First Grades are In

Acceptance Speech
(inspired by those made tonight to the Hollywood Foreign Press)

Wow, what an incredible honor to be studying at Westminster. These grades mean so much to me. I would like to thank my advisor, who, back in August walked me through every semester for the next four years and didn't look at me cross-eyed when I told her I wanted to go part time.

I also need to thank the librarians at the Adreas Center. You helped me navigate those stacks, find theologians you didn't necessarily agree with, and you showed me my favorite setting on the copier-- two book pages to two sides on one page.

To my classmates on Monday nights, your diligence, your spontaneous discussions, clarifying questions were spot-on. To the certificate students who have real jobs, thanks for keeping the discussions pragmatic. To the auditors, your nervous energy made all of us want to be smarter. To my Biblical Theology professor, who kept a fatherly eye on me. Thanks for not laughing at my idea that the halved carcasses from Genesis 15 was a prefigurement of the "valley of the shadow of death." Thanks for allowing me to retake my final after I royally screwed it up. You telling me I had "fresh insights" helps me not give up-- even when the loan statements come in.

To the Human Personality folks from Thursday afternoons: you were an amazing group of human beings to be among. It is no-joke to be studying human nature-- how badly broken, and yet how wonderfully complex. To my instructor, studying with you after years of reading your books, only animated the truths you put forth. Thank you for helping me break with my "idolatry of the professor" by letting us into your home, by telling us your struggles, and by insisting that even after authoring life-saving books on depression, addiction, anxiety, and fear of man, you are just like me-- walking by faith.

To the girls I study with-- Jamie, Cherilyn, and Kelli. Thanks for answering midnight emails. Thanks for meeting off-campus. I share these grades with you.

To my brother, Mikey, who, even though he was working multiple jobs, in grad school, with a child on the way, found time to mail a book to my dorm room in Tower B. The book came out of WTS and CCEF. I read that book and a seismic shift took place in me. That book threw the light on for me, which helped me to see that I can live a sham or I can live in hope. I would not be here doing this if it weren't for that birthday gift. Thanks for your friendship, that sticks so uniquely, like only a sibling can.

Thanks to our sweet daughters. Even though I have no more patience to co-op at your nursery school, you still continue to be part of the bustling beauty that is there. Thank you for not throwing my laptop into the dishwasher in protest of all the time I spend staring at it. Always, always remember that smart girls have more fun. (not my line).

Thank you to our phenomenal sons. Your non-competitive acceptance and tolerance blesses me and keeps me off the hamster wheel. Thank you for your insatiable curiosity about human nature. Thank you for always asking me about my reading. I promise you guys that what I'm doing will seriously reap something good someday.

And lastly but most of all, I wish to thank Geoff Beatty. He follows after my flagrant and sometimes scattershot path and so calmly snuffs out the fires I make. And when my fires of theological discovery are good ones, he takes the bellows and pumps it up to a roaring and rapturous discussion between us. We are like Sts. Clare and Francis, two wild-headed spirits whose friendship could be seen from miles. A raging fire in the forest, two friends colluding about life and about God.

this counseling thing

Rubber is meeting road as I get back into my semester. And I can see if I'm going to do this, I gotta be all in. All January, I am in this seminar, where we are learning about licensure, competency, standards of care. And today, we spent the afternoon on Dual Relationships. And all I can say is: buzz kill, buzz kill, buzz kill.

I guess I had illusions of having d'orsay shoes and a pin stripe suit and an office on Rittenhouse Square. An office with some fairly-traded rug and the most generous Chesterfield you've ever seen. And people would come in and tell me their technicolor stories, and I would come up with these brilliant and laser-sharp questions, they'd get better and I'd be thrilled.

I think it's going to actually be more like, I cobble together some internship at a borrowed office. I say five harried goodbyes in the morning (one bribe to take the violin, one promise to read Fancy Nancy, two runny noses, and one too-brief kiss from G). And then it's sitting in someone else's chair listening to story after story of disappointment, depression, chronic illness, and all the woe and malaise that can be imagined. The counseling hour will pass like molasses, the box of tissue will be expended and if I get to say anything, it might be an anemic little line of questions.

I know it's important to have my illusions properly disassembled. I got to laugh a lot at lunch with a bunch of women who were like: Licensure, I don't know! I think I might use my degree just to be a better wife to my husband! Or another woman who is trying so bravely to try and start a counseling center in the East Village. She is the age I was when I was making sandwiches in the deli at Harvest Co-op. Such a range, and it actually feels okay to not know exactly how this is going to look when I 'm done.

What keeps me real is to come home and describe this work to Geoff. We marvel at the high-level of accountability that counseling will require. Today we were told that sexual misconduct is an occupational hazard. In the exchange of intense, emotional stuff, and the work of communicating and understanding people, statistically it is simply the truth about counseling. And how to guard against it, tons of accountability, tons of prayer. I know our families are going to be like, "Oh, great. Mia and Geoff-- can they get more serious and intense and disgustingly honest?" But I guess I have to ask, don't we all want to take each other's occupational hazards and learn from them? Who says it's a bad thing to be cautious about litigation, malpractice, or even informally students who grade-grub?

Also, it keeps it real to come home and talk to the kids about what I'm doing. I think it will be important that they understand this process: I have to do the reading even if I can't get through one without drooling pools. I have to write good papers even if it means I can only sled for a short time. This week has been a demonstration in these things. And yet, each day, was full of gracious surprises.

