their love with those that they care most about. And now, because our country chose to love&#8230; I don&#8217;t have to imagine that anymore. &#160;]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-chose-to-love/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Comedy of Cancer</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/the-comedy-of-cancer/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/the-comedy-of-cancer/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 23 Jun 2015 08:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Maura McCarthy-Sanborn]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[breast cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[coach]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comedy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[humor]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[laugh]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[live]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[thyroid cancer]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7126</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[(What’s it really like to hear you have cancer&#8230;a second time) Have you ever had that moment when your phone rings and a feeling rushes over you of “this can’t be good”? As I answered my phone in the midst of cooking a weekday dinner for my family, I heard my doctor’s voice and I just knew… there was no doubt what he was about to say was not good. I’d heard the words before and this time I casually braced myself as I continued stirring the pots on the stove. “Well it’s a good thing we did that biopsy,” he said. “It came back cancerous so we need to discuss the next steps and your options.” And right there, in that very moment, I wanted to burst out laughing. I know, it’s not what most people would do in this situation, but for me, that’s what bubbled up inside. I had just been initiated into the multi-cancer club, and my membership included a get one cancer, get another free!I I just kept thinking about the expression “sick joke”. Here I am “sick” and yet i’m just coming up with jokes. Life is already full of chaos with my 3 crazy sweet children, a budding career, and a relationship in flux, and now I have cancer AGAIN?!?! I’d like to kick cancer out into the galaxy and watch it obliterate into dust particles. It’s got absolutely no business being in me or anyone else for that matter! As the hours passed after that initial phone call, I just couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. I’d dealt with breast cancer exactly 4 years ago, diagnosed in the same month (I really dislike May!). The first time around, I tormented myself, asking over and over, “How did I get this? What caused it? Why me? What did I do wrong?” I have no family history and live a mostly healthy lifestyle. I was utterly perplexed. Now facing cancer for a second time, in my mind is “Well I’ve been dealt this crappy hand again. I can’t avoid it. How do I want this to play out?” Simultaneously, in my heart is “I am completely full of love for my family and friends. If my number is being called up to the pearly gates soon (and I have a lot of questions to be answered when I get there!), then I’m gonna dance and be my true, best self in every possible way on this earth.” As a professional life coach, there is an abundance of self-learning with my clients, as well as insights I’ve had about myself working with my own coach. I’ve discovered how much humor and laughter are the essence of me, much like sadness and crying. They are all emotions that run deep within me, and intrinsically connect me with others. It got me thinking of going on the road and starting the Coaching Cancer Comedy Tour (insert chuckle!). And just like my cancer, drinks are buy one get one free! I’m not sure it would be a sell-out event, but it sure is how I often feel and I wonder if others may feel the same too. When my doctors told me that thyroid cancer is very treatable and “the good cancer to get”, I felt some relief. However, a second cancer growing in my body is still a kick in the gut. When I paused to listen to my gut, I realized that it is also telling me something new here. I have a new freedom to live my life. Laugh out loud (giggling as my youngest son announces to me that I need to tell more jokes!). Unfilter my voice (coach more, write and blog!). Make bold choices (book that trip to Europe I&#8217;ve been putting off!). That’s what I choose to do as I navigate the treatment to eradicate cancer once again from my body. I’m owning it and being with it. I’m claiming that cancer is here and I’m empowered by the gifts it has given me: to see clearly, to hear differently, to feel deeply and to laugh all the more, everyday. This is my mantra and I am LIVING it! &#160; &#160;]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/the-comedy-of-cancer/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>An Old Man in a Music Video Once Said&#8230;</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/an-old-man-in-a-music-video-once-said/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/an-old-man-in-a-music-video-once-said/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 22 Jun 2015 18:00:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Craig