Amongst the poop springs poppies.

It's been a while, so with hands shaking and mind fumbling, here goes nothing.

I started this blog in the wake of my first breakup, and from that place of loss a beautiful thing sprouted forth. Like flowers that spring up through chicken poop. When you initially fertilize a garden it stinks, but give it time and you won't be smelling the poop anymore, but the roses. That's what I have found to be true.

I am starting again in another place of loss. Might as well take advantage of this full-circle moment, right? But if you look back to my first breakup post, and then to this one, I would hope it looks different. I'm older now. I have gray hairs. Swings make me dizzy, and life sure is too. But this time is different. The breakup was a mature one, I have no anger. No resentment. No teen-angsty spoken word. And although the crashing out of love was not nearly as loud and dramatic, I am more torn than before. The love was a more mature one, too.

This time I just have hope. And where is the source of my hope?

Over a year ago, well before any of this, I went on a retreat with some Carmelite Sisters. On this retreat were many talks regarding various topics in the Catholic faith. After one in particular, as I was reflecting on it I was very inspired. Like a strong wind had blown the words into my midst and it was all I could do to whip out my phone and type them down before they flitted away. Now I find these notes again today, in my place of loss, and I know without a doubt they were not for an inspiration for Katherine of a year ago, but intended for Katherine of today, who needs a reminder of why suffering and loss is okay.

And I feel convicted to share it, for anyone else who is experiencing loss. Who finds themselves broken, rejected, wondering what the heck is the point to all of this. For anyone else whose life stinks.

"I can't be scared of being wounded because if I look at my heart and see wounds, then look at His heart, what will I see? It is pierced. My wounds make me like Christ and we are united. Life will wound me. Regardless of what I believe in. With Christ, wounds have purpose. Without Him it's just scar tissue... I don't know what God wants me to look like. I don't know what a 'perfect me' is. Instead of trying to be a 'perfect me' I must keep my eyes on Him. Looking at Jesus, that is who I need to be. That is what I want to look like. Jesus on the cross, with all that He is, is my mission statement. I will be wounded, humbled, sacrificed. But I will also be love. I will be self-sacrificing, I will be obedient. I will be a teacher and a healer. I will be an encourager. A lover. Strong...

So I will not shy away from something that might wound me, rather I will rejoice. Because He is inviting me to become more like Him. To walk with Him on the road to Calvary. And to then be glorified with Him. I will praise Him in every hardship, every wound. Every stab through the heart. Because then my heart will be like His, pierced."

Right there is the source of my hope. In a God who inspired me over a year ago, so I would have the encouragement I needed today. In a God who knows hardship. Knows heartbreak. Who didn't deserve it, and got dealt the poor hand anyway. I have hope in a God who wanted to know our pain, and so came down and experienced the worst of it so that when I am heartbroken 2000 years later, I can have hope in a God who knows. Through this pain, just like He promised a year ago, I have felt like I know Him better and am closer. Amazingly, in the middle of all this stink, my faith is actually being made stronger.

Amongst the poop springs poppies.

Have hope, do not be discouraged for we are never alone. Know my prayers for you.

Kat

Activator

My writer has been stuck inside a biologist. She has been invaded by microbes, bacteria, viruses. Left stifling for breath by TB, HIV leaving her unable to recover. The biologist asks for her help sometimes, and she squeals with excitement at the chance to write seven pages. Even if it is on genetic linkages, it is still linking words.

It's interesting all the ways biology has shown me what I'm made of. While it is clear my writer is written into my genome, is part of every cell of my being, like genes she isn't always allowed to express herself. She is regulated by external repressors: studying, work, friends, events, by having a mere 24 hours in the day. And genes aren't constant either, transducing particles can come in and rewrite, recombine, and suddenly you aren't who you once were. Things are deleted sometimes. After not hearing anything from her for a while, I was scared maybe my writer was one of the lost genes.

However, we also learned that every repressor has an activator that will literally make it fall away. They come in many different forms. This one came in the form of good writing. The repressor fell away, the writer woke up, and although it seems to have recombined with the input of hours of studying microbiology, she was free to express herself.

Repressed she was, but not gone. Thank God.

~Kat

P.S. Many thanks to my activator, MB.

5 things I wish I knew

In the midst of all the Buzzfeed lists, I swore to myself I would never add to it. But per request (you got it MB), there was no better way to say this. Here are five things I wish I knew or wish I had taken more seriously before starting college:

1.Don’t buy supplies before going to class.

School shopping is one of my favorite things, I love going to Target and getting all my new notebooks and pens and pencils and a cute little pencil bag and folders and binders, stuffing them all in my backpack and heading off to school the first day full of freshly sharpened pencils and erasers with no signs of ever having made a mistake. In college, that was my first mistake. I wasted a lot of money. I showed up the first day, the professor gives out their syllabus and starts their first lecture and suddenly it is abundantly clear that I won’t need a notebook at all, or my lab wants a specific composition book, or that I really just needed an iPad with his power points downloaded and ready to go. So waiting until your first class to buy all those supplies is a good idea. This can go for textbooks too. Some professors don’t use the book, and either they let you know the first day or rate my professor will let you know (that website is a God send). This could end up saving you hundreds of dollars if you ended up not needing a textbook.

2.A good professor makes a huge difference.

I had to take two semesters of organic chemistry. The first semester was hard but I had an adorable little Canadian professor who was young and spritely, had regular office hours, was very patient and always ready to help. I managed to get an A. Second semester I had an older Swedish professor with an attitude even stronger than his accent, had inconvenient office hours times, was impatient, and was always ready for you to go ahead and figure it out yourself. Leave him alone. I somehow got a B, but I also had many panic attacks and trouble eating from the stress. Professors matter big time, and it doesn’t take long on rate my professor for it to be abundantly clear who is a bad egg. If he is the only professor teaching it and you have to take that class, try your hardest to find someone who has taken it already and can tell you their pet-peeves and the best ways to study, etc. Anything would help, don’t be so proud or lazy as to not seek it out.

3.Don’t ditch flashcards.

There are some cool apps out there that can help you study, can make quizzes for you, or you can type yourself up a study guide or what-not, but when it comes down to it, you can’t beat flashcards. They are the best when you need to memorize something hands down. First, the action of writing them gets it in your head once. Second, having a flashcard makes sure that part of the answer is hidden and it does require some recognition on your part (rather than just reading a study guide) which gives your brain more practice recalling a certain fact. Third, when you have some concepts down, you can put those flashcards aside and just drill the ones you don’t have yet. Fourth, they are portable and you’ll look like the coolest kid in school. Don’t redesign the wheel. The wheel already works. Use flashcards.

