when i grow up...wait, that already happened

I like to think that I have a plan for my life. We've been constantly working our butts off for our "future" for as long as I can remember. What made us so motivated to do well in first grade? We weren't exactly vying for enrollment at our favorite colleges yet, although I was certain I would attend Penn State and wear Burkenstocks. What do you want to be when you grow up? I can't help but miss those days where the answer to such a question had 5 possible choices: doctor, teacher, vet, astronaut, firefighter. I like animals, so I want to be a vet. Ok great, yea, those cartoon pictures you see as a child representing various occupations make it all look so lovely! The vet has a clean white lab coat on, maybe a stethoscope, and one of those shiny round mirrors on his head. He's most likely wearing glasses and a smile while surrounded by fluffy kittys, dogs, and a parrot. Awwww! My dream! But take heed! These pictures tend to leave out the part of the job that turned me off of the veterinary profession for life. I was at horseback riding camp when a horse got sick. In came the vet and I watched in horror as this man stuck his entire arm up to his shoulder into the horses butt, all before my disillusioned 4th grade eyes. Cross THAT one off the list...along with horseback riding for that matter. Firefighter equipment weighs more than I do. I'm deathly afraid of heights, so that endangers my career as astronaut. I tried my hand at teaching preschoolers, and was 2 poopy diapers and a temper tantrum away from the looney bin when I quit. I often throw up at the sight of blood and therefore could never be a doctor--no matter how tempting McDreamy makes it look. So now I sit here, college almost halfway over, wondering about my options.

I have a long fancy title I am aiming for here at CLU--major in Communication with an emphasis in Public Relations/Advertising with a minor in French. But what does that even mean to ME? I found out the other day in my public relations class (my soon to be PROFESSION?!) that PR has two "founding fathers". The first later went on to work for Hitler, while the second began a campaign in 1929 that while once taboo, made it sexy for women to smoke. You could practically say that PR founders ran the Holocaust and gave millions lung cancer. Criminals practically! Is this what I really want? I've taken all my strengths and gathered them into a major and minor, and I'm plowing ahead like there's no tomorrow, but all the while I'm worried. I do NOT condone murderous dictatorship, so maybe that horse's butt isn't looking so bad after all...

no more snails

I haven't had anything great to write about lately, and I'm a little sad about that. One thing I've learned though, is that there is an ebb and flow to writing, and it comes when the time is right. Sometimes there is too much in our brains that it's impossible to pinpoint and get it all out. I started this blog, though, for a particular purpose. When I write, I see a piece of me on the screen, and I'm sharing it with whomever chooses to read my blog. I put myself in a vulnerable situation- which is not an act true to my nature. I used to hide my feelings and thoughts in a book I still keep hidden, but I realize that when we open ourselves to the world and truly expose our souls, we're inviting countless other souls to know us. A lot of people ask me if I fear that I share too much sometimes...and yes, that thought terrifies me, but it's all the more reason to spill myself on a page when moved. What's wrong with sharing pieces of ourselves for other's reading enjoyment? Especially because I do not stick my neck out. I do not take risks in letting people in. I feel worn down by so many rejecting experiences-as I'm sure so many of you do too, but this is my little way of retraining myself. It takes a special person to pass my guards at the looming brick wall before the real Caitlin. The wall has unexpectantly crumbled recently, though, and I feel a willingness to let more people in. Keeping my ears perked, ready to recoil into my shell at any sign of a threat is exhausting. So do this with me. Open up without fear because life is a risk. If you're not taking any, you're not living.

30 things i love

I love fresh sheets.
I love when you listen to a song and you feel like they're singing about your life.
I love new shoes.
I love learning a new person.
I love waking up to someone.
I love microwaves.
I love not wearing make up.
I love the non-constricting nature of dresses (it's a secret that girls won't tell you. wearing a dress has nothing to do with being girly).
I love when you get a text and cannot stop smiling.
I love to see the sun after it's been raining for days.
I love umbrellas...no really, I have a small collection for no apparent reason.
I love driving with the windows down.
I love going home.
I love lists.
I love bendy straws.
I love waiting for a table at restaurants...it's all about the suspense.
I love mix CDs.
I love catching fireflies.
I love scent memories.
I love crunchy peanut butter 10 times more than creamy.
I love post it notes-especially multi colored.
I love sleeping in with my dog.
I love having an entire day to do nothing but read.
I love listening to music in the shower...and having a good cry at the same time.
I love taking pictures...even if they're no good.
I love people watching.
I love writing.
I love the pain you feel the day after a good work out.
I love to buy underwear.
I love lamp.

who shot chivalry?