Morgan]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Deep]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Died]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[happiness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Loss]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memories]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Money]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Old Man]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[respect]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[This Ain't Nothing]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Trust]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Twister]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Value]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Vietnam]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Wife]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7101</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This afternoon I was listening to music on YouTube for the first time in a while. I usually have my music on my phone, that way I can listen to it on the go. I didn&#8217;t realize how much I missed watching videos on YouTube until I stumbled across Craig Morgan&#8217;s &#8220;This Ain&#8217;t Nothing&#8221; music video. I remember listening to this song when I was younger when it came on the radio. I don&#8217;t even think I liked it when I was that young, because I didn&#8217;t put the deeper meaning with it. In fact, I didn&#8217;t truly put the deeper meaning in it until last year, the most recent time I heard it before today. I feel like Craig Morgan has a lot going for him. He is a respectable person, he is a talented musician, and he manages to stay away from the drama of what seems to be the life of being famous. Not only that, but he is also a pretty good-looking man. With that being said, I think we can all agree than I&#8217;ve made you wait long enough to see what old man I am talking about. In the music video, Craig sings about a reporter who interviews an elderly man after a twister passes through Birmingham where he lives. The twister destroyed his home and everything in it. The reporter asks the man: Tell the folks please mister, what are you gonna do, now that this twister has taken all that&#8217;s dear to you? But the reporter got an answer that he never expected&#8230; The old man just smiled and said, Boy let me tell you something, this ain&#8217;t nothing&#8230; This old man, you know, seems pretty tough. He didn&#8217;t cry like the audience would have thought. He didn&#8217;t ignore the question like some would have thought. He just answered honestly, in his purest form. Most of us would cry, knowing that we just lost everything we have ever worked for. Knowing that every single penny we put into building a foundation is now gone. But some people always decide to see the good in every single situation that is horrific. The old man explains why he thinks that the twister that hit his house is nothing. He said: I lost my daddy, when I was eight years old, That cave-in at the Kincaid mine left a big old hole, And I lost my baby brother, my best friend and my left hand In a no win situation in a place called Vietnam And last year I watched my loving wife, of fifty years waste away and die And I held her hand til her heart of gold stopped pumping, So this ain&#8217;t nothing. This old man lost just about everything he had. His wife, his brother, his dad, his left hand, and his best friend. Little do we realize that when we lose even one person in our life we think that it is the end of the world. Losing anyone, no matter what way, has a toll on our minds forever. This old man stuck through everything and kept going. Even the hardest things to deal with didn&#8217;t keep him from living his life even if there wasn&#8217;t much of it left to live or wasn&#8217;t anyone else to live for. But why would you need someone to live for? Why did living for yourself and your own benefit become almost unrealistic? Toward the end of the song is when I started to tear up. Not because I realized what was said in the beginning of the song, but because I realized how much truth was in the words that this man was saying. This man was on his own because everyone he had in his life had died. As did his wife, just the year before. When he looked down on the ground, He reached down in the rubble and picked up a photograph Wiped the dirt off of it with the hand that he still had He put it to his lips and said man she was something But this ain&#8217;t nothing This man, he knew. He knew what it was like to want for something that he couldn&#8217;t have. He knew how it was to have a love that money couldn&#8217;t buy. This man saw the difference between something that truly mattered and something that really didn&#8217;t. The old man&#8217;s last words in the song are what truly got to me. He said, This ain&#8217;t nothin&#8217; time won&#8217;t erase And this ain&#8217;t nothin&#8217; money can&#8217;t replace Money. We all think money is what runs the world. As that is true, there are many things that money cannot buy &#8211; here are a few&#8230; 1. Love 2. Happiness 3. Respect 4. Trust 5. Value 6. Memories 7. Life So that should leave you with the thought, &#8220;Well, what can money buy?