Deliverance

Elisabeth asked her grandma what they would be doing for Easter Sunday. Grandma replied, “nothing pagan.”

So we kicked off the Gill family Easter weekend with an Easter egg hunt. Yeah, it’s pagan but when a nine-year-old who has lived in England for the last two years anticipates coming back to the United States just for the candy, I don’t feel too bad about stuffing plastic eggs full of cinnamon bunnies, speckled malt eggs, and jelly beans.

Passover started last night at sundown. Our seder started about two and a half hours before the sun set and lasted about thirty-five minutes instead of four hours because guests included six children, three teenagers, five grandparents, two aunts, three uncles, James, his sister, her boyfriend, and me. We reviewed the essentials of the seder, particularly the three symbols of the seder tray, which Rabbi Gamaliel expressly stated must be explained or one has not fulfilled his duty. We also played “Who knows one?” and tried to breathe out all thirteen principles in a single breath. No one passed out.

My favorite moment in James’s condensed, Jewish-Mormon seder is when we dip into our glasses of juice (not wine) and drop ten droplets onto our plates to symbolize the suffering of Egypt from the ten plagues. James then holds up an entire cup of juice and explains that when during the Last Supper Jesus says “This is my blood,” He was illustrating the power of the Atonement.
           
During Passover and Easter the Atonement is always foremost in my mind. That is, after all, the purpose of the holidays: to help us remember that God delivers His people—from bondage, from death, from despair.

And so in this season when snow tries to bury budding fruit trees and the ground cyclically freezes and thaws, I remember death came to Mary’s firstborn, just as it did to all of the firstborn sons of Egypt. But He rose triumphant on that Sunday, and on that day the cold earth could not hold back its bounty. Each of the sons of Egypt is delivered by Him, as is every soul who has come to this earth, and so am I.

Romantic Gestures

Last month my sister-in-law called to ask if I knew any good poems under twenty-five lines. I was at work and didn't have my 1997 edition of Perrine's Sound and Sense with me, so I started searching for poems online.
I found a poem I felt compelled to share with James.

To My Dear and Loving Husband
By  Anne Bradstreet   Nicole*

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay; 
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever,
That when we live no more we may live ever.

The subject line read, "I wrote a poem for you . . . sort of."

This was James's response:

"I plagiarized a poem for you" sounds less romantic than it is. ;)

This was unexpected, so I replied,

So the gesture is still romantic?  

He wrote back,

Absolutely. :)  

Tonight James and I are going on a date. We're homebodies, so we're cool making dinner each night and hanging out with our children, so going out to dinner and to a party together is quite exciting. But even without Valentine's Day or date nights, I'm glad to know we can still keep romance in our lives through plagiarism.

Magicday

Shhh . . . This is a secret just between us.

Yesterday, we played hooky.

Boo woke up late; I woke up later. She crawled into my bed and said, "Mama, I'm ready for homeschool." I thought, "I'm not."

Then I remembered the email we had received the night before. We found it at about 11:00 p.m. It was from Boo's teacher. Her teacher clarified our misconception about Boo's reading improvement. We thought that going from a level 18 to a level 24 was six levels up; it's only two. We also didn't realize that when Boo dropped from a 20 to an 18 she had only dropped one level. Nor did we understand that getting from level 24 to 28 is only one level. All of these ups and downs seem like a much bigger deal when you actually know how to count by ones. If counting by twos, then fours, the levels seem almost arbitrary.

But then her teacher was . . . not nice. She had called me last week to report the improvement in Boo's reading level, but assured me that Boo will never pass level 28 because she can't respond to her reading in writing. Okay. Negative, but we can work on that during our two and a half hours in the morning. It's a good and important skill, and Boo certainly has a hard time writing her ideas clearly. We work on writing every day, but we can incorporate that.

Again, she addressed Boo's behavior in class: she's talking back now, still not focused, not following directions. Talking back is unacceptable. I will address that with her. The other two seem to be her teacher's biggest concerns, or she wouldn't have asked, "Have you met with your pediatrician yet?"

What? She filled out the Conners test even though we told her we'd rather talk with a mental health professional, and now she's asking if we've gone to our pediatrician? I said, "I mentioned it to him, but we have not followed through with a diagnosis."

James was sitting next to me, seething. When he received a friendly email from her later that night, letting us know the read-a-thon would be in the afternoon to accommodate Boo's morning homeschool schedule, we were glad. Since she asked if I had told him about our phone conversation, he decided to reply. He clearly told her that we have researched ADHD and don't want to discuss it further with her, and we don't want it to be a part of her behavior plan. He was firm but polite.