4.Talk to a professional.

Whatever your idea is for what you want to do after college, talk to someone who is already doing that. I wanted to be a doctor until I talked to a medical school resident, realized I need much more sleep then that, and then followed around a physician assistant in a hospital and realized I really want to spend more time with the patients than doctors do. It took one shift of actually being there and talking with someone for me to see where I would clearly fit. Classes can’t show you what the job will actually be like, and there is no better way for you prepare for that and figure out what you want to do, than being with someone actually doing it. Simple as that. Make the phone call, send the email, talk to that person who knows that guy. Shadow someone, volunteer somewhere, or just have a conversation. It is so worth it, gives you experience with reaching out to people in a professional manner, and if you end up wanting to go into that field, it gives you a reference and starts you out with a little networking.

5.Schedule in what matters.

In high school I can recall times when I would be studying or doing homework, then getting to the bottom of the study guide or whatever, closing the book, and knowing I was done. There was no more schoolwork to be had, I was free. I have never experienced that since entering college, don’t be scared of that, just acknowledge it as fact. If you are the kind of person that has a hard time with that, know that it is more than okay and perfectly sane for you to leave some things undone and is a huge advantage to be able to acknowledge that even though your work is not done, you are done, and any work that you would produce after this point would be gobbledygook anyway. Close the laptop and walk away, it’s okay.

That being said, because college does tend to be busier, you need to figure out what are the things in this world that keep you sane (for me it is time with friends, playing music, writing, reading, etc.) and when it gets busy, schedule that time in. It is so important, and this comes from someone who had an extremely stressful last semester and did not schedule in enough of this time and suffered because of it. Learn from my mistakes.

6.Make good friends.

You need people around you who will hold you accountable to the things in number five. Friends who will help take care of you when you aren't taking care of yourselves, who will build you up and be your cheerleader, but also know when you need to be taken down a step and remind that you aren't the Queen of Sheeba. You need people who you can call for anything. Besides the cutesy stuff, good friends can be strategic too. A good friend to have in college would be an upper classman who is in your major, or someone older than you who can give you a little bit better advice than your friend who is just as young and naive as you. Also having a friend that is younger than you to keep you down to earth will help a lot too. Friends are what get you through, so make sure you aren't wasting your time with bad ones. Be with people who love you.

~Kat

Daily Journal #1

Everyone gets scared a little bit the first time they do something. Trying to climb higher than you ever have, sing louder than ever before, or walk tall into a room of faces you've never seen is scary. But what about a first time in a long time but its actually your bajillionth time and you should be good at this fear? Because that is a very real fear, and its definitely scarier than the first time.

The first time I ever wrote a blog post was almost three years ago now. And that was scary. But then I wrote 46 more that year and it wasn't so bad anymore. Now it's been three months since I've written and much longer since I've written anything I'm truly proud of and trying to sit down here and write for fifteen minutes is daunting. There's an expectation looming over me. This isn't my first rodeo, I should be able to write, and write well.

That expectation sucks, because the first time you do something you can expect to be bad at it. But after you've been considered a pro, and you try to come back, you have the expectation to be a pro, but with the skill of a rookie.

I'm picking up a pen thats ink has gone dry. I'm hoping that if I scribble around and shake it up enough, maybe it will be able to write again.

Fingers crossed
~Kat

We Got Time

I started this blog in a place of loss. Some of you may still remember that one of my very first posts, entitled Raw and Retching, was about the poor timing of a series of unfortunate events. I got dumped on my six month-aversary. I got stomach flu on New Year’s Eve. And to tie it all together, I had bought my then boyfriend a watch for Christmas, and proceeded to give it to him after the break up along with a strongly worded poem expressing my frustrations and hoping that this watch will help him with his timing.

The break-up and stomach flu itself was not that bad. We hadn’t been clicking for months, I saw it coming, had even thought about it myself, and the stomach flu probably kept me from doing some pretty irresponsible things on my first New Year’s outside of my own home. No, the experiences themselves were not awful.

What got me so upset, and so inspired, was the poor timing. At the time, my motivation, my number one priority, and my identity was all lodged into that relationship. Once that was gone, so was the rest, and I did not want to deal with it. Not on what would have been our six month, right before Christmas, and in the middle of my junior year of high school. It was not the right time.

Or was it?

After this break-up I had nowhere to sit at lunch anymore, so I wandered into my English class and befriended my teacher. She saw a lot of potential and goodness in me, and inspired me to start this blog. So I did and part of my identity and motivation, that was lost, returned. I was a writer and I had readers.

A few months later I found myself at a youth group where Jason Evert, a national speaker, inspired me to start a six month dating fast. This meant I would not even think about entering into another relationship for at least six months and focus on repairing my self-worth, my identity, and my motivation by making God and spirituality a priority. During this time my faith grew exponentially. I became self-assured. I went on a week long retreat in July that completely changed how I live my life and set my priorities in stone, with God as number one. My identity, my worth, the love and kindness I tried to give, my motivation, and my purpose all came from Him and I could take a deep breath knowing that I had nothing to worry about.

I entered my senior year a transformed person. I was satisfied and filled. The fact that I was single was not in the front of my mind, nor was it a worry or strain. Two months into the school year, I was given Austyn. It all happened fast, and before I knew it I was deeply committed with no looking back. And this time it was different. This time, he isn’t my motivation. Instead he reminds me of what I should be motivated about. He isn’t my sole priority, but instead he wakes me up when he sees my priorities skew. He isn’t my identity, but loves me and supports in what I indentify with.

And whenever I would voice any doubts, his response from the very beginning was always “We got time.”

So yes. Timing is everything, and everything happened according to plan. It just didn’t happen according to mine.

I gave a watch, and was given time.

~Kat

P.S. Thank you, Austyn, for reminding me it had been a while since I had written, and making sure this stays a priority. You're the best.

An Experience

“So how was your first year?”

Whenever I was asked this question I would respond, “It was great!” Then I would proceed to list off my evidence as to why my freshman year of college was great. I met some really nice people, people with very different perspectives than mine that opened my eyes. I learned a ton, and was challenged, but didn’t die. Being a commuter was actually really awesome because I didn’t have to deal with dorming and could sleep whenever I wanted and eat home-cooked meals. I also got to stay in touch with a lot of my friends that stayed in town.