Kids Book List:2

-Toot and Puddle Series by Holly Hobbie. Great series about two pigs who are best friends and roommates but very different from one another. Their affection and dedication to each other is wonderful.
-Rabbit Finds a House-can't remember the author. Out of print. It's a great story about making home with what you have. My girls like to point out that they walk past their house before they realize it's the one for them.
-Toestompers and the Caterpillars by Sharleen Collicott. A great story about overcoming prejudice and arriving at a place of compassion. Our favorite line "Now come along my fancy dandies!"
-Santa Calls by William Joyce. This book set the tone for our whole Advent season. Resist the temptation to open the envelope at the end. You will cry if you are a little sister who was overlooked. Or if you were an older sib who was merciless to a little sib. It is true magic and bears numerous readings.
-The Keeping Quilt by Patricia Polacco. Clara got a sewing machine for Christmas and this really would pair well with that. I am a sucker for immigration stories but this one is multi-generational as well. It's based on a true story, too.

Kids' Books:List One

As I am redoing their rooms, there are so many amazing books that have woven their way into our kids hearts and minds, I must mention them here. I will spend the week on books for the very young child. The titles come to me piecemeal. I will list the book, the author, and why I think it's exceptional.

-Poinsettia by Felicia Bond. One sibling in a family of many. She's not shy about wishing she were an only-child.
-Umbrella by Taro Yashima. Read this one aloud for Clara's class on her third birthday. Perfect to read-aloud. A coming of age -story about the tiniest yet still significant rite of passage.
-Sayonara Mrs. Kackleman by Maira Kalman. For some reason, this whimsical and surreal travel book captured our sons at 2 and 3.
-The Alfie Series by Shirley Hughes. Stumbled on these in Boston. These books totally support the idea (not mine) that what captivates very young kids is untidy, personal and cozy domestic settings. The sloppy kitchen, the disheveled neighbors in London are adorable. My favorite is called "Helpers." And its not edited for American readers so they "call at the rec" and "Mum's asked us to clean our rooms before supper." The one about moving is a gem.
-Judith Viorst is masterful at capturing the melancholy side of childhood. The ennui of daily life, the simmering sibling rivalry, it's so good.
-Martha Alexander approaches this well, too. All of our kids adore the sibling ones. One is called "Nobody Asked Me If I Wanted a Baby Sister." And one, whose title escapes me about relentless teasing.
-Frances Series by Russel and Lillian Hoban. A Bargain for Frances is my favorite. If you don't think children know about being manipulated, Frances handles it beautifully and you'll be amazed at how your kids get it. They understand friendship and forgiveness and walk us through it. My friend, Genevieve, and I dream of packing the lunch in Bread and Jam for Frances, which includes a tiny cardboard salt-shaker.
-Ernest and Celestine Series by Gabrielle Vincent. This sweet friendship between a mouse and her adoptive father, a bear.
-Jan Ormerod's books. Ballet Sisters is a favorite. Ormerod is Australian and draws from photographs. The verisimilitude is remarkable. Text is sparing and that totally works for her. My fave is 101 Things to Do with a Baby.
-Chester's Way by Kevin Henkes. Manny and Benicio know this by heart.
-Farmer Palmer's Wagon Ride by William Steig. Once partied with Wililam Steig's grand-daughter (okay a potluck in Jamaica Plain. She drank gin.) who told us her grandfather was her idol but that she didn't know him that well. But anyway, the language in this book is lyrical, hysterical, incredibly descriptive. Manny and Benicio are going to ask Wes Anderson to turn this into his next animated feature. When you see the donkey's glasses and hat, you'll agree.
-The Bruno Series by Lars Klinting. Bruno the Baker is my favorite. Bruno spends his winter birthday inside baking with his friend, Felix. Our favorite line, "The kitchen is getting a little bit messy but that's okay." Then at dusk, friends come over. These books are like a primer for cookbooks with step by step illustration, it's my kids' first recipe.

Okay, wow. That's good for now. I'll send more later. . .

Feverish Child, the Second

I dedicate this post to Benicio, who has been stricken with the flu since yesterday after Mass.

Dear Benicio,
Only now am I reminded of how young you are. How much you ask of the world, of yourself, of me. When I get sick, say with a fever, like you are now, I buckle. At the first body aches, I cancel everything. As the malaise sets in, I go fetal. And as the thing takes its course, I let it bowl me over as my plans for the day scatter and fall like so many Kleenex. You son, however, were so articulate about each phase, so present for the faucet post-nasal drip. You exclaim out of your sleep, "Mom, mom, I just STILL don't feel right!"

I returned from the Y and you were asleep on the couch in the living room. Your eyelashes soaked with tears, your flushed cheeks. You were serene and cherubic. I went into the kitchen to talk to Dad. Then, out of your sleep, you shouted out, "All the Tylenol did was bring the fever down!" I came to you and you were outraged that you weren't feeling better. Oh, little son. The world is not as it should be. The axis is off-kilter, the orbit interrupted. The order of your eight-year old universe is halted.

I told you that we could call Noah after school for a little cheer-up chat. You said, "No, I don't want to get him sick."

I love your specific wishes that punctuate your sleep. Requests for "the plug-in blanket," your water, the lavender eye-pack for the "excruciating head ache," and my favorite, "maybe a little Avatar episode, where it left off yesterday." I love that you are lucid in these small spurts.

You let me hold you in my arms for a long time this afternoon. I forget how small you are, with your passion for reading, your Midas-like athletic ability, and the way you approach people with that Quakerish benefit-of-doubt generosity, and your calmness that makes me look like Woody Allen with Turrets on espresso.

Maybe you won't always be this way. But right now, I love that you know how it feels to feel right. And that you let us know when you need help finding your way back to sleep, or your back rubbed, or a song sung.