&#8221; Money can buy almost everything that isn&#8217;t a necessary tool for healthy relationships or a healthy life. This man knows what the genuine value of something is. He knows that it will just take money to bring back his house, but that no amount of money in the world will bring back his wife or his brother or his father and his best friend. Money never brought this man happiness. And little by little his happiness was taken away from him throughout life. Not by things money could buy, but by things it couldn&#8217;t. It is sad to believe that we rely on money to control any part of our happiness. How about we try to think like this man for a day in our lives. Oh, what difference it would make! &#160;]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/an-old-man-in-a-music-video-once-said/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Should Coulda Woulda</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 19 Jun 2015 08:30:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Anne Bardsley]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AIDS]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Die]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friend]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friendship]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Heaven]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hell]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Journey]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pray]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sign]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Spirit]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7123</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“Dr. Mort, report to emergency. Dr. Mort, report to emergency STAT.” The operator’s nasal voice roared in my head as the odor of disinfectants crawled up my nostrils. It was suffocating. The “Bing” of the elevator was a welcome relief from the chaos in the hall and in my mind. One by one, floor by floor, they crammed me further into to the back. An intern with huge, dark circles under his eyes, played with his stethoscope to avoid my eyes. No words were meant to be spoken in this sterile place. The arrow pointed up to heaven, as we approached the fifteenth floor, yet my heart knew we were headed toward hell. I adjusted my sunglasses to shield my eyes and especially my heart. The heavy metal doors screeched open. My wobbly knee headed toward room 1512. The bright linoleum corridor ran the length of a football field.  At the twenty yard line, I passed a young man gripping his side rails of his bed. An older woman spoon fed him as tears streamed down her face. At the forty yard line, a man stared into space, hooked up to bottles that drip..drip…dripped life into his veins. His dark, glazed eyes stared past me. At the sixty yard line my heart sympathized with a running back. I couldn’t catch my breath. My clammy fingers reached for the already damp tissues in my pocket. I closed my eyes refusing to believe that my friend Tom’s room was approaching at the eighty yard line. There would be no touchdown today. I’d blocked out the four letters, AIDS. I prayed this was just a nightmare. Any minute I’d wake up and my friend would be his old self. Surely the blood test was mistaken. The doctors were wrong! Even now as the wall supported me, my heart tried to follow this path of denial. I pushed my sunglasses back into place and blinked my eyes toward the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. I met Tom five years prior to him getting sick. He was a business associate and we quickly became friends. My husband and I were very fond of him. I used to joke that if I could pick a brother, I would pick him. He would make a perfect uncle for our kids. His job as a sales rep was to convince us to sell more products. He did so by complaining that if we didn’t increase our sales, he’d be forced to replace his blazing red BMW with an olive green, used truck for his sales calls.  He would grimace and tug on the collar of his Polo shirt looking like a forlorn kid. “Come on, Anne. Please, I can’t drive a truck” he stuttered, like truck was a dirty word. My husband, Scott, suggested he get mag wheels. “You’d be great driving a nice truck.” Tom broke into one of his award winning laughs.  He was twenty- five then. He had it all: charm, a great sense of humor, self- confidence. He was tall with sun bleached streaks in his brown hair, tan and had the world in his hands. &#160; As I reached room 1512, I lifted my sunglasses, but closed my eyes and prayed. “Dear God, don’t let this be true.” Gently I pushed the door open. His eyes were so sunken that his eyebrows looked like caterpillars. He was sound asleep. His once trim body was a bag of bones. Little sticks poked out of the covers making his feet look gigantic in comparison. A thunder storm raged in my chest. I gulped for air. He opened his eyes and smiled. “Hey stranger,” he said softly as we hugged hello. And then the damn burst without warning. Tears rolled down my face. “It’s alright,” he lied to me, patting my back.  His backbones felt so fragile, I was afraid I’d squeeze him to death. “You’re my only visitor,” he said quietly. His family lived states away. His eyes, once full of spark, were dull and tired as he stared out the window. “I’m going home to my parent’s house. My mom is going to keep my dog. He’ll have a good home. But who will drive my beamer?” he grinned. He gulped when he asked, “Who will watch over my mom after I’m gone? I’m her favorite.” My heart was so heavy that he would be leaving this world so soon. I told him, “Tom, if I could ever choose a brother, I would pick you. I can’t imagine a better brother for me.” He laughed. Already I was missing my “pick a brother” choice. Hours later, we hugged farewell and we vowed to keep in touch. I promised to write him funny letters to cheer him up. Emotions and words were circling in my head. My heart was breaking. I wanted to ask him to send me a sign that he’d made it to heaven. Just the thought brought a sting to my eyes and the firing range blasted my heart. “No tears, No tears,” he insisted, raising his skinny arms in protest. His haggard face turned toward away to avoid my eyes.  