I think most people’s response when asked about their first year is pretty similar to mine. All of our first years were great! At this point, it’s like a conditioned response. It had to be great, because no one wants to hear otherwise, right? And if it wasn’t great, why would I tell you that? I don’t want a pity-party. I want to be able to tell you that it was great, that I did awesome things, and got that internship, and yea, I did go to that party. Aren’t you so happy for me?

But here’s the part where we run into trouble. It’s the summer after our first year, we are seeing people that we hadn’t seen in months, and you ask them, “How was your first year?” And what do they tell you?

“It was great!”

Then they list all the great things they did their first year of college, and your thinking, well crap. Their year sounds awesome. I didn’t go to Mexico for Spring Break. I didn’t slip and slide down the hallway of my dorm. I didn’t go to my homecoming football game or meet 30 of my best friends in my awesome new sorority.

I can count the number of friends I made my freshman year on one hand. I didn’t go to any parties. I was actually pretty reclusive, being a commuter. I didn’t want to have to drive out there more than I had to, so I didn’t join any clubs. My best friend moved across the country and keeping in touch with her was really hard, and I missed her a lot. Classes would become difficult, I would be tired, have a pain in the butt teacher that doesn’t know how to use Blackboard, be overloaded with work, and come weekend I was ready for a girl’s night and my girl was in a different time zone. I would forget to eat. My piano didn’t get its fair share of action, and it wasn’t the only keyboard that was getting dusty. I didn’t write not only because of a lack of time but a lack of inspiration. My second semester was an emotional roller coaster, with Organic Chemistry almost gutting me of all my carbon-based energy sources and I think I might have actually been a little depressed for a little while there.

But we don’t say all that, do we? Our freshman years were awesome. Mine was great. And yours was just as “great” as mine.

“So what is the college experience? What is it like?”

To all those heading off in a few weeks for their freshman year, don’t let this discourage you. This wasn’t meant to be a discouragement, but an encouragement. You’re freshman year will be a change, and most likely a good one with lots of firsts and beautiful memories made. Mine definitely was that. But your freshman year will not be perfect, it will be about as perfect as anyone’s freshman year is. You will come home for winter break and people will ask you how your first semester went. And you will answer them that it was great. And sometimes it will be difficult to come up with your evidence of why it was great.

But take courage, because everyone’s freshman year was just as “great” as yours. You’re not alone in that. People hype up the college experience, and I think that’s not really fair to do. College is an experience. And that is all.

The best that we can do is enjoy what we can enjoy, and accept what we can't as just a part of it.

~Kat

I Don't Do Sadness

I work as a waitress at a dive bar; literally, there is an old diving suit in the entryway. Our uniforms have the slogan “get your ship together” printed across the back, and about five months ago, I was sitting in my car before my shift sobbing. I walked in with puffy eyes and a big how-do-you-do smile. A few months later I was crying yet again in my car, driving home from the airport. I went in to work that afternoon with my ship together and swore I would never cry at work again. I broke that promise when I had to ask for a day off to go to a funeral. After that I gave up.

I feel like sometimes I treat sadness like a disease. It’s something to be contained and controlled. I definitely don't want to go out if I know I have it, should it to spread to anyone else. I have many remedies to make it go away, and I take precautions to keep it away.

It took a children’s movie to show me that I was wrong. Sadness in Pixar’s Inside Out was a very troubled little character. She was constantly outshined by Joy. As things were heading into turmoil, it was even more important that Sadness stayed contained.

When my boyfriend went across the country for a summer job, I tried to fill my days with as much Joy as I could. I surrounded myself with friends, tried to plan every second of every day with fun activities, made sure that I was plenty busy with work and school. I did have fun, I was busy, but at the end of the day I would come home and all I would want to do was tell him about it. I just wanted to sit with him. I would be on a hike or watching the sunset and would be thinking about how much he would enjoy being here right now. I would say a stupid joke and could see his eyes rolling. I would be craving Thai food, which I didn’t even like before he made me try it, and suddenly I would just be hungry for him. Joy could try her hardest, could use every trick in the book, and it wouldn’t make me miss him any less.

And this makes me sad. But what this new kid’s movie taught me was that Sadness was okay. Sadness is not a disease to be contained or protected against. Sometimes there are things that Joy cannot reach and overcome, and the only thing left is Sadness. Sometimes Sadness just needs to do her thing, and after an hour of crying, you actually somehow feel better.

It doesn’t mean that I am weak or broken. Even Jesus cried. When He had heard that one of His close friends Lazarus had died, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). Some things are worth admitting that you are not strong enough, some things are worth breaking for. It means we are alive and human. Missing someone isn’t so bad, because it means you have someone worth missing.

In the end, it wasn’t Joy that brought her home. It was Sadness.

~Kat

A Few Farewells

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..."

"A time to tear down, and a time to build..."

It had many names. It was born a Volvo, but soon it was Mommy's car. Boosters in the back, it's cushions coughed cookies and quarters, sand in every seat, it was a true kid car. This hatchback carried groceries, soccer balls, beach toys, but most importantly it carried a family through its beginnings. My sister and I hatched back there. Then when it was our turn to fly, it became the Driving Instructor. It whined at every stop and wheezed to a start. It taught us never to speed, shaking us back to our senses whenever we neared 70 mph. When it was finally mine, it became Kat's Cradle. It held me through rain storms, it absorbed 5 surfboards, could bear an entire band of guitars and amps and mic stands. It watched me fall in love for the first time. It was carrying my love and I to the cheapest bowling alley in town. It absorbed a Nissan at 65 mph into the precious passenger's side. It watched us walk away, without a scratch. It did its job, but it would bear no more.
Farewell.


"A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them..."

My love walked out of that car so he can walk into a plane, to an opportunity worth living for. I am walking into a summer of letters, long-distance phone calls, and shortness of breath as I wait for my heart to return. Distance is scary. We're told distance stretches the heart like taffy. The farther it stretches, the easier it breaks. But I think that is wrong. I think the heart is more like a rubber-band; strong, made to handle a little strain, and home in a snap. Just like a rubber-band, we will hold it together.

It's also graduation, a time for scattering. But don't fret. We will all hold it together. And until it is time to gather again we say:
I love you, farewell. For now.

"A time to be silent and a time to speak..."

