In Which We All Do Some Learning

Connor had his first out-of-school occupational therapy session today, which went really well.  He actually allowed the OT to touch him a couple of times and everything, which is an absolutely amazing reception from this kid.  He did tell her several times that he didn't like her, and made sure to mention on multiple occasions that Daddy would not be making him do Such Horrible Things as we were making him do, but that's par for the course with this kid.  Anyway, I was very pleased with how things went, and the OT already has some great ideas for exercises we can add in to Connor's home therapy, which is great!

Jeremy's taking an Anatomy and Physiology class that started up yesterday; he's getting some prerequisites out of the way for the army's Physician's Assistant program.  He'd really like to pursue a career as an army PA, and I think the job would be a great fit for him!  He won't be able to apply for the program for another year, though, so he's going to go ahead and take all of the prerequisites now so he'll be ready when the time comes to turn in the application.

Jer isn't the only one who's been dabbling in intellectual activities around here!  In addition to fence building and taking Connor to school and OT and other such activities, I spent some time this week submitting poetry to various tiny literary journals.  I write a lot of the stuff (I've been writing it since I was five, actually) but I never do anything with it, so with Jer's encouragement I figured I'd send it out and see whether or not anyone wants to publish any of it.  It's interesting to note that while my blog has been described by various people on separate occasions as "relentlessly upbeat," my poetry is almost all horribly depressing.  I have absolutely no idea why this is, especially since I'm not horribly depressed when I write it.  It's like I've gotten stuck in that angsty teenage poetry phase (and believe me, I have whole volumes of extremely bad angsty poetry I wrote between the ages of 13-18 stored away in a box somewhere so you would think I would have gotten that out of my system), only now I can describe said horribly angsty things with better metaphors.  Most of the poems aren't even autobiographical, so I'm not quite sure how to explain that one, as apparently I really enjoy writing extremely depressing poetry about fictional people, none of whom deserve the horrible fates I condemn them to.  I may have a slight sadistic streak running through my veins somewhere. 

At any rate, they're fun to write, and it gives me an excuse to get out of the house once a week and sit around in a coffee shop drinking tea and eating one or more molasses cookies.  As if I really need an excuse for that.  Yum!

~Jess