He rubbed his chin nervously. Without tears, I couldn’t say, “I’m going to miss you. You are a kindred spirit and I’m glad our paths crossed. I wish you a sweet and painless journey. I hope the angels escort you on gentle wing, so swift that it feels smoother than a ride in your BMW&#8230;Only the best for you!” The words lodged in my throat. I wanted to tell him. I really did, but I put on my darkest shades and walked out the door.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>I See My Father in My Son</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-see-my-father-in-my-son/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-see-my-father-in-my-son/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 18 Jun 2015 09:00:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Sara Brennan]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[ALS]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Blue Eyes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Child]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Drool]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Father]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Goodnight]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Lou Gehrig's Disease]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Parent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Scribble]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Smile]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Son]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Talk]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Toddler]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7102</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I see my father in my toddler son when he looks at me – they share those same gorgeous blue eyes that can cut glass or melt your heart. Their eyes are filled with love and challenge; the kind of love that only a parent and child can understand. The kind of love that can endure temper tantrums, heal boo-boos, and teach you significant life lessons. Their blue eyes change colors with their temperament and health, almost like a chameleon. When they’re not feeling well, their pale skin exemplifies the color into a rich, deep blue and when they’re feeling proud, they are just right mix of blue and whatever color confidence might be. Interestingly enough, they share the same I love you, but don’t like your right now look as well – I’ve seen it enough from my father in my teenage years to immediately recognize it in my own child, even though he’s still just a baby. I see my father in my son when he smiles – their eyes squint in the same kind of way. Their personalities are infectious, they’re both social beings, and thrive on attention. They even have a similar forced chuckle when they find something funny. The best thing about their smile is that it’s so genuine – you can actually feel the happiness beaming from their bodies like warm, bright, glowing rays from the sun, which his why people love to be around them. The best thing about their smile is that it’s so genuine – you can actually feel the happiness beaming from their bodies like warm, bright, glowing rays from the sun, which his why people love to be around them. I see my father in my son when he’s happily eating my father’s secret family recipe of homemade spaghetti that I’ve prepared for him for dinner; it’s one of his favorite meals. They both love it greatly and could devour large plates of it – more than any one man or boy should ever eat in one sitting! I thoroughly enjoy watching my son gobble down this meal, not because he’s adorable and completely covered in tomato sauce when he’s done, but because it almost feels like my father is sitting right there at the table too, enjoying this special meal with us. I see my father in my son when he gets frustrated or doesn’t get his way. They’re both wired with the same short fuse that can instantaneously take them from zero to one hundred. They’re passionate, driven, and intense. I see this mostly when my toddler son is trying to tell me what he wants, but can’t quite get the words out. When he is pointing and saying what he needs, as best as he can, but can’t quite articulate, just as my father did. Secretly, I enjoy being one of the only people who can actually understand the slurred, mumbled language they speak. Sometimes it makes me feel privileged or honored that I can help them in that way, however, I wish I never had to have this role with my father. They’re both wired with the same short fuse that can instantaneously take them from zero to one hundred. They’re passionate, driven, and intense. I see my father in my son when I’m wiping the drool from his chin. How I wish I didn’t have this memory. Although my son drools from teething, my father had a very different cause. His weakening throat muscles weren’t working well anymore, causing the saliva to build up in his mouth and sometimes fall out the sides. Oftentimes he would choke, so I would use a suction tube to stop the drainage and make him more comfortable. Just