I was born on November 27. That makes today my birthday and I am feeling a little old and unaccomplished. I can remember so vividly daydreaming while I waited for the bus in first grade, thinking about how very many years I had left before I would be done with high school. The idea of going to school for so many years, and then going to school even longer for college, unfathomable. Twenty-one seemed so old that I could not even imagine living that long, and now my younger sister is about to celebrate her own 21st birthday.
It can be pretty intense thinking back to what you wanted to be when you grew up, then looking at where you are, and how you got there. As a seven year old, I thought I would be a married doctor and mother of nine by the time I was 25. By those standards, I am already an old maid... fun game, but scary thought. Some dreams we may have had as younguns may be unrealistic, and it does not mean we are total failures if we do not carry out an elementary school fantasy, but I hope I never lose that zeal.
As a lowly first grader, I had no reason to believe I couldn't grow up to be a married doctor and mother of nine, but too often the normal bumps and bruises of growing up in a sinful world leave us jaded and willing to settle for complacency. While I do believe it is necessary to understand the reality that sin has cost us perfection here on earth, I never want to get to the point that I accept this reality as "okay." I believe we should always maintain a degree of discomfort over the sinful state of our earth, so we are even more inspired to persue a perfect life with God in Heaven.
Part of the reason that I am having such a hard time believing I am already 24, is that I thought I would have surely grown more "mature" by now, but now I hope I never "grow up."
I would like to wrap up my meandering by sharing the words from the beautiful birthday card I received from my dad. Over the years, our relationship has definitely had moments of severe strain, hurt, anger, abandonment, resentment, disappointment, forgiveness, awkwardness, and love. This year, Dad planned an evening for he, Kara, Grandma, and I to go out to a fancy dinner and attend A Christmas Carol at The Pabst a week before Christmas. I cannot even begin to describe what a huge step this is, because he thought of this all on his own, and I am so proud of that fact! The words from his card do a better job of expressing some of the emotion behind our relationship:
"For a wonderful daughter. You mean so much to me. I'm not sure why I wait for special occaions to tell you how much I love you, because that feeling is always with me. From the minute I first held you in my arms, you've had a special place in my heart, and even thought we've had our share of differences, I've never stopped loving you. Not for a moment. You're a wonderful daughter, and you deserve to hear that more than I tell you, because you're more special than words could ever say. Happy Birthday. Love, Dad"
It was a happy birthday!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Changes...
So I came home, to Stevens Point, for a couple of days because Kara has fall break, and I just need a break. Unfortunately, Mom is planning to make me do some serious heavy lifting, and emotional laboring, by cleaning out my room, and all my shelves in the basement. Now that might not seem like such a big deal, but I just happen to be one of the most sentimental people I know, and I'm not exaggerating... I actually started to cry because she and Steve got all new glasses for the kitchen, and are throwing out the old ones. Yes, the new ones are nice, but what was wrong with the old ones?!
Besides that, she put up new mini-blinds in my room, AND she replaced my mattress with a new one... which I do not like because it is not the old one. The old one was the original mattress Mom and Dad got for me after Dad finished crafting the bed by hand... I understand that mattresses eventually get worn out, and that mattress is probably about 22 years old, but I LIKED it... it was the perfect balance of fluffy, soft, hard, and supportive... and it was familiar. I do not like change, and I know it sounds rediculous, but I feel a sadness that I was not warned the last time I was home that my mattress would be replaced. I didn't even get to relish my one last sleep on that mattress!
Like my mattress, sometimes things, or people, you think will always be present in your life, are taken from you without any warning. I wish it weren't so, but that's part of living in a sinful world. Sometimes you don't even notice the change, and sometimes it overwhelms you... like when I was 17, and my life-long best friend, Matthew, died.
Matthew was a kindred spirit, if ever there was one. We got in to so much mischief, and so many arguments, but we were always back to being best friends before the play date was over. Even after my family moved away when Matthew and I were seven. Kids make friends fast, and most people would have predicted we grow apart, but we didn't. We both grew up, and yes, we changed, but we remained close. We'd write letters back and forth, even when we were older and it wasn't considered so cool, and talk on the phone for hours on weekends. Though three hours apart, we listened to the same radio station, and every once in awhile, when a song that reminded me of Matthew came on, I'd remember that he might be listening and think it was pretty cool.
