Stepmomming - Part Deux

Good morning, everyone. Today is Mother's Day, May 14, 2023. 

Today is also my seventh wedding anniversary to Erik, and the traditional seventh anniversary gift is wool. Friends, as a knitter, I proclaim that I WAS BUILT FOR THIS. All yarn gifts are appreciated, and if you give me a 100g ball of yarn, I will return it to you as a hat, or a pair of fingerless gloves (should your office be cold and your fingers still need dexterity for your keyboard). I promise!

As far as knitting, I have shelved the St. Jude sweater for now, because I am at a part where I need to concentrate and read. Neither of those verbs are compatible with my current state of mind. Instead, I just finished a pair of socks for a friend, and I started knitting a hex shawl with this Three Irish Girls yarn I have had forever. I am sorry I cannot stretch with one hand and photograph with the other at four in the morning, but please do zoom in on the colors and stitch definition. This yarn is just camelot through the fingers.

So, I became a wife for the second time on May 14, 2016. Wording it that way does not do my mindset justice; if you happen to be running across this post while sitting on your veranda in Lichtenstein, then you do not know I am about as feminist as they come. Instead of saying I "became a wife," it is more of my ilk to say that I entered a long-term, non-real-estate contract for the second time that day. Also, as I always look for an excuse to share the following photos, here is our Chicago-style hot dog wedding cake, courtesy of Chef Mindy Gohr of Bittersweet Pastry Shop.

This one was always my favorite, followed closely by the one taken when Erik and I went to Downers Grove South and took some photos there. 

I became a mom on July 15, 2018, three days after my own 43rd birthday. Stanley was already three and a half weeks early, but there will always be a part of me who wishes he came down that freaking birth canal a full four weeks early. Telling people I gave birth at 42 instead of 43 would have resulted in about 4% fewer ooh's and ahh's, if my calculations are correct. He is a good kid, though. Even now, with all of the turbulence in my house, he gets more joy from practicing reading than he does from acting like a punk.

Fun fact: Stanley was due on August 7th and named in honor of Chicago Blackhawks great Stan Mikita. Stan Mikita died on Stanley's actual due date of August 7th.

On January 11, 2023, I became a different kind of mom. I became a stepmom back on the wedding anniversary seven years ago. However, on January 11, my stepkids came to live with us full-time after they discovered their mom had died that morning, smack in the middle of Erik trying to rebuild from his previous three or so years of just generally giving up. 

Now, I was someone who was running a business, running a completely chaotic household, holding down a job, going from being a full-time mom to one kid to being a full-time mom to three kids, and my spare time (because calling it what it is - every single minute of the day while overlapping with the above - makes me sound a bit "extra") is spent turning three kids into good grownups. This does not count the constantly helping Erik see that what he knew about parenting was a foundation for dysfunctional abuse cycles (through no fault of his, obviously). In flits of transition, I have to figure out if my own identity is in there somewhere. 

I do not mind being a mom. I do not mind being a business owner. I do not mind even being a wife or stepmom, adult daughter, good friend, good singer, decent knitter, neighbor who watches your house, planner, or even failure. What I mind is that, while I acknowledge that life is a culmination and continuously-changing path created by our choices, I never wanted to feel like I had no choice.

Right now, I have no choice but to stay.

Please, for the love of all things woolly, do not infer from this that I had my bags packed, but now I have to unpack and stay until (insert deadline or milestone here). I choose to stay. I choose to make the best of what is currently a very, very challenging life. That said, part of the reason is because choosing to ditch everything and everyone except Stanley in favor of living in a cute condo in a big city far away from here presents a set of circumstances that are not any more appealing than the life I have been handed. Plus, I just do not have the energy.