as I do with my son, I would wipe his chin and clean him up without hesitation, all the while, his blue eyes were silently saying thank you. I saw my father in my son when he was learning to walk. He would take a few steps, stumble, and then cling to something to help him stand. For my sweet toddler boy, this was an exciting milestone, however when my father experienced this same stumbling, it meant something very different and grim. See, my father had been suffering for 5 years. Suffering from a terrible disease that took everything from him, including his ability to talk and eat, walk or travel, socialize, function, and eventually breathe. As his body and muscles atrophied, we all prayed he would continue to be able to walk as it was about the only thing he had left going for him, but, towards the end, his disease began to rob him of this as well. For my sweet toddler boy, this was an exciting milestone, however when my father experienced this same stumbling, it meant something very different and grim. I see my father in my son when I hand him a pencil and ask him to draw for me. He clumsily holds it the same way my father did when he would try to write me notes to articulate his words during the last few days and months of his life. He would scribble a few things here and there, mostly happy faces and sad faces, or little hearts that meant I love you; they weren’t words, but it was enough – I knew exactly what he meant. Just as I now do with my son, I saved many of these scribblings, as it was one of our only ways of communicating to each other in this stage of his life; and on this paper, I hold special memories of my father. I see my father in my son as I put him to bed every evening and we go through our nightly bedtime routine. I am always brought back to that hot summer night in July, when for the first time, I went to bed without saying goodnight to my father. It wasn’t on purpose; I actually forgot. Typically, we would have sat together for a while, sometimes a long while, watching TV and I would rub his hands and feet, which were sore and achy from not functioning well anymore. Honestly, sometimes I would try to avoid this nightly routine because, although I loved this time together, he would keep me there for much longer than I ever intended to be, but I didn’t purposefully avoid him on this July 14 night. Somehow, before falling asleep, I realized we had not done our regular nightly TV bonding session and I felt bad. I even said to my husband, Ah, I forgot to say goodnight to my Dad!, but it was late, so my husband and I agreed that I could just wait until tomorrow, but tomorrow never came. I am always brought back to that hot summer night in July, when for the first time, I went to bed without saying goodnight to my father. On July 15, 2007, at about 5:00 a.m., my father, Dominic Andriacchi, died from cardiac arrest caused by Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) or Lou Gehrig’s Disease. I never got to say goodbye or goodnight. I think of this everyday single day, especially when I am putting my son to bed. I think of my father every time I squeeze my son, give him that goodnight kiss, give him one more hug, and tell him I love him. I will never miss this opportunity again; my father taught me the importance of this. I never got to say goodbye or goodnight. I think of this everyday single day&#8230; I see my father in myself when my son wakes up from a bad dream and I comfort him. I assure him, just as my dad did with me in his darkest of days and scariest of times, that everything is going to be alright, even though I have no way of being certain of this. As my parent my father was strong, even when he was dying. As the child, I believed him when he said everything would be OK. I wish I could have done that in return for him; maybe I did? In hindsight, I wish I could have assured him that everything would be alright, especially that one last time – but I didn’t and I often have to ask myself, why? Was this always part of the plan? Would I have known I was going to be saying goodbye instead of goodnight that night? I’ll never know. I see my father in my son every day. His blue eyes are looking at me with love, thanks, and confidence. I know they are both proud of the job I’m doing as a daughter, wife, mother, and woman. But, if I’m being honest, I’m just doing the best I can; thankfully they both saw and see so much more in me. Thankfully, I had the opportunity to know my father, but my son never will – which is why I am so proud to see so much of my father in my son. &#160; &#160; &#160;]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/i-see-my-father-in-my-son/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>15</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Mom Slams People Who Call Their Dogs &#8220;FurBabies&#8221;</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/mom-slams-people-who-call-their-dogs-furbabies/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/mom-slams-people-who-call-their-dogs-furbabies/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Jun 2015 09:00:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[WIRL Project]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baby]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Furbaby]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Furkid]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Insult]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[moms]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Parent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pet]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6931</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[There is a buzz going around online about comparing dogs to children. A recent post titled, No Your Dog Is Not Your &#8220;Baby&#8221; &#8211; Saying That Is An Insult To Moms published by Elizabeth Broadbent from YourTango, discusses how people who refer to their pets as &#8220;Furbabies&#8221; or &#8220;FurKids&#8221; really tick her off.  