<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864355431377576666</id><updated>2012-01-14T09:26:54.728-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reflections</title><subtitle type='html'>Some thoughts on my journey</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Terri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13740740921184985985</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z3EzMVdvmHE/S5v2mKNO2PI/AAAAAAAAABk/di24KrvnigA/S220/Photo+405.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>5</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864355431377576666.post-1116892575949216609</id><published>2010-03-16T20:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T20:12:52.259-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Transitions part 1 of many</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I am not gonna lie, I do not embrace transitions as well as say, Paul, who learned to be content no matter what the circumstance. &amp;nbsp;Maybe this is why it is difficult knowing that in a few months my role as a parent is going to change and that both of my children will be out of my house. I know I will always be their mother. &amp;nbsp;But it will be different.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I also know that each time the first child returned I seemed to become smarter and smarter. There was a night she drove home from college because she needed to talk. I totally understand. Now she asks questions, calls for recipes and welcomes my texts, calls and visits. &amp;nbsp;I love this but I also miss her being upstairs every night... even if she was mad at me or needed alone time or needed to complete homework.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I love it when she comes home and we run errands together, make cookies, go to the arboretum, catch a movie or enjoy cooking and design shows.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;My other daughter is a senior... a typical senior which translates to one who is gone most of the time. I know she lives here as I still see her trail of belongings. I do see her but not as much as I'd prefer. &amp;nbsp;She is stepping out into greater independence. &amp;nbsp;She would call it "freedom". &amp;nbsp;I imagine I used the same descriptive word when I was 18.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I hate that I cannot hold time still. It is a time like the first part of morning right before the sun rises and the birds are singing. &amp;nbsp;You wish it could last a little longer than it does. &amp;nbsp; I recall the times I watched for evening in the sky when the girls were young. I shouted for them to come out back and the three of us would look at how God painted the end of the day.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I am so thankful for the daily memories.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2864355431377576666-1116892575949216609?l=ironwomen4him.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/feeds/1116892575949216609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2864355431377576666&amp;postID=1116892575949216609' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/1116892575949216609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/1116892575949216609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/2010/03/transitions-part-1-of-many.html' title='Transitions part 1 of many'/><author><name>Terri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13740740921184985985</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z3EzMVdvmHE/S5v2mKNO2PI/AAAAAAAAABk/di24KrvnigA/S220/Photo+405.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864355431377576666.post-3528873386818289810</id><published>2009-01-02T08:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T08:34:31.594-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking Down the Tree part 2</title><content type='html'>As I removed the ornaments and the lights a strange thing happened. Now I expected needles to fall off because I of my incredible deduction skills. Afterall. many of the needles were already on the floor.  The unusual thing was that the needles did not just fall off-they projected into my arms. Seriously, I had to pluck them out of my skin.  Either there was a remote hidden in the tree with some evil child watching me and thinking, "Okay, there she goes. Hit the ping, ping, ping button."  Not too likely.  Or my tree came from the north, from say Michigan where everyone and apparently everything is depressed from the economy. And my Christmas tree died quickly and with a bit of bitterness. Its last act was not holding the decorations on its once beautiful bows but shooting needles at me.  I am sure it is all because of George Bush. Well, that's what some would say because of the economy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2864355431377576666-3528873386818289810?l=ironwomen4him.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/feeds/3528873386818289810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2864355431377576666&amp;postID=3528873386818289810' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/3528873386818289810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/3528873386818289810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/2009/01/taking-down-tree-part-2.html' title='Taking Down the Tree part 2'/><author><name>Terri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13740740921184985985</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z3EzMVdvmHE/S5v2mKNO2PI/AAAAAAAAABk/di24KrvnigA/S220/Photo+405.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864355431377576666.post-245237094834554394</id><published>2008-12-31T13:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T16:50:51.986-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Taking Down the Tree</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;Taking down the Christmas tree is usually a sad occasion. For 3 weeks I have enjoyed one of my favorite traditions: putting up our tree and decorating it. I enjoy the smell of a real tree. I love the lights and the decorations that span a family's life together.  I love how the homemade ornaments bring memories back to life. I used to sleep under our tree when I was a child. My children have done the same thing and even our beagle participates in this unspoken tradition.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;So I do not rush to take the tree down but this year the tree was so dry and just looked so dead.   I have been concerned that if we even lit a candle the tree would explode into a tropical heat wave of sorts.  I decided that the tree could no longer be in the house, like it was the final straw. "Bad tree. Very bad. Out you go."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2864355431377576666-245237094834554394?l=ironwomen4him.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/feeds/245237094834554394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2864355431377576666&amp;postID=245237094834554394' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/245237094834554394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/245237094834554394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/2008/12/taking-down-tree.html' title='Taking Down the Tree'/><author><name>Terri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13740740921184985985</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z3EzMVdvmHE/S5v2mKNO2PI/AAAAAAAAABk/di24KrvnigA/S220/Photo+405.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864355431377576666.post-789940768001859332</id><published>2008-12-17T20:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T21:09:22.506-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blogging</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I admit to you that I have struggled to write since the SS Minnow took a 3 hour tour, a 3 hour tour.  I do have words that come to my mind and occasionally complete coherent thoughts. Every once in a while I communicate them to others and people nod, grunt or look up from texting. Sometimes I have connected to another human being through this strange thing called communication and it leaves me with a sense that I have discovered a rare &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;phenomenon&lt;/span&gt;, like making fire from rubbing twigs together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;So I am a bit hesitant to blog. Yet I am more hesitant not to blog. Does this make sense to anyone?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I will share something about myself. I love to find treasures. I collect fossils, interesting rocks, antiques, prints, writings and thoughts, to name a few.  There is something amazing that wells up within my heart when I find a treasure. I feel like I have stumbled into someone else's life, into another aspect of time, into the pages of another person's heart, into the sewing of another person's quilt.  Perhaps it is a sense of connection.  This is simply but beautifully sacred. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;Perhaps blogging will be this kind of experience for me.  There are so many hidden treasures.  I hope you find some and share your stories with me!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2864355431377576666-789940768001859332?l=ironwomen4him.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/feeds/789940768001859332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2864355431377576666&amp;postID=789940768001859332' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/789940768001859332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/789940768001859332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/2008/12/blogging.html' title='Blogging'/><author><name>Terri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13740740921184985985</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z3EzMVdvmHE/S5v2mKNO2PI/AAAAAAAAABk/di24KrvnigA/S220/Photo+405.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864355431377576666.post-5001452285690138738</id><published>2008-12-14T01:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T01:32:43.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have had a hard couple of days as a parent. One of the problems is that I feel lost, like I truly do not know how to parent right now. In the past I would talk to others, read as much as I could, and pray for discernment. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One daughter came home excited and one daughter has had a difficult time on multiple levels. Needless to say their communication has been less than ideal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One daughter refuses to put her ornaments on the tree. Okay. They can sit in the box that's okay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have thought frequently about the phrase, "Peace on earth, goodwill to men," I would really love for us to experience this and pass it on this Christmas. Maybe I'll make a t-shirt or start a facebook group about bringing back peace on earth, good will to men. How radical.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2864355431377576666-5001452285690138738?l=ironwomen4him.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/feeds/5001452285690138738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2864355431377576666&amp;postID=5001452285690138738' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/5001452285690138738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2864355431377576666/posts/default/5001452285690138738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ironwomen4him.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-have-had-hard-couple-of-days-as.html' title=''/><author><name>Terri</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13740740921184985985</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z3EzMVdvmHE/S5v2mKNO2PI/AAAAAAAAABk/di24KrvnigA/S220/Photo+405.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