It has been seven months since I have written anything, which was scary. I thought maybe I was saying farewell to writing. Maybe I would never be able to again. But the past semester was only a time of silence. Biology and chemistry left me speechless. But now,the changing season has brought not only a freedom of time but a freedom of mind. I am back again. Just as easily and quickly as when I left. Through the distance, I held it together.

"What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time." -Ecclesiastes 3:1-11

Seasons change, and that's okay. "There is a season for every activity under the heavens." Every activity, even the sad ones, the ones we don't feel like doing, the ones that leave us tired. This is not a bad thing. These seasons have a purpose. It is easy to lose faith when something doesn't go our way. I lost mine along the way. And with it I lost myself. Everything was harder to bear. Days became long and arduous. I could catch myself asking, what was the point? "What do workers gain from their toil?" From all the difficulty, do we gain anything at all?

The answer is of course we do. Graduates, when you walked across the stage, were you still thinking all your hard work was for nothing? No. When architects finish a building, and walk through the lobby, are they thinking about how much of a waste all those sleepless nights were? No.

When you can see the fruits, all labor is made worth while. So have faith that the fruits will come with time. "He has made everything beautiful in its time."

Keeping faith is hard, I know, but not having any is definitely harder.

~Kat

Be Satisfied With Me

"Everyone longs to give themselves completely to someone,
To have a deep soul relationship with another,
To be loved thoroughly and exclusively.

But to a Christian, God says, "No, not until you are satisfied,
Fulfilled and content with being loved by Me alone,
With giving yourself totally and unreservedly to Me.
With having an intensely personal and unique relationship with Me alone.

Discovering that only in Me is your satisfaction to be found,
Will you be capable of the perfect human relationship,
That I have planned for you.
You will never be united to another
Until you are united with Me.
Exclusive of anyone or anything else.
Exclusive of any other desires or longings.
I want you to stop planning, to stop wishing, and allow Me to give you
The most thrilling plan existing...one you cannot imagine.
I want you to have the best. Please allow Me to bring it to you.

You just keep watching Me, expecting the greatest things.
Keep experiencing the satisfaction that I am.
Keep listening and learning the things that I tell you.
Just wait, that's all. Don't be anxious, don't worry
Don't look around at things others have gotten
Or that I have given them
Don't look around at the things you think you want,
Just keep looking off and away up to Me,
Or you'll miss what I want to show you.
And then, when you're ready, I'll surprise you with a love
Far more wonderful than you could dream of.

You see, until you are ready, and until the one I have for you is ready,
I am working even at this moment
To have both of you ready at the same time.
Until you are both satisfied exclusively with Me
And the life I prepared for you,
You won't be able to experience the love that exemplified your relationship with Me.
And this is perfect love.

And dear one, I want you to have this most wonderful love,
I want you to see in the flesh a picture of your relationship with Me.
And to enjoy materially and concretely the everlasting union of beauty, perfection and love that I offer you with Myself.
Know that I love you utterly. I AM God.
Believe it and be satisfied."

This was written by Saint Anthony of Padua.

I wish I had written it. The love he talks about is true. It exists. The promises he talks about are already made and will not be broken. I not only believe it, but have been lucky enough to have seen this materialize in my own life.

My freshman year I didn't have many friends, there was nothing I had a passion for, I went to school and I didn't know why or what the point was. I just knew I wanted love and wanted purpose. Then I was asked to give God a chance, and because I had nothing left to lose, I did.

Freshman year, I wouldn't have believed St. Anthony. I wouldn't have trusted that all these things could happen. I wouldn't have believed all the beautiful friendships I have, wouldn't have believed I would be writing a blog and people would be reading it. I wouldn't have believed I would stand up in front of people and talk about my faith. I wouldn't have believed I would play music in weddings. I wouldn't have believed that I could look at someone and want to love them but know deep down that I can't, and experience the heartbreak of realizing that wasn't love. I wouldn't have believed that God could heal heartbreak or teach me what love truly is. I wouldn't have believed that heartbreak was God getting me ready for anything greater than being forever alone. I wouldn't have believed that as I'm writing this, I would be looking across the room at someone I know I love, and I know loves me, and I know God had prepared us both to experience that love.

I wouldn't have believed God would give me any gift that great.

But He did.

And if this is true, there truly wasn't anything to lose, but everything to gain.

Believe it and be satisfied.

~Kat

The view was beautiful.

"On a scale from one to ten, how scared are you right now?"

I said ten.

Looking back, I still say ten.

This was in February and I was clinging to a rock. Below me was a 10 foot fall to some more rocks. I was with my friend Ryan and my boyfriend Austyn, who was celebrating his birthday, so this was a birthday hike. I hadn't been on very many, but I knew Ryan and Austyn liked to hike, so I thought I would try it out. Little did I know, hiking to these boys also meant bouldering (minor rock climbing without any harnesses). So by the time the trail ended at rocks, I was surprised and a little nervous, but I'd been rock climbing in gyms before so this couldn't be that different.

It was very different.

There were many points on our "trail" where I had to be lifted up out of crevices and coached through my fear of heights (which I thought I had already conquered, but it conveniently returned). I had just been pulled out of one of these crevices by Ryan, Austyn was behind me, and we were sitting on top of a big rock. Ryan goes ahead onto the next boulder to conquer, salamander slaps himself against it and shimmies up to the next ledge about 8 feet above us.

I start looking around, the wind is blowing through my hair, and we are totally on the edge of a cliff.

"Okay, you're turn. Flatten yourself against the rock like Ryan just did. Don't look around. Go into tunnel vision, just look at the rock in front of you, and army crawl up. I'll be right behind you, Ryan is above you waiting. You can do this."

I didn't want to do this. I was terrified, my legs were shaking and I just wanted to go back down the mountain.

"There's no way back down. The only way to go is up."

Austyn was right, so I sucked it up, kept my eyes on the rock (which had no foot or hand-holds, by the way) and crawled.

That was a ten, and still is a ten. I have never been more scared in my life. I was easily imagining all the ways I could slide off that rock and to my death. I was forced to put full trust in two teenage boys to lead me up this rock. I didn't know what was next and waiting for me on the other side of that ledge, I didn't know how much farther until the summit, and I didn't know how much strength I had left.

