Kristen Kehoe

Fittingly, the gift of seventeen years is furniture to represent "comfort." I don't know who comes up with these things, Old Man River, but since we bought a fucking roof this year, I would say they nailed it. Happy anniversary--our house will not be leaking, thus we are sure to be comfortable. Also ^^^ that metaphor? It kind of rocks. Most people think foundations when they think relationships. And sure, but that's only one part. (I'm sure my builder-y, handy friends are lik

Livvy-Love turned 14 on Monday...April 27, so, obviously it's taken me some time to figure out what this means...and to set up her goddamn phone, which made me feel old, which pissed me off, which delayed all things celebratory. I digress. Fourteen, Liv. I didn't realize this would feel as old as it does, not until the moment a kid in my 7th period said, "Hey, I'm fourteen, too." Say what, now? Logically, I knew this was coming, as she registered for high school classes in Ap

What you're looking at in this month's essay title is the entirety of the response I received rejecting my essay guide to being a high school teacher. "Not for me, thanks." Sent from my iPhone . It took twelve hours from the moment I hit send, to the moment this beauty arrived in my inbox. This is speed-of-light type response for the publishing world--and maybe something I could have waited the requisite 6-8 weeks before reading, but, beggars and choosers and all that jazz. T

In my AP Language class the first week of second semester, we read an excerpt from Mike Rose’s “Lives on the Boundary,” called “I Just Wanna be Average.” It’s a brilliant story, one with meat on its bones as Rose takes us through the reality of being a kid who doesn’t feel comfortable--or accepted--at school, the armor we create to protect ourselves, and the reality of seeing “a handful of students far excel you in courses that sound exotic and are only in the curriculum of