I think that's when he hurt her feelings or sent her into a fury. In that late-night email she told us that we are limiting our daughter's "potential and ability to succeed in life."

We were ready to pull her out of the class completely. We were ready to tell the principal that she has a mean, vindictive second-grade teacher on her hands. We were ready to cry.

Instead of crying, I let Boo dress up for the day--all day. And skip school. And learn to sew. And eat pancakes. And go on an adventure.

She told me she sometimes feels "overwhelmed" at school. She gets frustrated because of the "reminders" her teacher gives, reminders to stay on task, reminders to stop talking. I tried to talk through her feelings and get to the core issue. I think, mostly, Boo gets tense and emotional when she receives any kind of criticism. She doesn't know how to deal with her feelings of insecurity, feelings that may be linked with her intense fear of abandonment.

Boo, Ji, and I walked to the library. Boo had her Rapunzel dress on and a flower wreath in her hair. Ji was Batman with cape and cowl. We picked out too many books and The Court Jester and met up with Daddy. We bought candies and bubbles and sidewalk chalk. Ji's laughter was encouragement enough to keep blowing bubbles. Boo danced in the backyard with her bubble wand. Later Boo made a fort out of blankets and chairs in our living room.

Boo told me yesterday that I'm the best mama ever. Except I still feel sort of guilty for pulling her out of school for the day.

And then I remember her face when we saw the daffodils and tulips coming up in a neighbor's flowerbeds. And I remember the joy of the sunshine and breeze. I think of Ji pulling down books and books, wanting all of them to come home with us. I picture Boo running to hug her daddy when he walked through the library doors.

It was a magic day.

I need to let go of the guilt and remember the magic.

Standing on a Soapbox

Usually people don't listen to me: I'm used to this.

As the fourth child in a loud and raucous household, I learned to shut my mouth.

My three older siblings would yell, "Shotgun!" and race for the front seat. I would say, "I want the back."

My sister continually cajoled me out of sodas and sweets by insisting that she have the larger portion. At the time she thought she was tricky; she knows now that I was just complaisant.

My daughter has recently developed an attitude of argumentation. "Why?" passes her lips instinctively after I ask her to go do something.

"Put away your sweater."

"Why?"

"Would you rather I throw it away instead?"

Whenever I tell my son, "Let's go change your diaper!" he runs away, laughing maniacally. Pajamas are a wrestling match.

But today I'm standing on a soapbox.

On our Everyday Mormon Writer website (where you can find a lovely new literary work at artwork every Friday), we've pulled out the soapbox. Unfortunately, it's only a metaphorical soapbox, a menu option on a website, not that good old fashioned wooden soapbox that would lift one above the crowd just enough to get the message out.

I'm hoping that my voice will carry. Maybe someone will listen.

Go ahead and argue with me, if you want.

Thoughts from a University Writing Instructor . . .

Once upon a time, I went to college. It was a little college in a little town in southern Utah. I met all kinds of highly educated professors whose life experiences were as diverse as their hairstyles. They talked intensely about the sensuality of Klimt's Water Serpents, the potential of Locke's social contract, and the resonance of Richard Wright's graphic violence.

I graduated from the college and went to a university. Then I went to graduate school.

Now I stand in front of my classes with my long, blonde, hippy hair and talk to my students about poverty, education, immigration, healthcare, and politics.

But part of my job as a university writing instructor is to bring up issues that will upset my students enough to get them to form opinions. Once they have figured out what they think, these students need to formulate arguments. Then, I teach them how to shape their arguments for audiences who initially disagree with them. Because I teach at a religious university, many of the arguments end up defending more conservative viewpoints. They do, however, have to figure out "how to talk to a liberal" despite Ann Coulter's insistence that it's not necessary. A surprising number are more politically liberal arguments, something that many people, including Rick Santorum, would immediately blame on the indoctrination of the liberal university system.

The Desert News just published an article reacting to Santorum's claim. Apparently, a lot of liberal professors have spent a lot of time looking into how education relates to religiosity. (A student emailed the article to me because we had discussed the issue earlier in the semester. See, they are thinking.) The article shows that the more education people get, the more likely they are to be religious. One study looked into different aspects of religiosity (scripture study, prayer, volunteering, church attendance, etc.) and found that those whose education is above the seventh grade are more likely to participate in all religious activities. A handy bar graph shows that only one percent of people who graduate from college are less likely to be affiliated with a religious group (85% down to 84%). Unfortunately, post-graduates (PhDs, MDs, attorneys) are down to 81% compared with 85% for high school graduates.