Right now, my life is at a ten. I'm just starting college, I have some kind of idea of what I want to do, but not much. Mistakes and wrong decisions have more weight now than they did in high school. It's so easy to see all the ways I could fail. I don't know what the next four years will have in store for me, I don't know what kind of career I will end up in, and I don't know how far away that "summit" is. I don't know if I'm prepared for what life is going to throw at me. As far as my life goes, I am in tunnel vision. All I can do is stick to what I know, look at the weeks to come, and army crawl through it.

Not knowing is terrifying. It's a ten. But in times like these, I am lucky enough to know I have someone that I can put my trust in. I know there is someone up on the ledge ahead me, who can see where I'm going, guide me to where I will go, and knows how to get me to the summit. That's what faith is. That's why when there's nothing else I can do, I don't give up. I just keep going. I trust, because there's nothing else to do.

And no, it's not easy, and it never has come easy, and it never will. That hike was not easy. After climbing over that rock, there was still another half-hour of rocks to come before we got to the top. But it was well worth it. I was surprised by what my body could handle and I was proud of myself for keeping up with the guys.

And man, the view was beautiful. So I have hope that my life will be too.

~Kat

"Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope" (1 Peter 3:15)

Too Cool for School...?

I got lost on the way to my first class. I somehow ended up in the music building (I think my subconcious was leading me to where I actually wanted to be). Anyways, after finding the right building, I tripped up the Women's stairs. I say Women's stairs becasue the sign for the stairway also indicated a women's restroom. At first glance it looked like the stairs were gender specific, just waiting for me to be able to fully express my femininity as I climbed them. I got a nice little chuckle out of that one. But the Women's stairs betrayed me, because when I tripped up them, any illusion that I was cool, calm, and collected was chucked out the window.

I was one of the last people to show up to class, so I plopped down in the back of the room. I was nervous being in a room filled with people I didn't know (except for the girl sitting next to me, I knew a little bit about her). I was brought back to that Freshman english class on my first day of high school where I knew not a soul, and any progress I had made the past few years with coming out of my shell and gaining some social skills seemed to have been left at home.

Then an angel in disguise stumbled into our class about 15 minutes before it was over. I vaguely recognized him as someone who was in my high school class. Then I remembered he was a senior standout, so a pretty popular dude. He was super frazzled and sat down in the last seat available right up front. He started rustling around in his backpack and then looked around and realized everyone is staring at him. Hi, are you in the right class? my teacher asks. No, he was not. After about five minutes of confusion, he realized his class started in a half hour and he was very early. So he packed up his stuff and awkwardly left.

I cannot tell you how much that poor little lost soul of a boy helped me out. This kid was very popular in high school: he had a beautiful girlfriend, tons of friends, was a total Rico Suave. But even he was out of his element, and it looked like the first day was hitting him much harder than it was hitting me. I couldn't help but smile.

Truth is, nobody is cool on the first day. No one. Not even Rico Suave. So really, there's no use in trying. Because face it, you're not cool. Any illusion that you were cool in high school is gone, because this isn't high school, and you probably weren't even that cool in the first place.

The rest of my first week was magic. The nerves were gone and I was able to meet some really nice people because I was freed from trying to keep up the facade of being cool, whatever that is. I was just trying to be myself. The kind of person who tripped up the Women's stairs and then on the way back down hit herself with the door.

~Kat

Dear Fresh Meat at the Lunch Bunch Picnic,

and anyone else who is going to be experiencing a little bit of change in the months to come.

My first day of freshman year I spent an hour trying to figure out what to wear because I'd never had to pick out my own wardrobe for school before. Instead of plaid and polos, I chose jeans and a sky blue V-neck that was too big for me. I woke up the next morning and was exhausted when I realized I had to do this again. Nothing that I chose ever seemed to be good enough.

I have woken up and put on clothes for 1,339 days since then. They fit better now.

My first class of freshman year was english, and our teacher asked us to call her by her first name. I can still remember the group of girls sitting in the back corner of the classroom, chit-chatting every morning. I sat in the front row, an observer of their friendships and intermingling pasts, wishing I still had my old friends with me. Every once in a while I got the courage to say something to them and interrupt their already put together lives, hoping maybe one day I will have friends like that again. The first friend I made in high school was that english teacher.

Four years ago, I never would have believed it, but I have friends like that again. Although, I'm still friends with my english teacher.

Change is scary and uncomfortable. It's like when you have the flu and you promise you would appreciate normal so much more, if only you could get back to it. I've never liked change very much, but I've learned there is no going back. I've gone back to my old school, visited with old teachers and old friends, and it's not the same as it once was because they have all changed too. Change comes, and when it did, I had to learn the hard way not to fight it but to let it take me.

A friend shared a great metaphor with me, and being a surfer, it involved the ocean. He said that there will always be instances when you wipe out and get thrashed around by a wave. Your first instinct is to swim and find air, but when you're underwater and being rolled around, you don't know which way is up. You could very easily be swimming down. What you're supposed to do is the exact opposite of what you instinctually want to do: you are supposed to go limp. You don't swim, you let the wave take you. Once the water has calmed you open your eyes and you follow the bubbles, because the bubbles float up.

I had to let the change take me, and had to trust that the calm would come and I would be able to breath once again. And it did. The loneliness of freshman year subsided and I eventually did make friends. But it took me a long time, and if I could go back to my fifteen year old self and tell her one thing, I would tell her this: don't forget to swim. The water calms, but you can't lay there limp forever, you still have to swim. You do. I was so scared to speak up or join a conversation. So scared to ask if someone wanted to hang out after school, or sit together at lunch. I thought people would think I was weird, or make fun of me, or that their lives were already so figured out they would have no room in it for me, so I wouldn't even try.

Friends aren't going to just fall out of the sky. That took me a long time to figure out. Yes, sometimes someone would come around that was brave enough to start a conversation with the scared little me, but I had to make the effort on my own. It was scary, but it was worth it.

The past week I was reminded of this while watching presentations in an AP Language class. A girl was talking about what it means to be human, and how important human interaction is. She mentioned Maslow's hierarchy of needs. At the base of that pyramid is the essentials, but the next two things (safety and love and belonging) require people. I feel safe because of my parents. I feel love and belonging because of my friends. Only through their help was I ever able to gain self-esteem and self-actualization. According to Maslow, and what I've found to be true in my life as well, is that we will always need other people, because those people help us find ourselves.

