My Crazy Quinn and the Fit of Jan 29th

Oh dear! As sweet as Quinn is, she is also a little crazy person. Some of her craziness is good and creative and some of it is mean and destructive. It is a tricky balance. For example she is so creative. She tapes toys and papers to the walls all over the house; she makes sculptures out of furniture; and takes anything that can be tied and ties it to anything that can have something tied to it. I find computer cords tied in knots and toilet paper tied into bows attached to door handles. I find any decoration in our house redecorated … like today I found a sun shade from a toy stroller sticking out of a vase with something tied to it and draped over to the next vase. When we got to Grammy’s house last week, Quinn walked straight into the living room and quietly put the end tables on TOP of the table and made a “house for her kitty.” (I was actually really impressed that Grammy let this craziness go on for a whole day before finding scratches on her table and calling off the show.) Quinn is passionate and fun. But … don’t piss her off.

Her most recent passion is for a show called Dragon Tales. She just loves it so much. She gets this lit up smile when she talks about it. I can tell that it really does mean a lot to her. And hey, since I have shows I love, I don’t see any harm it in. I think the show teaches a lot of good principles, so go for it, Kid. However, when she can’t have it, she will occasionally hit the fan. Tonight our internet was going in and out, and so the Netflix wasn’t really working. I told the girls we would have to turn on a show we own from iTunes instead – We don’t have any Dragon Tails on the iPad. Quinn crumbled to the ground in despair. She could not even hear me offer to buy a few episodes of Dragon Tales for tonight and for next time. But then she quieted down, heard me, and got excited … oops, they don’t sell Dragon Tales on iTunes. Oh Dear. It was OVER. Then – God forbid – I gave her a choice about whether we would watch Backyardigans or Blue’s Clues since Dragon Tales was not an option. She refused to decide. So I decided. I decided wrong and several minutes, screams and lash-outs later, she was banished to her room for the night (kindly tucked in by her daddy.) She had completely freaked. Here is how it went down. First, I gave her a timeout for the screaming, and she continue to scream at the top of her lungs. She wouldn’t stop. I tried to take her to her room. She went dead fish on me, and I dropped her a few times. Oops. She was screaming and yelling, and telling me I was hurting her even when I was not touching her. Then while “we” were going down stairs, she started kicking and screaming and she threw her arms behind her with her claws out to scratch my face. (Don’t be confused. We are still talking about a 4-year-old little human girl here.) I screamed “Do not do that to me” while looking in her eyes, so she would know I was serious. Then, I put her in her room, and she proceeded to scream. So then – here is where it gets good -- she yelled with much passion, “If you do not let me watch a show, I will get up in the night when you are sleeping and take an iPad and watch a show all by myself.” See … she’s a bit creepy.

But it is hard to stay mad (or scared) for long. After Tim went down to her room, she calmed down pretty quickly. When I went down to put Kenna to bed a bit later, I peaked in on her, and she was all cozy in bed with a smile. I sat with her and asked how she was feeling. She said she was still said because she did not get to watch a show. But then she laughed at the baby, who was in my arms, and we talked about other things instead of the show. I said I was sorry for yelling, but that is never OK to hit mommy. She nodded her head in agreement. Then we sat together and sang some songs … some from Dragon Tales, of course, some from her music class, and some from church. She was remembering parts of the songs in music class that neither of us can ever remember. She even pulled out a little harmony. I was so proud of her, and she was proud of herself, which is really important to me. Then we sang all of “As A Child of God,” which is a new song from church that talks about how God has given us the holy ghost, our lives and our families, and we can use all of these things to make good choice and be happy. It is really a very pretty song. “I feel so safe and happy because such feelings of peace come from family love. As a Child of God I receive special light. The holy ghost tells me to know what is right.” I felt a lot of peace when I left her room. A little scared that she might be up in the night doing things she is not supposed to do … but mostly peace and gratitude that together we are learning and growing and doing all we can. I love her passion. I love that her mind is wide open and that she loves to learn and try things out. I even love that she tapes crap to my walls. She loves tape, and I love her.