What I can do, however, is I can make the best of literally everything. That also takes quite a bit of energy, but the reward is much more profound than the unknown. You know the old saying about needing to be careful what you wish for when you say things like, "I wish the boss would just disappear!" because the next one could be ten times worse?" Well, that is exactly my life in a nutshell. I have good people around me, some baseline stability, and a lot of yarn for the twenty minutes per week where we are all at the library, and I get to knit while the kids are checking out books. Packing up and ditching everyone for a new life would involve changing addresses to four mortgage companies, having a different type of contract in place with Erik, figuring out my job and business, blah blah blah. I think I will just stick to waking up at 3:15am every day and going to the gym, and then getting my coffee at 7-Eleven.

And, I choose yarn. I choose knitting. I choose to not take up yoga, cooking, piano, oil painting, calligraphy, vegetable gardening, mountain biking, or feng shui. I am sticking with knitting.

Today, we celebrate motherhood. I also celebrate marriage. Every other day of the year, however, I choose to celebrate just making it through the day, and doing the best I can with the choices I am making. Finally, while I may want to smack everyone who tells me, "Wow...those boys are so fortunate to have you in their lives!" I understand it comes from a sympathetic place, and I want you all to keep telling me. That one sentence helps me make the right choice every day, especially for the task of making sure as many people around me that need it can turn into good grownups one day. Thank you for reading.

Life Is An Oregon Trail

Hello, everyone...I thought I would drop you all a note, and see if anyone wanted to donate to St. Jude in the month of March. See, I joined the Knit & Fundraise Challenge for St. Jude, and then I realized my life is a smelly dumpster fire at the moment, so I may have overestimated my ability to be a prolific knitter in an allotted time frame.

That, though, is the bad news. 

I mean, there has been a ton of bad news, in my defense. But what I mean is that if I look on the bright side, at least I started to knit, at least I am sharing the fundraiser, and at least the people who know me understand that I am already doing my best. So there is that.

Here is the link to the donation page. If you don't have Facebook, you can always just go here to donate, and there is a spot to put who sent you to their page. You can donate in memory of someone, or in honor of an occasion like, say, Amy Kaspar's Knit & Fundraise Challenge:

https://www.facebook.com/donate/598504321614651/10158923877575474/

For the record, I am doing my part anyway. I am knitting, I am showing you my progress right here and right now, and I am tooting the horn of St. Jude publicly!

See? Here I am at the gym this morning, "representin'," as the cool kids say.

And yesterday, I was sitting at the Avery Coonley School in Downers Grove, waiting for Stanley to be socially evaluated. For those of you who do not know my son, you know how hilarious it is that he needed to be evaluated in the first place when it comes to social skills. The kid has boundaries, but he has no Stranger Danger whatsoever. They were having a Wellness Period while he was there, so when we were leaving, he had to go up to each dog-handler of the three dog visitors and ask them, "Is your dog friendly?" before petting their dogs.

And finally, here is your glimmer of hope for the day. Many knitters look at patterns, browse the internet for inspiration, and even wander the yarn shop with the idea that seeing a finished product will make him, her, or them want to start and finish a project. I, a short-attention-span-knitter, often start projects that take me months because I keep putting them down, in order to be stimulated by a different project. This one, however...just look at it. The project is from Lang Yarns and the yarn, in my stash, is Berroco Lustra (a throwback, for sure...it has probably been discontinued for a decade...but by all means, zoom in on the gorgeousness):

I have had a hard time. Last year was the culmination of a three-year period, where I was trying to hold my marriage together as my husband went down a horrible downward spiral, only to have him seek help and then realize how overwhelming adulthood is (I am simplifying because the details are really nobody's business). The pandemic, which happened to be the same time period, was a horrible time to be a property investor in Chicago. It resulted in me losing $70,000 in one year with no recourse from any relief program out there, and selling a building for the sake of my mental health. I then purchased a wonderful place from a wonderful man out in Rochelle, about sixty miles from my house. The tenants there are like family, just like my building in Westmont. It has not been all gloom and doom, but the bad has far, far outweighed the good.