Aside from that, we went on an annual bike trip with our mothers (not the ride around the block kind either.) and had a quirky traditional of sending each other birthday cards themed around bodily functions (we were born a week apart.) I've often wondered how I might have acted differently if I knew, that summer between our sophomore and junior years of high school, when we said good-bye to each other at the end of our annual vacation, that the next time I would see him would be at his funeral.
I cannot even begin to explain all the ways Matthew's death has changed my life. Everytime I come to a milestone moment, I cannot help thinking he never got to experience high school graduation, college graduation... Where would he have chosen to go to school? What would he have chosen for a major? Would he be married? You just never expect that the little boy you played with in the sandbox will not always be there, all young and innocent.
I remember getting a call from Matthew's mom, several months after he had past away. She had been cleaning up some things in his room, and found a large envelope in one of his dresser drawers. When she opened it up, it was full of letters and cards that I had sent him over the years. He'd saved them all.
I'm reminded of memories like these whenever my Mom decides it's time for me to weed out some of my sentimental treasures. So many things hold meaning for me that it takes so long to decide which ones are the most important to keep. Most of my Matthew items have been safely stowed away in a box... except for the stuffed cat he bought for me with his own money when we were eight. It cost him $.25 at a rummage sale, but to me it will always be priceless.
I started cleaning out my room again yesterday evening, and found several cards I'd been saving. As I flipped through them, reminiscing, I came across one with a bodily function theme. I opened it, with a lump in my throat, and read the words: "Hope your birthday's a gas! Happy birthday, Kate! -Matt". It put a temporary lull in my cleaning until I showed my find to my mom. She got tears in her eyes when she read it, then turned to me and said softly, with a senitmental smile, "You know, Kate. He's probably have a good laugh over this up in heaven."
I'm sure he was, because that's Matthew. Even after so many things have changed in my life, I know one thing will never change... God's everlasting love and forgiveness. He gave His Son for me, and for Matthew, and because of that I know that, while our life-long friendship may have been interrupted here on earth, it is sure to continue in Heaven.
Besides that, she put up new mini-blinds in my room, AND she replaced my mattress with a new one... which I do not like because it is not the old one. The old one was the original mattress Mom and Dad got for me after Dad finished crafting the bed by hand... I understand that mattresses eventually get worn out, and that mattress is probably about 22 years old, but I LIKED it... it was the perfect balance of fluffy, soft, hard, and supportive... and it was familiar. I do not like change, and I know it sounds rediculous, but I feel a sadness that I was not warned the last time I was home that my mattress would be replaced. I didn't even get to relish my one last sleep on that mattress!
Like my mattress, sometimes things, or people, you think will always be present in your life, are taken from you without any warning. I wish it weren't so, but that's part of living in a sinful world. Sometimes you don't even notice the change, and sometimes it overwhelms you... like when I was 17, and my life-long best friend, Matthew, died.
Matthew was a kindred spirit, if ever there was one. We got in to so much mischief, and so many arguments, but we were always back to being best friends before the play date was over. Even after my family moved away when Matthew and I were seven. Kids make friends fast, and most people would have predicted we grow apart, but we didn't. We both grew up, and yes, we changed, but we remained close. We'd write letters back and forth, even when we were older and it wasn't considered so cool, and talk on the phone for hours on weekends. Though three hours apart, we listened to the same radio station, and every once in awhile, when a song that reminded me of Matthew came on, I'd remember that he might be listening and think it was pretty cool.
Aside from that, we went on an annual bike trip with our mothers (not the ride around the block kind either.) and had a quirky traditional of sending each other birthday cards themed around bodily functions (we were born a week apart.) I've often wondered how I might have acted differently if I knew, that summer between our sophomore and junior years of high school, when we said good-bye to each other at the end of our annual vacation, that the next time I would see him would be at his funeral.
I cannot even begin to explain all the ways Matthew's death has changed my life. Everytime I come to a milestone moment, I cannot help thinking he never got to experience high school graduation, college graduation... Where would he have chosen to go to school? What would he have chosen for a major? Would he be married? You just never expect that the little boy you played with in the sandbox will not always be there, all young and innocent.
I remember getting a call from Matthew's mom, several months after he had past away. She had been cleaning up some things in his room, and found a large envelope in one of his dresser drawers. When she opened it up, it was full of letters and cards that I had sent him over the years. He'd saved them all.