Apparently, the world had a lot to say about this subject and their weighing in on social media. Broadbent makes comments such as, &#8220;Your puppy is not your child, so stop saying that he is. I have three children now, and I know this for certain — kids and dogs are not same&#8221; and &#8220;Getting a dog just doesn&#8217;t stack up&#8221;, and &#8220;Kids do some amazing things dogs just can&#8217;t stack up to.&#8221;. Broadbent makes comments such as, &#8220;Your puppy is not your child, so stop saying that he is. I have three children now, and I know this for certain — kids and dogs are not same&#8221; and &#8220;Getting a dog just doesn&#8217;t stack up&#8221;, and &#8220;Kids do some amazing things dogs just can&#8217;t stack up to.&#8221;. Many, including hundreds of commenters, are outraged that Broadbent would even &#8220;go there&#8221;. Amy Attaway, a commenter on the post, says, &#8220;For all those women who aren&#8217;t able to have children, these furkids may be all they have. I think it&#8217;s sad you feel the need to belittle people who are doing absolutely no harm to your own life. Concentrate on and love your children. There&#8217;s no need to degrade.&#8221; And Lindsay Combs posted this on her Facebook page, &#8220;I&#8217;ve never given birth nor am I sure if I ever want to or even can, but my dogs are my world&#8230; Just bc I don&#8217;t change their diapers everyday&#8230; [and they don&#8217;t] speak the words &#8220;I wuv you mommy&#8221; doesn&#8217;t mean they can&#8217;t mean the world to me just as a child could. &#8230; don&#8217;t for a second think you can tell somebody what to or what not to call their dogs or any pet for that matter. It 100% should NOT be an insult to Moms everywhere &#38; if it is, you should be ashamed!&#8221; &#8220;I&#8217;ve never given birth nor am I sure if I ever want to or even can, but my dogs are my world&#8230;&#8221; We want to know how the WIRL Project audience feels about this. Can you see what the author is saying or are you outraged at her comments? Do you have your own &#8220;Furbabies&#8221; and do you refer to them as such? Do you have children of your own as well as a family dog? Does the love &#8220;compare&#8221;? Or should we even be having this conversation? Why does it matter who loves who? Can&#8217;t we just be happy there is love going around? Many will have their own opinions, we are all entitled to them, but it&#8217;s how you present yourself as you share your thoughts and ideas that will earn the respect (or disrespect) of others. Why does it matter who loves who? Can&#8217;t we just be happy there is love going around? Tell us what you think about calling dogs and pets &#8220;Furbabies&#8221; and &#8220;Furkids&#8221; in the comments below. Or, better yet, submit your own thoughts and stories here! &#160; &#160; &#160; *Image source: Popsugar.com]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/mom-slams-people-who-call-their-dogs-furbabies/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>9</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Selflessly Saying YES to Self-Care!</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/selflessly-saying-yes-to-self-care/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/selflessly-saying-yes-to-self-care/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 12 Jun 2015 08:00:59 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Alisha Askew]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Health/Fitness]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Chaos]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Comfort]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Enabling]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Energy]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[moms]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Parent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rejuvenate]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Relax]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Self Care]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Selflessly]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Stress]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6825</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Self-care, self-care, self-care AHHHHHHhhhhh! What is all of this self-care talk about!?! As mothers, even though our schedules seems to get tied up somehow some way, studies show that when you allow time for “self”, life will become more rewarding and less stressful despite the chaos. I want to warn you, self-care IS NOT based solely on indulging in the “short term feel good activities” such as comfort foods, TV, pedicures, or shopping sprees. Although these are all great and fun activities, an excess of these can actually elevate one’s stress level, doing more harm than good! Also…recognize that self-care is not selfish. First of all understand that