So yes, change is scary. Having to meet new people is still scary for me, and the idea of having to make new friends all over again next year while still staying in touch with my old ones is daunting. But I will start those conversations because I know it is worth it. I will miss my school, my teachers, and my dear friends. Ironically, many of my dear friends are those girls from my freshman english class I was so intimidated yet enthralled by. The relationships I've made the past four years have made me feel safe and loved and wanted. Through that, I slowly became more confident in who I am.

I have changed a lot since my freshman year, but it isn't anything crazy or bad like I was scared I would change into. I am fundamentally the same, the only difference is I am more fundamentally myself.

~Kat

P.S. Thank you, Mattie. I've been wanting to write this for a while now. You're writing matters and you matter so much to me. It's what wrote this piece. You will swim and you will breath.

Paradox of Love and the Buttmunch Syndrome

Paradox: n. a statement that apparently contradicts itself and yet might be true.

Last night I was babysitting for two little boys, ages 4 and 6. I made them dinner, we played outside, had dessert, went through the whole bedtime routine, read a story, and then I put them to bed with the hall light on (not the bathroom light) and the door cracked open at about an eighty degree angle, so no monsters can creep into the shadows. After they were asleep I did all the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, picked up all the toys in the playroom, and tucked them neatly away.

I didn't have to do any of that. My job as babysitter was to corral the little monsters and keep them from self-destructing. Once they are asleep, my job is done. Yet I cleaned the whole house anyway, even though I don't really know these people all that well, and I'm not being paid any extra to do it. I just did, without thinking about it.

Thursday night I was home. Mom made us dinner. I was watching Netflix, happily enjoying my time not doing homework. I ate the dinner that was made for me, said thank you, and went back to watching Netflix. My mom cleaned up dinner. She just did, I didn't think anything of it.

The paradox is this: although I clearly love my mother much more than I love the family I babysit for, if you looked at my actions, it appears I love the family I barely know very much, and am impartial to my mother.

I was thinking about this tonight as I was voluntarily cleaning up after dinner, a rare occasion especially when I'm not prompted. And really, I was only doing it as an apology for royally screwing up lately and giving my mom some grief. That made me then think how mindlessly I will reach out to help people I barely know, and how just as mindlessly I will talk back or be immensely rude to my family, the people I love the most.

I can't really begin to understand why this is the way it is and how it came to be. But when I realized it, it scared me. The people we love the most should logically be the people that receive the majority of our kindness. I shouldn't have to feel threatened in order to clean up the kitchen. I shouldn't have to be prompted to clean my bathroom. And I definitely shouldn't so easily slip into the worst side of myself, spewing accusations and raising my voice.

I can count on one hand the number of times I have yelled at someone outside of my immediate family. Yet the times I've fought with my family are innumerable. I think it's because I know they will always love me, so there is no risk of being kicked out or never talked to again. So isn't it ironic that because our families extend this unconditional love, we then see it as a free pass to take advantage of?

Like I said earlier, I don't know why this is the way it is. If you do, feel free to enlighten me. In the meantime, I'm going to try my hardest to be slow to anger and quick to kindness, and show all the love I feel through my actions. Maybe that's the point of Mother's Day and Father's Day, to remind us all that even though we can be real buttmunches to eachother, we do still love eachother. More than anything.

~Kat

P.S. Mom, sorry for being such a buttmunch. And thanks for living with me anyway. Love, the pill with a capital P.

The Paved Road

Sometimes when I desperately need to move, I freeze. Sometimes when something desperately needs to be said, I'm speechless.
The fear of taking the wrong step, or conveying the wrong message is somehow greater than the looming apathy that ensues when there's something to do, but nothing's being done.

A friend once told me that she didn't want her indecision to be the deciding factor. For her paths to be taken over and accepted back into the uncharted jungle of opportunity because she just didn't feel like keeping it clear anymore. Looking down the road less traveled, considering all the work it would be with no guarantee of a safe return, and choosing the paved road instead to live a sure life of normalcy.

Not applying to my dream school because I didn't want to write my life in 1000 words or less, to be judged by a stranger who decides whether or not my existence is worthy of their acceptance. But it was only one essay. One essay too much, for which I'm sorry, UCSD. You've been crossed off the top of the list, a transcript left unsent. Watch me slip into normalcy at SDSU should have tried harder.

I turned onto that paved road, and now I walk along it, looking at my shoes and the black asphalt beneath me. And it looks dark. I know I can raise my head, and there will be blue skies above me, filled with white puffy clouds and silver linings galore. This school will be fine for me, I can enjoy my home and showers sans sandals. But I can't help but wonder what that sky would have looked like a few miles off the well-beaten path. And whether there would actually have been any room for me.

But here's the moral to this all too true story:

If there's something you love beyond a doubt, never hesitate to seek it out.
Press Send.
Write the damn essay.
Ask them out to prom, the worst they could say is no. The best they could say is hell yes. And you'd be surprised, maybe there's a room full of people waiting for the chance to say that to you, if only you'd ask.

And so to neutralize the sad story of the time I was too scared, here is a story of bravery:

One day a girl was getting ready to see her best friend's band play their first big gig. He was her best friend, but he was never just a friend for her, not for the two years they'd known each other. Her ride was on the way when an idea popped into her head that she couldn't shake out. She grabbed a marker and poster board, and quickly wrote a message in all caps to be held up during the last song. Before she could think twice her ride was there and they were on their way. They arrived, the band played, the final song came along, and with sweaty palms and shaking hands she held up the sign that read "Encore, Will you take me to homecoming?" Little did she know, and would later discover, that was all he needed to work up his courage to finally ask her out, officially, after two years of uncertainty. And they couldn't be happier together, four months later and counting.

This story is all too true. But it only happened because I asked.

~Kat

A girl.

Have you ever witnessed something you know you weren't supposed to see? Something that you can't quickly un-see?

About a month ago, I was driving home from a friend's house rather late at night, maybe 11 p.m. or so. The whole neighborhood was asleep. Then I see someone running down the sidewalk, which was kind of unusual since it was so late. As I drive by, I realize its a heavy-set girl, and I start to recognize her. She goes to my school. I don't know her name, I have never met her, don't know what grade she's in, but I have seen her in the halls.

First it was just, huh, that's peculiar. Then it was I wonder why she'd be running so late at night. Then I started to connect the dots. She's a high school girl, in sunny swimsuit San Diego. She doesn't have the body of a Victoria's Secret Angel. She wants to be healthier, thinner, so she goes for a run at the only hour she could be sure no one will see.