I'm reminded of memories like these whenever my Mom decides it's time for me to weed out some of my sentimental treasures. So many things hold meaning for me that it takes so long to decide which ones are the most important to keep. Most of my Matthew items have been safely stowed away in a box... except for the stuffed cat he bought for me with his own money when we were eight. It cost him $.25 at a rummage sale, but to me it will always be priceless.
I started cleaning out my room again yesterday evening, and found several cards I'd been saving. As I flipped through them, reminiscing, I came across one with a bodily function theme. I opened it, with a lump in my throat, and read the words: "Hope your birthday's a gas! Happy birthday, Kate! -Matt". It put a temporary lull in my cleaning until I showed my find to my mom. She got tears in her eyes when she read it, then turned to me and said softly, with a senitmental smile, "You know, Kate. He's probably have a good laugh over this up in heaven."
I'm sure he was, because that's Matthew. Even after so many things have changed in my life, I know one thing will never change... God's everlasting love and forgiveness. He gave His Son for me, and for Matthew, and because of that I know that, while our life-long friendship may have been interrupted here on earth, it is sure to continue in Heaven.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Boooooo...
Shame on the fair-weathered Brewer "fans" that would boo their own team because of a few embarassing errors, or a losing streak! The players are people too, as in sinful humans who will make mistakes from time to time, just like each and every one of us does every day! How would you like it if your mistakes were made in front of tens of thousands of people, and broadcast on TV, and you had to listen to thousands of people boo you for it, while analysts break apart every aspect of each mistake... imagine the kind of pressure they are under all the time! I couldn't handle it... I know I would crack!
I remember when I was 11 years old and just starting to play the organ in church regularly. I was playing at our small sister church one Sunday and during the hymn "Lift High the Cross" I made an error in repeating a repeat. There were maybe 30 people in church that day, mostly elderly, and they had come to worship God, not criticize the organist. But I was so embarassed, and so upset with myself that I completely stopped playing and started to cry. My mom had to come to the back of the church and calm me down while the congregation sang acapella until I was finally able to compose myself enough to finish the last verse. I felt so horrible and I wasn't even booed!
You expect to boo for the opposing team, or to be booed by the opposing team's fans, but your own fans?! Come on! When I see a player make an error, or strike out, or throw one too many balls, I don't boo them for not being perfect! Heaven knows I'm far from perfect! Instead, I think, 'That's a real bummer. I hope he doesn't let it get in his head and affect his performance for the rest of the game!' And then I think of how relieved I am that God doesn't announce all of my mistakes on a JumboTron. My score card would be a mess!
I remember when I was 11 years old and just starting to play the organ in church regularly. I was playing at our small sister church one Sunday and during the hymn "Lift High the Cross" I made an error in repeating a repeat. There were maybe 30 people in church that day, mostly elderly, and they had come to worship God, not criticize the organist. But I was so embarassed, and so upset with myself that I completely stopped playing and started to cry. My mom had to come to the back of the church and calm me down while the congregation sang acapella until I was finally able to compose myself enough to finish the last verse. I felt so horrible and I wasn't even booed!
You expect to boo for the opposing team, or to be booed by the opposing team's fans, but your own fans?! Come on! When I see a player make an error, or strike out, or throw one too many balls, I don't boo them for not being perfect! Heaven knows I'm far from perfect! Instead, I think, 'That's a real bummer. I hope he doesn't let it get in his head and affect his performance for the rest of the game!' And then I think of how relieved I am that God doesn't announce all of my mistakes on a JumboTron. My score card would be a mess!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
First Paintball Experience...
So yesterday was the Fifth Annual Fish Paintball Battle, and I was basically forced to participate because, well, I helped plan it. This was my first paintball experience, and is likely to be my last. I've already promised that I will find something to conflict with next year's event. It's not that it was un-fun but it wasn't fun either... I actually found it kind of boring... and painful...
Call me a sissy if you must. (I think making multiple skydiving jumps disqualifies me for the title of "sissy," but whatever...) But my idea of fun is not crawling around in the middle of the woods, in the dirt, being eaten alive by mosquitos, pretending to care about disarming a make-believe nuclear weapon, while shooting and being shot at with marble size balls of sticky paint. Besides that, it seems so many of the players felt the need to aimlessly fire off multiple rounds of paintballs, hoping to hit something, instead of taking the time to actually aim. I didn't come close to using my initial 500 paintballs, yet "killed" 8 people.