Micah's Mom and my ramblings about love and pain

This week a young woman in our neighborhood took her own life. She was beautiful and talented and depressed. At the funeral this morning her family painted the picture of a compassionate soul, tortured by just too many complications -- depression, anxiety, abuse, adoption, race, and pain. I cried and cried and cried.

Her name was Micah, and I was her teacher at church when she was 13; She was mean to me. She was mean to the other girls in class, and when I asked the women in charge of all the girls that age what I should do about it, she talked to Micah's mother and came back to me with a beautiful other side of the story. She said that at home Micah was a peace maker. She was compassionate and giving.

At home she was kind, and she was her mom's best friend. But at church and at school ... she was somebody else.

I never forgot hearing that story. I used to look at Micah and try to see both sides. I believed that story. I knew it was true. I didn't just "get it" and become the perfect teacher who knew what to do with a young woman who was, well, "Prickly" as one of her brothers described her outside persona today at the funeral. But I did try to worry less about her behavior and look for more ways to love her. I, vaguely, remember writing Micah a nice letter just before I was moved out of Young Women's. I don't remember what it said, but I would not have written it if I had not meant it. I knew I did not do perfectly by Micah, but I did, for that time in my life, do the best I could. I never quite figured out how to find balance with my pride, my compassion and my fear. Soon after that letter, I moved on to work with the toddlers in the church nursery, and I only occasionally ran into Micah. We never had conversations, and we only sometimes smiled. Sometimes Micah obliged Quinn during church when we would sit in front of her family and Quinn would turn around to make faces with her or play peek-a-boo. And one time Micah told me after church that I had really cute kids.

I was not at church on the Sunday that Micah's father spoke in church about how they had taken Micah to either a treatment facility or a boarding school; I never got the details. I guess I thought everything would just get better, and I would never need to know.

Why was I not compelled to do more? I am not looking for comfort here. I am actually asking and wondering. I don't think I could have made much of a difference in the long run, but I could have made a difference in a day here or a day there. Looking back it seems so obvious that if I knew that she was a sweat heart at home and mean at church, that clearly she was in pain and needed love ... from me ... from everyone. Why was my heart not compelled to do more?

If I understand the teachings of Jesus, the simple, beautiful teachings of Jesus, what makes it so hard to reach out? What makes it so hard to love? The answer seems so simple to me now. I could have just shown up at Micah's house every day with cookies? Even if she hated cookies, she would have gotten the message. But the thought never crossed my mind. It wasn't that I didn't have enough time. I just never thought to do it, and that makes me sad.

But I guess the idea of turning the other cheek seems like such a great idea ... until you actually feel the hit and feel like if you show me your other cheek, you will actually get hit again. It is just not as simple as it sounds. Nothing is as simple as it sounds. What was I scared of? It seems so silly now.

Deep down we know that if we love others, turn the other cheek, walk a mile in someone's shoes, judge not, have compassion -- deep down -- we know that if we do these things, everyone will feel better. But they are the great teachings of the world because they are enlightened, they are hard, and they take practice.

I don't feel guilty, but my eyes are open. Maybe next time, I will be more aware. Maybe I will give of myself more. When I draw a picture of myself, I am the person who does things, who makes a difference. Makes me sad that sometimes I am, in fact, not that person.

My heart is so heavy with Micah's pain. It is not about me or what I did or did not do. It is about Micah and the horrible weight she bore in life. My heart continues to break.

And when I think about her mother, I start to bawl and bawl. She was the woman who knew the truth. She knew both sides and carried that weight. She was the the woman entrusted with such a sensitive soul. The woman who gave everything she had. The world changes and takes on new meaning, pain changes and takes on new meaning, when you are a mother. Who cares about balance and discipline and teaching your children? Today I just want to hug and squeeze and cry. I cry for Micah. I cry for her mom. And I cry for those darn principles of Jesus that are so simple and so beautiful and just so hard.