practicing self-care is preventative and it is anything but selfish. Secondly, the amount of self-care that you allow yourself reciprocates from the amount of self-love that you have for yourself. It becomes a revolving door when we do not learn to love ourselves completely or value who we are and own our worth. At that point we become the victim and feel as if life, motherhood, our careers, or marriage is restricting and limiting the time that we are able to take for ourselves. And as a result… our life seems to move farther and farther away from being vibrant, passionate, and what we truly desire. Self-care, in a nut shell, refers to being consciously mindful of your daily life and taking personal responsibility for your complete wellbeing; your physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual health. Breaking it down a little deeper, my definition of S.E.L.F C.A.R.E is: Selflessly Enabling Love For Comforting And Rejuvenating Energy So let’s examine S.E.L.F C.A.R.E a little closer so that you can boldly make it a non-negotiable: Selflessly - Since we know that self-care is a preventative action to better enhance our health and wellbeing, not only for ourselves but for the people around us, we need to set the feelings of guilt, worry, and abandonment free! Be empowered that you unselfishly LOVE yourself, and you are selflessly taking care of self so that you can continue to give to those around you. Enabling - YES! You are giving yourself permission that “ME TIME” is a priority because you understand that YOU are significant and that you add value to the world around you. Say YES to yourself every day! Make YES a natural way of living and loving life. Love - You love yourself right? But how much do you love yourself? How deep in your heart does your love reach? Self-care is an act of love. When you connect with yourself through self-care engagements that enrich your mind, body or soul you are deepening the LOVE, the bond, the relationship, the trust, affection, and awareness that you have with yourself. You should have a best friend relationship with yourself, not a love-hate, frenemy relationship. When you boldly choose to make self-care a non-negotiable, you are not only saying YES to yourself but you are also saying, “I love ME”! And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that! You should have a best friend relationship with yourself, not a love-hate, frenemy relationship. For - With the object or purpose of; Showing love to yourself for comfort and rejuvenation. Comforting - At the end of the day, after we have exerted all of our energy in different spaces, places and people, we are too tired to even think about using any energy on ourselves; if we even have any left! That is why self-care is preventative and should be prioritized in your daily schedule. So instead of feeling empty by the end of the day, we have already took conscious actions to comfort and nurture ourselves which boosts our emotional and mental wellbeing, keeping us calm, cool and collective throughout the day. And - A part of speech that connects two words or phrases; Comforting and Rejuvenating Rejuvenating - Not only does self-care comforts us, giving us a more carefree energy to fuel ourselves, but it also rejuvenates us; energizes and radiates our natural charisma. This is where our glow, ambiance, our “secret sauce” attracts people to us. Energy - How do you want people to remember YOU today? Your energy can either affect or infect not only yourself but your peers, family, friends, dog, etc. Self-care sets the tone for an increased and positive energy. When you love yourself, are mindful of your value and worth, you are less vulnerable and susceptible letting “life and all of its curve balls” get to you. Do not show up in the world as the malnourished, empty, and exhausted you, instead, show up FULLY as the glowing, wholehearted, and refreshed YOU! Do not show up in the world as the malnourished, empty, and exhausted you, instead, show up FULLY as the glowing, wholehearted, and refreshed YOU! When you combine S.E.L.F C.A.R.E all together it reads: Unselfishly giving permission to show love to yourself with the purpose of boosting and energizing your wellbeing so that you can be your naturally vibrant self. Your body is a temple and no matter how strong you are, we are delicate flowers that require consistent nurturing, tender love, and care. Deepen the love that you have for yourself and make self-care a non-negotiable so that you can begin living that vibrant and passionate life that you desire and deserve! What does self-care mean to you? How do you “care” for yourself? I would love to hear the self-care activities that release a comforting and rejuvenating energy to boost your wellbeing! Please share in the comments below! &#160; &#160; &#160;]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/selflessly-saying-yes-to-self-care/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>What It&#8217;s Really Like to Meet and Marry a Single Parent</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-really-like-to-meet-and-marry-a-single-parent/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-really-like-to-meet-and-marry-a-single-parent/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Jun 2015 