While there were some good parts, like seeing some of my family that joined in, and getting to shoot my supervisor in the back, it doesn't make up for the dozens of bug bites I am left to scratch, and the several painful bruises covering my body... It was one of those things you feel the need to try once, just to say you've done it, and then it is out of your system...
On a side note, I will be leaving for a much needed vacation with my family tomorrow. We will be visiting with more family in Grand Rapids, MI... I am looking so forward to forgetting about work for a week and relaxing... I'm not looking as forward to going to the beach with several bruises to accessorize my swimming attire...
Call me a sissy if you must. (I think making multiple skydiving jumps disqualifies me for the title of "sissy," but whatever...) But my idea of fun is not crawling around in the middle of the woods, in the dirt, being eaten alive by mosquitos, pretending to care about disarming a make-believe nuclear weapon, while shooting and being shot at with marble size balls of sticky paint. Besides that, it seems so many of the players felt the need to aimlessly fire off multiple rounds of paintballs, hoping to hit something, instead of taking the time to actually aim. I didn't come close to using my initial 500 paintballs, yet "killed" 8 people.
While there were some good parts, like seeing some of my family that joined in, and getting to shoot my supervisor in the back, it doesn't make up for the dozens of bug bites I am left to scratch, and the several painful bruises covering my body... It was one of those things you feel the need to try once, just to say you've done it, and then it is out of your system...
On a side note, I will be leaving for a much needed vacation with my family tomorrow. We will be visiting with more family in Grand Rapids, MI... I am looking so forward to forgetting about work for a week and relaxing... I'm not looking as forward to going to the beach with several bruises to accessorize my swimming attire...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
I think my dad is going to die...
My younger sister, Kara, recently had her yearly check-up, and the doctor told her she should have her cholesterol checked, now that she is 20. Kara is a super-trim, dancer, runner, toothpick, so we were all shocked to find out that the results showed her cholesterol at 262! That's higher than my step-dad's was before he started on Lipitor! When I had my cholesterol checked, it was 154, and Kara eats much healthier than I do... which means it has to be heredity...
While my maternal grandfather does have high cholesterol, I would peg my dad's side as being the more likely line of transport, seeing as all of my paternal grandfather's brothers died of first-time, massive heart attacks in their late forties! My grandfather lived to be in his late seventies, before passing away due to complications from Parkinson's and Alzheimer's, but he did have angioplasty...
So, considering my dad's unhealthy lifestyle, I approached the subject of cholesterol when he called this past Sunday. I asked him when he last had his cholesterol checked and he laughed that he didn't know because that would require going to a doctor. (He laughed because he is a surgical nurse who works with doctors every day and is even planning a mission trip to Kosovo with several of them at the end of the month.)
Then I told him to be serious because heart disease runs in his family, he doesn't eat regular meals, the meals he does eat are not healthy ones, he doesn't have a regular sleep schedule, works extremely long hours at a stressful job, doesn't floss regularly, and carries all his extra weight in his gut... all things that have been correlated with fatal heart complications... "You're asking for a heart attack!" I told him. "Well, you have to go some how!" he laughed... I told him, "Later is better than sooner..."
I'm not sure if he got the message, and I doubt he will make any lifestyle changes, which I find very disenheartening because there was a long time when I probably wouldn't have been overly upset to lose him because I was so angry with him for destroying our family... Now that we have actually been working on reconciling our relationship, and I am to the point where I actually like him (I've always loved him... liking was a bit more difficult...) I have concerns about him not being around... All this stress is going to give me a heart attack!...
While my maternal grandfather does have high cholesterol, I would peg my dad's side as being the more likely line of transport, seeing as all of my paternal grandfather's brothers died of first-time, massive heart attacks in their late forties! My grandfather lived to be in his late seventies, before passing away due to complications from Parkinson's and Alzheimer's, but he did have angioplasty...
So, considering my dad's unhealthy lifestyle, I approached the subject of cholesterol when he called this past Sunday. I asked him when he last had his cholesterol checked and he laughed that he didn't know because that would require going to a doctor. (He laughed because he is a surgical nurse who works with doctors every day and is even planning a mission trip to Kosovo with several of them at the end of the month.)
