<?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-6963233233256647186</id><updated>2012-02-16T21:32:28.776-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Letters From Candice</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-9191756726205476972</id><published>2010-04-22T21:28:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T21:40:01.177-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The man who married me...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Sometimes in the middle of picking up toys, clothes, doing dishes, making dinner, etc., it is hard to remember that this life (husband, child and home) is just the middle of a beautiful love story being written by God Himself.  It is good to be reminded that our marriage was a miracle orchestrated by God.  More than that, it is a miracle that my husband is alive today (vibrantly so) and his life shows the personal, loving touch of God.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Timothy shared his story at church this past week (April 18th) and he reminded me again of these things.  I so appreciate his passion, honesty and bravery in sharing what he did.  I hope that you are blessed by it too.  You can listen in on the link below. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.livingrockgillette.com/resources/sermon-audio"&gt;http://www.livingrockgillette.com/resources/sermon-audio&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-9191756726205476972?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/9191756726205476972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2010/04/man-who-married-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/9191756726205476972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/9191756726205476972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2010/04/man-who-married-me.html' title='The man who married me...'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-5179636024004555599</id><published>2010-02-13T15:32:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-02-13T15:49:19.532-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pining</title><content type='html'>I've found myself pining late at night for the friends and camaraderie that I enjoyed in college. This is unusual for me as I don't usually spend much time looking at the past, but I've had a chronic case of nostalgia in 2010.  (I haven't seen this on the symptom list for the second trimester of pregnancy either - though that is to blame for most anything else that ails me.) Don't get me wrong, those friends still exist, but they aren't here and a part of my daily life.  Like me, most of them have turned inward with the acquisition of spouses, homes and offspring.  It is hard to include someone in this small and intensely emotional world when they aren't here and it is the same for them I suppose.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It makes me wonder - have I reached my quota of deep friends for life?  I truly appreciate those I still have, but wonder if I've lost my ability to make more.  If my daughter is awake and present, I seem to only devote half a brain to a conversation and an adult conversation takes a full brain.  The other half of my brain will probably be used up in August when #2 is born.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are still joys each day, but I suppose I'll always miss that web of friendships and people. Though if you would have asked me 10 years ago, I probably would have been yearning for a husband and family :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-5179636024004555599?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/5179636024004555599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2010/02/pining.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/5179636024004555599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/5179636024004555599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2010/02/pining.html' title='Pining'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-4295210926391026388</id><published>2009-11-29T16:06:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-29T16:41:34.454-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/SxMFLGoeuAI/AAAAAAAAACQ/rKAGz4ziuJk/s1600/100_5331.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/SxMFLGoeuAI/AAAAAAAAACQ/rKAGz4ziuJk/s400/100_5331.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409673265719195650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;Water changing the land...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Apparently life in Gillette is not conducive to blogging.  It is also not conducive to technology.  Just this week, the dishwasher stopped working.  This was the morning that I had to make almost all the desserts for our family's Thanksgiving and on a day when calling a repairman was out of the question.  I still haven't caught up on those dishes.  (I think some little fingers have been pushing multiple buttons and blew the circuits.) Then, I dropped my cell phone in the toilet.  Thankfully, it was the first thing in the toilet - hint, hint - I just had to fish in water.  Some buttons work and some don't.  It won't charge, but it will let me make calls as long as it is plugged &lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;in.  I realize this defeats the purpose of a cell phone, but I really use it more as my mobile phone book now that I'm at home most of the time.  On a long drive to Casper last weekend, I blew a fuse in my husband's car while trying to use an old power converter.  That is three, so I'm hoping that I don't have any more technical missteps.  I don't think our budget can take anything else.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ridding myself of some of these items may have a purpose.  I had four hours of driving time with no radio and no company last weekend.  It was the first uninterrupted thinking time I've had in months.  I was on a new road - for me - and I was able to remember how much topography interests me.  I like to watch how places connect and how water - though it is rare - leaves such a deep imprint on land here.  I was able to push back at the press of daily work that fills my head and think about who I want to be in five years rather than what I'm making for dinner tomorrow night.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I took advantage of the opportunity, but I still hope that my husband has changed the fuse the next time I drive his car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-4295210926391026388?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/4295210926391026388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgiving.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/4295210926391026388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/4295210926391026388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/SxMFLGoeuAI/AAAAAAAAACQ/rKAGz4ziuJk/s72-c/100_5331.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-9077125034002308916</id><published>2009-09-09T22:07:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T20:56:30.228-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sqm5voy6ZtI/AAAAAAAAACA/3St81uQJR30/s1600-h/100_5451.