Chivalry is so dead. I'm waiting to be proven otherwise, but I'm severely urked in the meantime. At the airport the other day I was struggling with my bag, and there were numerous men around that should have rushed to my side to help, but of course not. They got to watch me sweat and swear. Walking to the gym today in the rain, a guy SPED UP, drove by and soaked me with a puddle. I'm self sufficient, but sometimes I just want someone to recognize when I need help and be there. Guys are NOT in tune with our needs even just on these tiny day to day bases. I have a strong feeling that I shouldn't expect anything or hold my breath while I wait.

we have nothing to fear but...school supplies

I just found myself subconsciously mulling over an extensive list of fears, and as I mulled, the list seemed to grow in length. My last 5 weeks at home have been nothing if not boring. When I say boring, though, I mean that in the best possible way. I got to expand my mind on topics of my choice instead of topics listed on a syllabus chosen by a professor out to kill my GPA. I lounged around with the occasional retail or house work, and caught up with old friends. So you can imagine my shock when I began packing today to go back to a world of constant motion. Now, I would be lying if I said I wasn't "SO FRICKIN EXCITED" to see all my friends and lead my comparatively fast paced lifestyle at school. HOWEVER there still lingers this list of fears that may not make entire sense to you (but then they wouldn't be irrational and my name would not be Caitlin Skelly), but goes something like this...

1. It's supposed to rain for a whole week on my return. - ok let's discuss all the aspects that are wrong with that sentence. Firstly, I signed up for Southern California NOT Seattle (no offense, i hear the people are JOVIAL). Secondly, I do not have room in my already 49.5 lb bag to bring rain boots. My shoe wear will be extremely limited, and this bothers me.

2. See above about 49.5 lb bag. - Let's hope to the big man upstairs that the airport's scale is within .5 lbs of my 10 year old bathroom scale, mmk?

3. The first day of school. - No matter my age, on the first day of class, I feel like a first grader. I'm nervous and squirmy and feel like crying for my mommy. I have already envisioned myself walking from class to class...like I might get lost on the expansive Cal Lutheran campus where I know no one. Should I buy some Elmer's Glue? Maybe a pencil box? nah. I'll stick with an assortment of cap-erasers, Lisa Frank folders, and a trapper-keeper and call it a day.

4. Greeting friends again. - okay, it's been 5 weeks, not 5 decades...but it might as well have been. Getting back into that flow of living again is always interesting. Not to mention my apprehensions that may have more to do with my sometimes untimely low self esteem than anything else...but that's another story...for another person...

5. The sheer excitement disguised as apprehension of not knowing. - Every new semester is a fresh start at the game. We've had halftime, now we're running back on the field. You never know if you're going to score (no sexual reference intended) or get nailed in the face by an elbow and end up with a black eye for a week or worse. Ya get back out there and give it everything you have despite the dangers. Every semester has brought detrimentally terrible events, but has also brought some of the most memorable times of my life. The not knowing which will strike when, gives me a swirling feeling in my stomach. But with a little help from my friends, I think I'm ready.

Someday

It's 3 PM as I walk into A Child's Place to begin my job as a daycare aid. Immediately upon walking in the door I am bombarded with hugs, urgent news, and a barrage of questions from my class of four-year olds.

"Miss Caitlin, guess what? I didn't wet myself during nap today!"
"Miss Caitlin, I hafta tell you something. How long is an hour?"

No matter that this was a question rather than a statement, I answer, "As long as an episode of Sesame Street."

"Oh. I like hours," comes the response.

Entering the classroom everyday is an adventure.

At recess, little Annabelle is clinging to me-her face buried in my chest, her tears soaking my shirt, and a look of fear and betrayel reflected in her eyes. Her best friend has snatched her toy and pushed her. This is the first of many heartbreaks to come today, but I am here to appease her, to punish the oppressor, to be her comfort and safety.

Saturday morning comes and I find myself calling BINGO at the Barbara Egens Nursing and Rehab Center.