Then I told him to be serious because heart disease runs in his family, he doesn't eat regular meals, the meals he does eat are not healthy ones, he doesn't have a regular sleep schedule, works extremely long hours at a stressful job, doesn't floss regularly, and carries all his extra weight in his gut... all things that have been correlated with fatal heart complications... "You're asking for a heart attack!" I told him. "Well, you have to go some how!" he laughed... I told him, "Later is better than sooner..."
I'm not sure if he got the message, and I doubt he will make any lifestyle changes, which I find very disenheartening because there was a long time when I probably wouldn't have been overly upset to lose him because I was so angry with him for destroying our family... Now that we have actually been working on reconciling our relationship, and I am to the point where I actually like him (I've always loved him... liking was a bit more difficult...) I have concerns about him not being around... All this stress is going to give me a heart attack!...
Friday, May 25, 2007
Locks of Love...
For the first time in my 23.5 year life, I have kept a New Year's resolution... After growing my hair out since last June, I finally had enough hair to donate to Locks of Love...
Although my hair was much longer than I prefer (shoulder length-ish is optimal) I had some reservations about chopping my hair so short... some of you may remember the fiasco that was my hair freshman year of high school... I have no desire to be continually mistaken for a boy again... BUT my hair was too the point that it was getting hard to manage and I wasn't going to go through another long, hot, humid summer of blow-drying such long hair, so like ripping off a Band-Aid... I chopped my hair... Well, not me personally... I had it chopped by Kyla at Salon West (I highly recommend her.)
Kara helped straighten my hair and take the photographs for our station website... and gave me constant reassurances, so "Vielen dank, meine besten Schwester!"
I still feel a little like a page boy (where are my knickers and knee socks?) and I feel like my short hair makes me look even younger than I already get mistaken for, but nothing can top the feeling of actually keeping my New Year's resolution and representing the red headed minority!
...It's you're turn next, Alyssa...
Although my hair was much longer than I prefer (shoulder length-ish is optimal) I had some reservations about chopping my hair so short... some of you may remember the fiasco that was my hair freshman year of high school... I have no desire to be continually mistaken for a boy again... BUT my hair was too the point that it was getting hard to manage and I wasn't going to go through another long, hot, humid summer of blow-drying such long hair, so like ripping off a Band-Aid... I chopped my hair... Well, not me personally... I had it chopped by Kyla at Salon West (I highly recommend her.)
Kara helped straighten my hair and take the photographs for our station website... and gave me constant reassurances, so "Vielen dank, meine besten Schwester!"
I still feel a little like a page boy (where are my knickers and knee socks?) and I feel like my short hair makes me look even younger than I already get mistaken for, but nothing can top the feeling of actually keeping my New Year's resolution and representing the red headed minority!
...It's you're turn next, Alyssa...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
You Are Not an Accident...
I have just started re-reading (sort of) "The Purpose-Driven Life: What On Earth Am I Here For" by Rick Warren. We were supposed to read it for RA training back in 2004, but I think I only went through the first 5 mandatory chapters... I find it is hard for me to get into reading something I may ordinarily have enjoyed, just because I know I have to read it... Well, I am at a different place in my life now and I've decided to give the book another try... I am on my second day (there is one reading a day for 40 days) and the Point to Ponder was: "I am not an Accident." Part of the reading included this untitled poem that I want to share, written by Russell Kelfer:
"You are who you are for a reason.
You're part of an intricate plan.
You're a precious and perfect unique design,
Called God's special woman or man.
"You look like you look for a reason.
Our God made no mistake.
He knit you together within the womb,
You're just what he wanted to make.
"The parents you had were the ones he chose,
And no matter how you may feel,
They are custom-designed with God's plan in mind,
And they bear the Master's seal.
"No, that trauma you faced was not easy,
And God wept that it hurt you so;
But it was allowed to shape your heart
So that into his likeness you'd grow.
"You are who you are for a reason,
You've been formed by the Master's rod.
You are who you are, beloved,
Because there is a God!"