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;img style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sqm5voy6ZtI/AAAAAAAAACA/3St81uQJR30/s400/100_5451.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380035457926719186" /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I'm a self-evaluator, a second and third guesser, when it comes to my interactions with other people.  I walk away from a conversation thinking, "that wasn't the tone I wanted."  This has primarily happened in my conversations with adults.  Not any longer.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;A few weeks ago, Hazel was having a particularly challenging day and I was also challenged with keeping my cool.  I picked her up and told her, "You are driving your mama nuts."  She looked at me and said, "Nutsss."  I realized this conversation was all wrong.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;With kids, you do get second chances to correct poor conversations.  We've turned it into a joke and now I ask her "What do you drive your mama?"  She loves to say, "Nuts!"  It's a crowd pleaser.  Hopefully she won't remember that I was serious the first time I said it.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Driving mama nuts is just a day's work for me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sqm430SnozI/AAAAAAAAAB4/ENMDVwAz7WA/s1600-h/100_5245.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sqm430SnozI/AAAAAAAAAB4/ENMDVwAz7WA/s400/100_5245.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380034498939822898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-9077125034002308916?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/9077125034002308916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-self-evaluator-second-and-third.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/9077125034002308916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/9077125034002308916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-self-evaluator-second-and-third.html' title=''/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sqm5voy6ZtI/AAAAAAAAACA/3St81uQJR30/s72-c/100_5451.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-3610689875986019491</id><published>2009-09-02T21:08:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T21:19:05.817-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Home Sweet Home</title><content type='html'>The word is out - we've signed a contract on a townhouse in Gillette.  I didn't go into this process considering a townhouse, but it quickly became the best option in our price range.  It has three bedrooms on the second floor - enough space for guests (hint, hint) for now and more kids later.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It also has a fenced back yard.  This is a must-have with an active Hazel.  An open floor plan on the first floor rounds out our list of wants.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It'll be wonderful to be in our own house again.  Maybe I'll even paint some walls.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-3610689875986019491?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/3610689875986019491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/09/home-sweet-home.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/3610689875986019491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/3610689875986019491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/09/home-sweet-home.html' title='Home Sweet Home'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-8483945634265432024</id><published>2009-08-27T22:03:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T21:24:55.458-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Girls</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sp3lS9YXh5I/AAAAAAAAABw/oeLNjcHL81w/s1600-h/100_5322.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sp3lS9YXh5I/AAAAAAAAABw/oeLNjcHL81w/s400/100_5322.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376705644027414418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;The girls and Hazel.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hazel and Nana&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/SpdYCy6zIBI/AAAAAAAAABg/GbD24G7HoWM/s1600-h/WYOMING+ADRIANA+109.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/SpdYCy6zIBI/AAAAAAAAABg/GbD24G7HoWM/s320/WYOMING+ADRIANA+109.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374861485341351954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;The coming Sunday is a big, sad day because our dear friends are leaving us and returning to Croatia.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Nana" (as Hazel has pegged her), Nina and Dunja have become better friends to us than so many coworkers we've known over the past year.  Of course, they have to return to their home across the world.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I haven't spent much time with international students (they are all working on a master's degree next year) since I was one.  I had forgotten how much I loved having conversations about English idioms, learning about new foods and seeing my own home from a different perspective.   They love their home and have been so willing to share - even hosting a "Croatia Night" at work.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For a crew of childless ladies, they are wonderful with Hazel.  She asks to see Nana every day and Nana faithfully comes to visit her everyday.  She is one of the few people outside of my family that has watched Hazel - and she does it for fun.  She gives me a break while I'm working and while Timothy is working in far off places.  I couldn't have invented a more perfect gift!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've been able to share Wyoming with them too.  We all went to Yellowstone this month and it was so fun to watch Hazel get passed around among so many people she loves.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And yet, they are leaving in a few days.  How do I explain it to Hazel the next time she asks for Nana?  How do we plan a quick trip to Croatia?  I can't think about it without crying a little.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have to put in a plug for Croatia.  We plan to go someday (it'd be sooner if we weren't buying a house) and visit our dear friends and their thousands of islands in the Adriatic Sea.  You should go too - think of it as the secret alternative to Italy.    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll miss these three and hope to meet them again in the wide world.  Thank goodness for Skype!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-8483945634265432024?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/8483945634265432024/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/08/girls.