18:00:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Heather]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Biological]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bloodline]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dad]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Daughter]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Father]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mom]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Parent]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[parenting]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[single]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Single Parent]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=6817</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I was around 10 when I learned that when it comes to family, bloodlines don&#8217;t mean everything, and in some cases, it doesn&#8217;t mean ANYTHING. According to the dictionary, &#8220;Family&#8221; can be defined as: a. A fundamental social group in society typically consisting of one or two parents and their children. b. Two or more people who share goals and values, have long-term commitments to one another, and reside usually in the same dwelling place. Nowhere in these definitions does it state anything about blood or biology. In today&#8217;s society it is not uncommon for a child to grow up without knowing one (or both) of their parent&#8217;s. In fact, it&#8217;s almost becoming abnormal if you ARE raised by both parents. I was around 10 when I found out that my dad, who had been raising me, wasn&#8217;t my biological father. My biological father was out of the picture by the time I was two, around the same time my mom met my dad. I was definitely hurt and confused by everything when I found out. I remember asking myself, &#8220;What is so wrong with me that my own father doesn&#8217;t want to be part of my life?&#8221; It was difficult, especially at a time where you&#8217;re already confused about the changes going on in your life. Even at ten, I never questioned who my DAD was. A father is someone who helps give you life, a dad is someone who helps makes you who you are and is PART of your life. My dad is the one who taught me how to play softball. He almost never missed a softball, basketball, volleyball game, or a track meet. He woke my brother and I up every Christmas morning by yelling &#8220;Ho Ho Ho Merrrrrry Christmas&#8221; with my mom. He helped me move more times that I can count. He taught me what to look for in a guy by giving me the greatest example of what a man could be. Then he walked me down the aisle when I found that guy. I always remember asking myself, &#8220;How could someone just take me in and raise me like I was their own, without thinking twice?&#8221; and then came Dave and Devon. Devon was six when Dave and I met, and had just turned seven by the time that I met her. Dave and I wanted to make sure that we were serious before I met Devon and had the chance to get attached with her and for her to get attached to me. You see, Devon has a very similar situation as I do and her birth mother has never been in her life. Dave was a single father for six years. Most people don&#8217;t even know that Devon and I don&#8217;t share blood. She looks like me&#8230;. A LOT! (A sign that we were meant to be a family, if you ask me.) We hit it off from day one, and I can honestly say that I fell in love with her before I fell in love with Dave. We could not get along any better (even now that Devon is heading into her Freshman year of High School). There were definitely some things that we had to figure out and work through as a family. When Dave, Devon and I started spending time together it was very&#8230; tricky&#8230; trying to find my place in the family. I wanted to build a friendship with Devon, but I also needed her to see me a mother figure. I had to learn when and how to step in and be a parent without feeling like I was overstepping my boundaries. I needed to spend one-on-one time with Devon to get to know her and for her to get to know me. Dave and I both knew that if things did not work with Devon and I then they wouldn&#8217;t work with Dave and I. We didn&#8217;t want to form a family where all three of us would be miserable because Devon and I did not get along. I&#8217;m very lucky that I met Devon when she was seven. Knowing her strong personality, it would have been MUCH more difficult to become a family if we met now instead of 7 years ago. Do I wish that I had met Dave and Devon sooner? Absolutely! But I am thankful that I&#8217;ve already been in Devon&#8217;s life for more than half of her life. (Which she made note of on her 14th birthday &#8211; that she had officially had me for half of her life.) When people do find out that I&#8217;m not Devon&#8217;s birth mother they always comment on how lucky Devon is to have me in her life. What they don&#8217;t understand is that she has been just as good for me. Although Devon doesn&#8217;t share my blood, she is my heart. It is from loving her that I understand how and why my dad could accept me and love me as his own. There is no doubt in my mind that Devon was meant to be my daughter (like I said, the resemblance is almost freaky) and there is no doubt that my dad was meant to be my dad. Some of the best parents that I know are not biological parents. They are people who stepped in and loved children for no other reason but to simply LOVE them and not because they felt like they had to.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-really-like-to-meet-and-marry-a-single-parent/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>