On Christmas Eve, Erik's kids were visiting us from their mom's house for the holiday. Recently, their household situation had dramatically changed, and Christmas Eve was the first time the kids could finally be honest with us about the horrors they had been subjected to and living with. We had spent the past six years telling them, "Look...we know that's not true. Just tell us the truth instead of lying. You can trust us." Realistically, though, they could not possibly trust adults. At all. We understood this, and we had waited patiently.

So, we spent over an hour hearing about the horrors of all of the stuff we knew, but just needed confirmation. Again, the specific details are nobody's business. But on January 11, I got a call from my husband less than an hour after I arrived to work. He had been contacted by Emergency Services, and was on his way to his former house, where his ex-wife lived.

The kids, fifteen minutes previous to this, had discovered their mom dead in bed. They are eight and thirteen.

I arrived there, did what I had to do to support my husband, and then talked to God a bit about just desserts and karma and other non-religious stuff that fits in the monster-sized "What Goes Around Comes Around" file, because I was assessing the last six years and predicting the next six. My brain goes in weird places when I am the Calm One, and there are some big feelings around me. The kids had already been picked up at this point, but they immediately came to live with us, along with their two not-properly-cared-for cats.

The past two months have been challenging, for both everyone in my household and everyone who encounters us. Trauma, and the processing of trauma - especially when the kids and the husband were never given the tools to process it properly - is like pancake syrup. You see it, you wash it, it looks gone, and then you realize that it was on your fingertips and has stuck to everything you have touched since then.

The kids have outbursts like toddlers, except that they weigh about ninety pounds apiece. I feel overwhelmed but have to take care of more than my share, since I am the most enlightened in the house. Erik is overwhelmed because - let's face it - this is A LOT. Our jobs are affected. The school counselors are working overtime. Money is basically being tossed out the front door to make up for the fact that all essentials and full-time items needed to be purchased, and items on a normal parenting checklist had somehow been recently neglected. Therapists are being recruited. Moments of mistrust are tense. It is hard. 

But you know what? This knitting project represents progress. We have all come a long way in a very short time, and we are starting to come together as a beautiful unit. If details are what you want, reach out to me privately and I will decide if you are worthy or entitled to them. Other than that, though, I ask for both your donations to St. Jude, and your prayers. They don't have to be to God (the prayers, I mean). If you are the kind of person who talks to the ashes of your dead cat, then just know I totally get that. You do you, and thank you.

The Curse of the Baby Jesus

Hello, friends. This is one of those "I told you that story so I could tell you this one" moments.

First, though, I just finished knitting something that involves non-knitting construction. It is a tablet pyramid, but without the foam or poly-fil, it looks like a really depressed throw pillow. So, there is that.

So, in order to read today's post, you need to catch up on a post from 10 years ago. The Original Baby Jesus Story can be found here. I recommend reading it before going any further.

"Life-sized Baby Jesus" has been a haunting theme in my life for decades. I am Catholic, but I am the generation after the Guilt Catholics, so I can have a bit more lighthearted of a sense of humor about the stiffness of the church. It turns out, so can my mom and my aunt.

Also, my friend PJ, who is mentioned in the other blog post, has found that the phrase is an accurate depiction of life in the front yard of Chicago homes, vivid enough to be used to describe a horrific scene at Midway Airport. The phrase does not have to be humorous to be compelling.

My aunt is visiting from Florida this week, and it is more of a power-visit, racing against the clock to get their genealogy papers in order. I of course volunteer to help, whenever this comes up. I have a subscription to newspapers.com, and it is the best $150 per year I spend, including 7-Eleven coffee every morning. I looked up obituaries for them.

What made this super-duper fun is that they were looking up the Drzastwa family, so of course I got to flex my Duolingo Polish muscles. And by "flex," I mean that I could pronounce the words correctly and then say something like, "Ooh...this is the social page and the report says they were visiting friends out-of-town!" It felt like a hell of an accomplishment to learn enough of a Slavik language in a year and a half to do that.