I said to myself out loud in my car, at 11 p.m., "Wow." There was nothing more to say. Nothing more to think. At least not right then. But by the time I was home, her image was branded into my head, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since.

I'm not exactly sure why this has stuck with me as strongly as it has a month later. It was but a second of my life, a second that happened to intertwine with a moment of her's. I felt sad, upset, and inspired all at the same time. And it's because while that was just a second of my life, that is her life.

She has probably had to deal with dumb kids making fun of her, enough to make her recede into the night. She has to see the skinny girls at school in their crop tops exposing their perfect waists that look like they were personally pinched between God's own fore-finger and thumb. Something He conveniently forgot to do to her. She's had to watch the boys crane their necks at these girls, while they look right through her. Every day.

I don't know this girl, but I'm inspired by her. She wakes up every day and deals with stuff like that. She gets up at 11 o'clock at night to go for a run, something I haven't even been able to motivate myself to do even in the day time. She's dealing with what God gave her, and is doing her best to stay healthy. And I incredibly respect and admire that. She can't go to a gym, because the only people who go to the gym are already fit. And ironically, that's enough of a reason to stay away and avoid comparisons. She can't even go out for a run at a convenient daylight hour just around her neighborhood. She's probably had people tell her there's no use, you won't lose the weight.

But she went out anyway. And she ran, leaving all that behind her.

She may not know it, but she has a fan cheering her on. I hope she finds her finish line.

~Kat

This is Love.

This has been long overdue. My posts have paralyzed in wait for a soliloquy, a metaphor, a simile, about you. Past posts have been close, "Spread the Love" was in preparation for you, "Crushed" was scared of you, "We're Just Friends" was for you, and "Lightbulb" was in spite, yet inspired still, by you.

But this post is you. This is Love.

You, Love, have always been there, disguised in a slough
Of faces, ballads, flowers, and sunsets.
But it's always been you.

I have never been ready,
Never quite understood,
How to greet you, or treat you, or if I should
Because if I didn't know how
What made me think that I could
Dabble in Love, which appears like magic
When I'm no magician
And the tricks up my sleeve
Are unknown to me.

But Love, what you've taught me
Is that the show will go on
Love will continue its trickery
With me to tag along

So I'll reach in my hat
Fishing for a bunny
Even though you can't assure me
I won't pull out a rat.

With its pink wiggly tail
and its squeak squeak squeak
which sounds a lot like weak weak weak
Love, you taught me that a rat is not a fail
But that I should hold it by the tail and bow anyway
And as I look at my feet
I see how far I've walked
But my soul and my shoes are not worn yet
I still have places to go and people to meet

So I look back up at the audience before me
Who just witnessed my rat of a bunny
And as they clap politely
I know there are other fish in the sea
Other shows to be had
There is more to this trickery

Love will turn up again
As it always had
And I know that is true
Because when I look at you
I know I have found it once more.

This is love.

~Kat

"Nothing is more practical than finding God, falling in Love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what your read, whom you know, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."
~Fr. Pedro Arrupe

Save Me.

For those of you who aren't already aware of the "Save Our Neighborhood" situation with the lights, what's going on is that the school wants to add lights, and a new PA system and possibly a parking structure in order to have night games and practices. The neighborhood doesn't want that because of the noise and the loss in property values.

In most recent news, lights are not going to be at the Homecoming game this year, so it will have to be during the day. Many Pointers are up in arms and blaming it on the "Save Our Neighborhood" group.

This is how I respond.

Dear Save Our Neighborhood Assholes,

How dare you take away our precious night games? It’s our senior year, we are teenagers and we want to have some fun while the fun still lasts. I can’t believe you all took away our one existing night, the Homecoming game. We have horrible school spirit as it is, and now nobody’s going to come out for the day game. The lights were going to save everything, and now we can’t have it for even one night.

Let’s walk out. Let’s all meander around the neighborhood, show them just how reckless and noisy teenagers can be. Let’s give them something real to complain about. We’ll show them how to rally together and make something happen.

We only have four years of high school, and because of you people, we can’t make the most of it. Because all you hoity-toity home owners made the stupid decision to buy a house next a high school, what did you think was going to happen? This isn’t the 1970’s anymore. It’s not like the student population hasn’t grown at all, or that most of the kids don’t have to drive to school. It’s not like you have to deal with trying to find a parking space. It’s not like you’re missing out on having an enjoyable Friday night.

You all are just being myopic. Just concerned with yourselves, and your property value, and your quiet neighborhood. You just want to be able to go for walks with your little shih-tzus without all of our crappy old cars that we pay for and maintain ourselves lining your streets. Plus, it’s all the same people that are parking out front of your house all day 5 days a week anyway. Who cares if they are still there for another 3 hours or so after dark? And you can’t blame us for who comes to use the field on the weekends, that’s out of our control. By law they have to loan the field out, and the money that comes in from those renters will help pay for needs the school has and better our experiences. That’s right, I’m not just a stupid teenager, I went to the meetings.

You just can’t understand our struggle. Can’t understand what it’s like to be a high school student without night games. We’ve sacrificed for the neighborhood since the beginning, agreeing to have only one night game a year. We’ve really done you a favor. All we’re asking is for it to be returned.

Just let us have the lights. We are only in high school for four years, and it’s supposed to be the best years of our lives. And then we’re going to be gone and going off to college and it’s all going to be over. We’re going to be getting a job that we have to work really hard at to become successful and live the dream. We’re going to get married, and have a dog, and move into a nice quiet neighborhood in a nice house that we paid for and earned. We’re going to enjoy the rest of our lives with our kids and our grandkids, going on nice walks to unwind after a stressful day at work. And we’re going to be smart, and not move next to a high school with rowdy kids crowding our space, ya know?

And we are going to look back at our high school years and remember how much they sucked because we didn’t have school spirit, or a night game for our last Homecoming, or lights for our field, and we are going to remember that it’s all your faults because you just thought of yourselves, and your perfect little houses, and quiet neighborhood.

Insincerely,
The class of 2014

~Kat

P.S. I've done my research on satire.

Pop Ups

Every time I click on a link a big box gets in my way. It tells me "You won!" or "Download me!" A new tab will come up, and redirect me to a page I didn't ask to see. I have to sift through all the traps just to get here. My own blog is booby trapped.