Anyone who knows about my broken and patched together family, or about the loss of my best friend, or about losing my aunt and uncle, will be able to see why this poem touched me, but I hope it will touch others too. It makes me think of the songs "Praise You In This Storm" by Casting Crowns, and "Bless The Broken Road" by Selah or Rascal Flatts (take your pick) and just how even tough stuff can be worked into something good. I may sometimes think that I would be better off if I hadn't had to go through some pretty rough times, but if I hadn't gone through those rough times, I wouldn't be who I am today, or where I am today, so I have to remember to be thankful, even when I am sad or upset...
"You are who you are for a reason.
You're part of an intricate plan.
You're a precious and perfect unique design,
Called God's special woman or man.
"You look like you look for a reason.
Our God made no mistake.
He knit you together within the womb,
You're just what he wanted to make.
"The parents you had were the ones he chose,
And no matter how you may feel,
They are custom-designed with God's plan in mind,
And they bear the Master's seal.
"No, that trauma you faced was not easy,
And God wept that it hurt you so;
But it was allowed to shape your heart
So that into his likeness you'd grow.
"You are who you are for a reason,
You've been formed by the Master's rod.
You are who you are, beloved,
Because there is a God!"
Anyone who knows about my broken and patched together family, or about the loss of my best friend, or about losing my aunt and uncle, will be able to see why this poem touched me, but I hope it will touch others too. It makes me think of the songs "Praise You In This Storm" by Casting Crowns, and "Bless The Broken Road" by Selah or Rascal Flatts (take your pick) and just how even tough stuff can be worked into something good. I may sometimes think that I would be better off if I hadn't had to go through some pretty rough times, but if I hadn't gone through those rough times, I wouldn't be who I am today, or where I am today, so I have to remember to be thankful, even when I am sad or upset...
Monday, January 1, 2007
New Year's Resolution...
So I don't really believe in making New Year's resolutions because I think if there is something you want to change about yourself you should just do it and not wait for the new year or make it a resolution so if you fail you will feel you've broken some kind of promise to yourself... BUT this year I decided to make one...
I have always wanted to donate hair to "Locks of Love" because, well, not to be vain, but I think I have really nice hair, color-wise. I have seen other natural redheads with some pretty funky shades. Only 4% of the world population even carries the recessive gene for red hair, and that's not to say they will pass it along to their offspring at the same moment the other parent, who must also carry the recessive gene, passes it along. So there are even less people who actually have red hair and even less of those who donate their hair to a cause like "Locks of Love." And, if I had cancer or another condition resulting in baldness, I cannot imagine having a wig any color other than red... plus, as I just mentioned, there are some funky shades of natural red floating around out there...
You need to have a minimum of 10 inches to donate to "Locks of Love" and I have about 7 inches past the length I will be eventually chopping my hair to. I have decided to continue growing my hair until I go home for Memorial Day weekend because I really trust Kyla, my stylist in Stevens Point, and if I am going to be making such a drastic length change, I want someone I trust to be operating the scissors!The reason for writing my resolution here is because I seriously lack patience (especially when blow drying my hair) and my hair is already getting longer than I care for. I figure that if I write my resolution somewhere other people will see it, I will be less likely to back out, so look for photos of my new, shorter hair after Memorial Day!
I have always wanted to donate hair to "Locks of Love" because, well, not to be vain, but I think I have really nice hair, color-wise. I have seen other natural redheads with some pretty funky shades. Only 4% of the world population even carries the recessive gene for red hair, and that's not to say they will pass it along to their offspring at the same moment the other parent, who must also carry the recessive gene, passes it along. So there are even less people who actually have red hair and even less of those who donate their hair to a cause like "Locks of Love." And, if I had cancer or another condition resulting in baldness, I cannot imagine having a wig any color other than red... plus, as I just mentioned, there are some funky shades of natural red floating around out there...
You need to have a minimum of 10 inches to donate to "Locks of Love" and I have about 7 inches past the length I will be eventually chopping my hair to. I have decided to continue growing my hair until I go home for Memorial Day weekend because I really trust Kyla, my stylist in Stevens Point, and if I am going to be making such a drastic length change, I want someone I trust to be operating the scissors!The reason for writing my resolution here is because I seriously lack patience (especially when blow drying my hair) and my hair is already getting longer than I care for. I figure that if I write my resolution somewhere other people will see it, I will be less likely to back out, so look for photos of my new, shorter hair after Memorial Day!
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