"B-4," I yell as loudly as I can to the room of elderly residents sitting before me. Suddenly, the man seated next to me is awakened and yells, "Before what?"

I try to stifle a laugh as I lean over to him and sort out his card. Volunteering most Saturdays since my freshman year of high school, I have grown to have a great respect for the elderly. There is the man who insists on speaking to me in Japanese because he wants me to learn the language that he learned fighting in World War II, while another shares his wisdom by informing me step by step the proper way to behead and prepare a chicken. Then there are others who cannot speak, but their gratitude for my just sitting with them is reflected in their eyes. I love listening to stories of their past or of their children, and though most of them are bedridden, there is still a strong willingness to learn and be heard.

Having the opportunity to work with both of these age groups has brought me insight and valuable experience. From being with the preschoolers I am reminded that the simple aspects in life are to be noticed and celebrated. Children have a way of finding excitement and wonder in the everyday; I want to live and seek out the same enthusiasm in life.

The elderly have ultimately taught me to live life to its fullest and take chances. I have learned that true love really can last a lifetime, which is evident in the couple that still holds hands at BINGO, and if one should fall asleep, the other plays his or her card. But mostly I have learned that thought these people have grown and matured and experienced many things both joyous and heartbreaking, they have the same soul they did at 17. We are all not that different.

These are my middle years and experiences with both ends of the cycle of life have helped me make decisions in how I want to live these days with passion and constant questions. No matter our age, as humans we have the same desires to have close interaction with others and to continue to grow everyday as people. It has been a great joy for me to be apart of all these peoples' lives. I am happy to be a form of comfort to them and to learn through them. My hope is that someday there will be someone listening to the stories of my life. From my days of pretending to be "Harriet the Spy" at the age of 7 to swimming under the Pont du Gard in Nimes at age 17, and all the memories I create, I hope to share my wisdom and tales as well. Someday.

open wide

The dentist is a daunting experience. On my way there today, I envisioned myself with severely stained and rotting teeth and decided that I could still live a fulfilling lifestyle that way. Hey, dentures are a fine alternative as well! Pop em out, put em in a cup. DONE. Anything but the dentist. It's a real wonder of the world that I even made it there today, given the fact that I was left to drive myself. Before I left, I decided the only way my car would find itself to Dr. Corsaro's office, 22 miles away, would be to trick myself. So I pretended I was getting ready to go out shopping and have fun with my friends. Needless to say, as I sat in the waiting room hearing the distant sound of drills rev, women scream, and grown men crying behind the glass doors to the office, I looked damn fashionable. Alas, not even my favorite jeans could save me from my fate.

Once in THE CHAIR I start to feel my entire body involuntarily tense. On any normal circumstances, this chair might be a fine piece of relaxing furniture for lounging, but the way my head fits perfectly into the grooved headrest only brings foreboding. My hygenist turns on the overhead lamp and I have a sudden urgency to shout "I DIDN'T DO IT!" ...or at least fess up to never flossing. I think they do that on purpose. They always ask, have you had any problems with your teeth recently? "well now that you mention it, my incisor has been slacking on the job and I just can't seem to talk any sense into him." No. No problems. Next question is always, "any trouble flossing?" Okay, why don't you just come out and say it. You know I haven't been flossing! Who has time to floss everyday?! It hurts! My gums bleed and I do not buy that load they feed you about it getting easier over time. But today I answer, "nope, no trouble." Because I really haven't had any trouble with flossing...because I don't do it.

When asked what flavor "polish" I want, I stick to my usual mint-the only option that doesn't instigate a gag reflex. She hands me a pair of goggles that make me question my safety, and so begins the cleaning. Do you ever wonder why it's gritty? Is that entirely necessary? The grit evokes a physical response in me much like finger nails on a chalk board, and I'm slightly relieved when my focus is shifted and the hygienist starts talking to me. The only problem is that this conversation quickly turns into 20 questions--further driving home the air of an instigation. Surely I would love to tell this woman all about my college experience and future plans, but her hands are halfway down my throat, and I'm having a hard time breathing, let alone orating on my life story. When she realizes this, she pulls her hands out and I end up spitting my "polish" all over the place while trying to say "California". I now see the importance of the goggles.

I'm happy to report that I escaped the place within an inch of my life, but with shiny teeth. Six months will come too soon.