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/8483945634265432024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/8483945634265432024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/08/girls.html' title='The Girls'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sp3lS9YXh5I/AAAAAAAAABw/oeLNjcHL81w/s72-c/100_5322.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-8722954806241819344</id><published>2009-08-20T08:37:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T08:47:43.897-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Never say never</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I know they say that we shouldn't limit God.  I try not to, but when we were considering a move back to Wyoming.  I told God that I'd move anywhere in the state, but I didn't really want to end up in the southwest corner or Gillette (sorry MBE).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We've lived back near our parents for over a year, but this week, Timothy started a job in Gillette.  We'll probably all be there eventually.  After avoiding the place for the last year, I'm actually glad to be headed there (God is mysterious).  We'll have health insurance, Timothy will have better pay and we'll actually be able to live together for the majority of the week again.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes living alone is easier.  I get to make all the decisions, be in control and there is no compromise.  I'm more patient with Hazel because I have to be.  I don't have a back up person in case I'm having a bad moment that can swoop in and take care of her.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, there is no emotional support either and I'm exhausted by the end of the day from working and being a mom.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A marriage is hard to conduct in a chat window.  Gillette - here I come!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-8722954806241819344?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/8722954806241819344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/08/never-say-never.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/8722954806241819344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/8722954806241819344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/08/never-say-never.html' title='Never say never'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-3644363807133582159</id><published>2009-08-03T13:45:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T13:58:58.829-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Flu Beauty</title><content type='html'>I've had the flu about five times in the past 12 months.  This is after a hiatus of about 10 years.  I hope that God is not preparing me for bad morning sickness with my next kid.  Last night was incident number five.  You (and I) may wonder what beauty there is in the flu.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of my biggest fears before having children was what I would do when I got sick.  How can you nurse a baby when there is no liquid left in your stomach?  How can you take care of a toddler when you can't leave the bathroom?  God has been merciful this year though.  Either Timothy has been home to take care of Hazel, he has been able to come home to take care of Hazel, or I've gotten sick at night after she has gone to bed.  Last night was no different.  Timothy was home and it was the violent, but speedy version of the flu.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I no longer have to worry about nursing, but it was amazing to see how my body would provide for Hazel when I didn't think I had any moisture left in me.  Mentally and emotionally, I want to do good for her even if it is to my own hurt.  Apparently my body agrees.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anywho, liquid stopped leaving my body in the middle of the night.  Timothy was off early to work.  I'm sitting here - floppy, drinking from my large stock of Pedialyte and strangely thankful.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-3644363807133582159?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/3644363807133582159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/08/flu-beauty.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/3644363807133582159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/3644363807133582159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/08/flu-beauty.html' title='Flu Beauty'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6963233233256647186.post-8615329017854752152</id><published>2009-07-28T20:51:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T21:08:26.378-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A New Camera</title><content type='html'>Here I am, ready to blog.  I've been keen on the idea for awhile, but I've had to really think about why I want to start another hobby.  (That is, in addition to the soap-making I started last week.)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is a good question - why do people. specifically me, think they need a blog?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I come by letter writing naturally.  Before a husband and children, I wrote long letters to friends and I kept most of the letters they sent to me.  This includes a letter sent by a friend when we were in the 2nd grade.  I think it still has peanuts taped to the top of it.  There are other ways to keep in touch - email, facebook, cell phones.  However, none of these encourage complex thought or sentences quite like a letter.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I attended a wedding this summer.  I took pictures and some of my more talented friends took pictures too.  Comparing the photos, you'd barely be able to tell that we were at the same wedding.  Why?  Yes, they have nicer cameras than mine, but they also have better perspectives.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I need that in my own life.  I live in a unique place - on top of a mountain in the midst of beauty. However, I get up and go to work like a large majority of the population.  It is hard to notice the beauty sometimes.  BUT - if I am going to write someone a letter, it forces me to consider what might be their perspective and enjoy my own life from a better angle and with a larger lens.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That is what this blog is for me - a new camera.    &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6963233233256647186-8615329017854752152?l=lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/feeds/8615329017854752152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/07/new-camera.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/8615329017854752152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6963233233256647186/posts/default/8615329017854752152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lettersfromcandice.blogspot.com/2009/07/new-camera.html' title='A New Camera'/><author><name>Candice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00183321011975811123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_74lz0GfjTX8/Sm-q25HxqeI/AAAAAAAAAAg/zCeSXWB4aro/S220/Nessie.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