And just like my laptop, I can't seem to get anything done without something popping up in my path. It tells me lies, that it will give me just what I need, just five more minutes, you can finish that later. Then five minutes turn to ten and the pop up has morphed into a whole new direction and before I know it, I'm caught up in a new program. The homework doesn't get done, the bed is unmade, the books are left lonely on the shelf. And then finally when the weight of tomorrow is too much for me to handle today, I peak out over the dirty clothes and pile of prayers left unsaid, searching for some kind of firewall or virus protection to keep my world from decaying into an abyss of pop-ups and opportunities missed.

Blink. Refresh. This is water.

Once upon a time there was a fish. His name was Larry. Larry lived on a desk, his neighbor was a mason jar of sketch pencils. He had a balanced three-flake-a-day diet. Sometimes he would splurge and eat a dust mote. Larry couldn't believe his life, he wasn't just any other fish in the sea. He got to live on a desk.

One day the hands came, like they do on a daily basis, and they scooped Larry up and put him in a bag. Larry was a very lucky fish, he had helpful hands to clean his bowl. But Larry never saw the bowl, or the sketch pencils and mason jar again. When the hands came back, he was taken to a new place, with new neighbors. He no longer lived in a bowl, but in a tank with a bright white light and a big black box that whirred and snarled and shot out bubbles at Larry. He had new neighbors, a clock radio that flashed blue symbols that he was sure could only mean something evil and he was scared. These were new waters.

New waters, but this is still water. The same water Larry's been swimming in his whole little fishy life. His gills still work. The hands still provide him with a balanced three-flake-a-day diet.

Larry's problem is that he can't trust himself. He doesn't see that this is water. He's been swimming the whole time, his gills have always worked, and they will continue to work even in the tank. There is nothing to be afraid of. Just keep swimmin'.

My computer's problem is that it doesn't have a proper virus protector, and the pop-ups are redirecting the direction the rainbow wheel has been spinning so diligently over.

My problem is that I can't easily face my problems. That is without turning myself into a fish or a computer. But I can choose my own reality. I'm not being bagged up and taken tank to tank by the hands. I'm not infected by a computer hacker outside of my control. I can stop all the pop-ups in my life, just as soon as I can hit the red X.

Discipline is just choosing between what you want now and what you want most...

Blink. Refresh. This is water.

~Kat

Head v. Heart

"Think of a time when your emotions (your heart) conflicted with what you know (your head)."

I immediately thought uh, boys. Then I quickly thought that was dumb, for obvious cliched reasons. Then I thought, well, college and majors. That's the big one for me right now. But as of right now, there is still no resolution between my math/science brain and my creative writing/music brain that experts say aren't supposed to live inside the same head. Or else. I'm quickly learning just how difficult that "or else" can be.

So in an effort to answer the prompt with a resolution and not just circuitous "I don't know, but maybe..." Here is how I have handled this conflict before, in a high stress environment, when a decision had to be made in the moment:

Before I was Kat Shaw. Before the blog, the self-confidence, self-identity, and forward thinking, I had to learn who "Kat Shaw" was. This was one of those learning experiences.

Poetry Club Symposium, sophomore year.

The spotlight was too bright. The room was too full. The pool of peers, and ultimate judges, was too deep and dark. The fire and brimstone performance before me, preaching about struggle and hurt I was too young and sophomoric to understand, left the stage smoldering. A clammy Katherine Shaw stepped up to share her little poem about "nice guys."

Two stanzas in I got burned. The words were clinging to my tongue, the electrical synapses in my brain were static. The next line wouldn't come for the life of me.

Head: nothing.
Heart: run.

So after playing the part of the deer in headlights for a few moments, that's just what I did. I ran backstage and frantically asked my fellow poets what the next line was to my poem. Of course, they didn't know. It was my poem.

Heart: You're done for. Prepare to be the Point Loma, not so poetic, pariah. I hope you have a bag for your head.

Head finally decided to join the conversation after being fashionably late.

Head: Go back out there. Take a deep breath. Ask the audience to start over. They got out of class for this, they won't say no.

With Heart kicking and screaming inside my chest, I stepped back out onto the stage. It was considerably cooler after being stagnant so long.

Miraculously, the world did not end.

But my poem did :)

~Kat

P.S. If you're having any internal conflicts like this, and your internal organs are conversational like mine are, I really found this prompt beneficial to look back on how I handled things in the past to help how I will handle them now. I still don't know whether to follow my heart or my head with something as big as my future career and the college to get me there, but I can assure you, you all will be the first to know when I do.

If I Should Have a Son

If I should have a son, by the time he's one year old, he would know that Dada could be just as comforting as Mama. By the time he's three, he would know that "please" and "thank you" are the magic beans that grow success and that if he ever falls from that bean stalk, it is okay to cry because nothing can grow without a little bit of watering. Before he enters Kindergarten, he will know that girls play differently than boys, and that they need to be protected just like Daddy does for Mommy. He might make a mistake every once in a while, but when he does, he will have the tell-tale face of guilt because his Mommy taught him right from wrong. And he will learn that an "I'm sorry" will shake that guilt away like an Etch-a-Sketch.

If I should have a son, by the time he starts high school, he will have learned that you can't go anywhere without a door opened for you, which you should always remember to be grateful for. He will also learn that sometimes you have to be the one to make the first push, but in either case, he will know that the right thing to do is to hold the door open for whomever may follow him.

If I should have a son, and if he should fall in love, I would tell him that girls are like buried treasure. Pirates will try to steal their worth, but he will know that the pirate life is not for me. Those doubloons will stay buried until she maps out the key to her heart for the man she will marry. He will know that that man won't always be him. But I'll tell him, when it's time, he will know from the protective nature to guard that "X marks the spot" with his life. He will know that to love is to sacrifice, and that if it was easy, everyone would have it.

If I should have a son, God help me, because growing up in a house of girls doesn't exactly lend me the qualifications to discover the mystery of the Y-chromosome, and my name isn't Nancy Drew.

But even if I should have a son, I would make sure that he would know that cussing is the crutch of the conversationally crippled, and that in this family, it's never been able to roll of the tongue gracefully anyway. He would know that if he needs to get in a fight to impress his friends, they aren't really his friends; they are just looking for you to get hurt. And he would NEVER spend his entire ceramic's class talking with his friend about boobs. Especially when you have to talk around the girl sitting between you in class.

Because if that girl was your mother, I can tell you right now, she didn't appreciate it.

If I should have a son, he would at the very least, know that.

~Kat