Writing Through Frustration and Right into Thanks

I have been low: worried, anxious, angry, indignant. I have some pretty serious concerns about Greyson's learning and behavior, and tomorrow morning we go to a consultation with his doctor. I know my child well, and I know he genuinely struggles with focus, impulsivity, and hyperactivity.

I struggle with public education's expectations of our little ones to sit quietly and do worksheets all day with minimal time to move.

The fact that Greyson's dad and I are at odds over this stuff makes it exponentially harder.

Tonight my worry and anxiety reached a fever pitch. Last minute nerves don't help. In recent months, since I read Fervent, by Priscilla Shirer, I've taken to writing my prayers. Not all of them, but when it's really serious or consuming or feels urgent, I definitely do. I try to be as specific as possible. To open the steam valve that writing provides.

I wrote two prayers tonight. The first one was a request for peace and clarity. To turn my worries over to Him. To have some solace because my brain was buzzing and my face was turning red, my cheeks hot. I felt like I was going to pop.

I wrote, and I came down a bit. I started mulling over some options in my head. Suddenly I saw more than one way forward. I felt hopeful, and I felt peaceful.

The second prayer was one I didn't see ahead of time, but the need to write it was palpable. Once I had come down from my frustration, I took some time to talk with friends online, to do some private messaging, to ask some questions, mull over some answers. My second prayer was one of thanks. Thanks for truly gracious, giving, generous, encouraging friends. People who will talk me off the ledge and share their own experiences that bring so much comfort when I'm worrying myself to pieces.

Thank you, thank you all, for all you do. Vasilly, I'm looking at you right now.

Blogging 12 Years

This blog is 12 years old today. I'm sitting here in class, waiting for students to filter in from the really terrible traffic, and I'm looking for the angriest, fiercest poem I can find because Donald Trump is still going after the National Endowment for the Arts and just about everything else that so many of us don't want him to go after.

I'm stewing with "Lady Lazarus":

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

I'm mad as hell and just trying to funnel that feeling into positive action.

I'm not reading much on paper, but I'm listening to Lincoln in the Bardo, and I love it. I'm stretching it out, savoring every word. I'm not usually much for old white guys who play with form, but I'm into this.

I love you all for being awesome. I'm glad I'm still here, limping along, knowing you good people, after more than a decade. 

#OwnVoices: If I Was Your Girl Resists the Single Story

If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo is the story of Amanda, a trans high school student who moves to a small, rural Tennessee town in order to start her life over after her transition. She quickly falls in with a popular group of girls who are evangelical Christians--some of whom are from very strict, controlling families. She also befriends a young woman from her art class, Bee, who is a bisexual artist, and who keeps that part of her identity to herself. Finally, Amanda feels, she has something in common with a friend because even if their situations are different, they are beholden to their secrets. She also falls for Grant, a fairly geeky, endearing football player, and they begin dating.

Interspersed with Amanda's experiences in her new school and in getting reacquainted with her father, we learn about her background--how her parents coped (or didn't) with her wish to transition, some aspects of her medical experience, and how her friends and acquaintances treated her or, in some cases, were violent toward her.

I have to admit, I was scared out of my mind for Amanda coming of age in a small southern town. I kept waiting for something gawd awful to happen because that seems like it's usually the case in books that approach this subject matter, but Russo's handling of Amanda's story was much more balanced than that, though there were hard moments.

More than anything, I appreciated Russo's note at the end of the book with explanation about how she chose some of Amanda's characterization and how that allowed her to take specific paths within the story. She points out that there is no one experience--no single story--of being trans, and Amanda's experiences are relatable though also idealized in specific ways. I won't say much more than that, but I felt it was a really important disclaimer for the YA audience, and for anyone reading the book, in fact.

Octopuses, Not Octopi

The audiobook streak continues. Or it did until I ran out of Scribd credits. I was nothing but pleased to trade the last one in for The Soul of an Octopus: A Surprising Exploration into the Wonder of Consciousness by Sy Montgomery.

I got a lot from this book. More than ever would've imagined, in fact. First, and perhaps most important, it was explained to me that the plural of octopus is in fact OCTOPUSES rather than octopi. Something about Greek words and Latin endings not jiving together.

Now that that's out of the way, the meat of the book. Montgomery,
equal parts naturalist, philosopher, poet, and scientist, fell in love with octopuses. The genesis of the book was a 2011 piece she wrote for Orion magazine about her relationship with an octopus named Athena. Montgomery had a connection with the animal, a deeper one than she thought could exist, and the rest is history.

As she becomes continually more fascinated with octopuses, she begins spending significant amounts of time at the New England Aquarium. Not only does she observe and handle the octopuses--several over time as they have fairly short life spans--they're fond of reaching tentacles out of the water to taste the visitors to the tank, she befriends the aquariasts who take care of them, the myriad individuals who volunteer for the institution, and their family members beyond the watery walls.

As Montgomery observes and falls deeper in love with octopuses, she forges personal relationships with the animals and begins to grasp the breadth of their decision-making skills: from choosing the best camouflage to protect themselves from predators, to their deft escape artist tricks, and their love of tinkering to stave off boredom.

I am doing this book no justice, but it is a winning combination of memoir, journalism, and science. The research Montgomery presents, and the way she wears her love of animals on her sleeve, is absolutely charming. It won't be long before I listen to another of her books.