So if 81% of post-graduates (including Rick Santorum and his Juris Doctorate) are still affiliated with a religious organization, why is the education a constant battleground for liberals and conservatives?

My theory: Because educators teach.

No matter what teachers do, we are going to upset someone. We get a classroom of twenty to five hundred students whose life experiences are as diverse as their hairstyles and are expected to never offend or upset any of them.

Now I'm not being defensive. The system is set up this way from kindergarten. Educators need to be more than just masters of our subjects: we also need to be respectful, understanding, unbiased, politically neutral, compassionate, fair, patient, generous with our time and feedback, and constantly available by email.

This isn't a bad list of responsibilities, really. I know most people expect the same things from their parents, best friends, spouses, therapists and pets.

Except that I am not my students' parent, best friend, spouse, therapist, or pet.

I'm a teacher.

And I am in front of the class because I possess some knowledge that is necessary for them to gain. So I share it the only way I know how: I teach.

Blitzing Out

James and I were talking (as usual) one night and discussed the possibility of a web magazine devoted to short Mormon works.

We were really excited about the possibility of heading up this project, but who would contribute? Would people read it? How do we get writers and artists involved?

James posted about this on the Association for Mormon Letters blog, and Scott Hales came on board. They devised the Mormon Lit Blitz, a contest to feature works of 1,000 words or fewer that would appeal to an LDS audience.

Pass-along card by Scott Hales

The response was awesome.

We received about 230 submissions.

Scott, James, and I read through them and picked the top 32.

Then our everyday readers picked up packets of eight works and ranked them.

We ended up with thirteen finalists.

They've all been featured on the Mormon Artist blog, and now it's time to vote.

We've had thousands of visitors the last two weeks, but we need you to speak out. Not just to see who wins the contest and the Kindle, but come show your support for a compelling field of literature that needs to know there are people out there ready to read.

Then, you should keep reading when James and I get that magazine going.

What Does ADHD Look Like?

Boo has been taking guitar lessons since the beginning of second grade. Her Grandpa George was so excited to take us to the music store and pick out the right guitar for her little hands. We found a bright red Oscar Schmidt 3/4-size acoustic that fit her just right. Grandpa has given her a thirty-minute lesson every Monday afternoon for the last six months.

Yesterday he was concerned.

It's the same concern I've heard from Boo's teacher all year.

She won't focus.

I'm not ready to call it Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. I am willing to accept mental illness, learning disabilities, or other issues with my child. I'm just not sure that a teacher who believes doodling is "not consistent with grade level" is qualified to fill in the Conners test for my second grader. After all, I doodled my way through graduate school.

ADHD in girls is tricky. Most studies have focused on boys because they tend to display more disruptive, hyperactive behaviors than girls do. Boys are more likely to be more defiant and moody. However, girls are more likely to participate in substance abuse.Current research believes that ADHD is caused by overly thin brain tissue surrounding the parts of the brain that sustain attention. This theory attempts to explain children "growing out" of ADHD since the brain tissue will often grow as the child ages. Unfortunately, more girls are misdiagnosed as ADHD before the age of ten than boys.

I'm a little skeptical at this point. I have been teaching college students writing for the past six years. As a tutor and teacher I have worked a great deal with students with learning disabilities, particularly ADHD. The adult women who have been diagnosed with ADHD have struggled with inattention and hyperactivity their whole lives. They have been on medications at times (for example, while in college), and they have learned to cope without medication at other points. The key with these women has been the lifelong struggle. They didn't suddenly wake up attentive and calm. Just as I haven't suddenly woken from my mental health issues, I don't know that I can accept the possibility of suddenly "growing out" of a mental disorder.

The school has assured us that even if we choose not to medicate our daughter, a diagnosis will provide her with accommodations. We are five months into the twelve-month waiting list for clinical tests, and maybe we should take her to her pediatrician. There may be other issues, such as a generalized anxiety disorder. Of course I don't want her to break down in tears because she has lost her gloves again or because she is overwhelmed by the ticking clock. However, asking our pediatrician to assess the teacher's Conners test, so our seven-year-old can get through timed math seems odd.

Medication does seem like the easiest fix for ADHD. It's been really effective for a lot of people who have struggled with school and work. I am definitely an advocate for mental health medication. But the world Boo lives in is beautiful and imaginative. She constantly creates stories, characters, scenarios, and games. If a stimulant let her complete thirty addition problems in three minutes but took away the faery dust that constantly sparkles around her, how could I justify the loss?

It's such a colorful, magical world with Boo. I can't imagine changing it.