Over the weekend, I opened the cabinet with the garbage can, so I could throw something away. Amid the papers on the dining room table going to a shredder box, and all of the organized piles of things they were keeping placed neatly in a line along one side, the garbage can held an interesting treasure. Sticking out from the side of the plastic bag was a bejeweled crown. I figured it was a silly old liquor bottle from the 1970's. Oh, no...friends, it was a porcelain Infant Jesus of Prague doll.

I walked down the hall with it in my hand. Jesus was missing one jewel from his crown, and his blessing hand had broken off, so there was a gaping hole in his right side (of course, Jesus would be depicted as both white and right-handed...why make him the Israeli lefty that he most likely was?). I see my mom and my aunt walking toward me, so I gestured to the statue. "Was this the one from Aunt Starlene, or the one from your mom?"

And...the can of emotional worms was open. This post should have come with a trigger warning, sorry.

My mom unintentionally raised her voice. "No, no...oh no. This is a third one! You should have heard me when I opened the damn box and found this thing...it was like, 'Are you kidding me?'"

So, take away the humor for a second. This is a box my mom most likely had opened in the past. It was full of her parents' financial records, other genealogical copies, and old photos. But, behold! Yet Another Infant Jesus Of Prague! Hence, the curse. I can trace the other two, but this one, I am certain, was plopped in there by a dead relative, and it was their way of saying "quit reading our Polish-language obituaries already."

Well, it turns out there was an entire box of Catholic shit accompanying this doll, including his Liberace-style regalia, clearly handmade with love and gorgeous stichery, if you could separate the fact that it is used to dress a porcelain religious figure with only one hand. 

There was a blessing from the Pope, most likely brought by Father Tom when he was visiting from California (he was my great uncle). There was a blessing from the Pope for my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary. 

There were rosaries upon rosaries upon rosaries.

There were two random medals, Our Lady of Olives, and Our Lady of Mount Carmel. We do not know their purpose in my grandmother's life, but there must have been one.

And...then there was the last photo, below. The item in the bottom left contains a seven-foot long rosary in the twist-off portion of the bottom. Then, there is the cross, the teeny Infant Jesus of Prague (I think...might be a Cardinal), the personal holy-water thermos on the right (there is a proper name for that, too), and then the thing at the top.

The item at the top is some sort of dildo-shaped box with pop-open doors, and Jesus appears like a music box to pray at you or something. What is amazing about this item is it can also be found in Joel Dovev's book, Crap At My Parents' House. Joel, I feel you.

I reached out to my friend Father Jim, who is a priest in the city. He already knew about the two original baby Jesus dolls, because when I was in his rectory once, he jokingly asked if I wanted a life-sized bust of Pope John Paul II, so I explained to him that my mom would LOVE it. The Pope landed in Mom's freezer, and it took her a few weeks to find him. 

As you may have read above, my mom was not too pro on throwing out Baby Jesus, but this third one was akin to Phoebe trying to get rid of the beeping smoke alarm on the television show "Friends." I understand why it was in the trash. I asked Father what the proper way of disposing of a porcelain Infant Jesus of Prague doll with a broken and missing blessing hand was (it should be noted that my aunt looked for the missing blessing hand in the box, and it was not there; further proof this was just a curse from a dead Polish relative). He said that the proper way was to destroy it and bury the dust.

Well. The can of worms was suddenly an art project.

This turned into the highlight of my aunt's trip. They went up to my mom's "wooden house" in Michigan, and when I called to ask what their plans were, they had really done their due diligence on how to contain Jesus' pieces. They had discussed how to keep the dust contained, how to get the larger pieces into smaller pieces for easy burial, and the best type of earth in which to bury the dust. Their original plan was to roll over it with the car.

I liked that idea, but with a house like that one, I also felt they were missing a golden opportunity to toss it off of a loft. 

Friends, here is the ceremonial pulverization of the Third Infant Jesus of Prague, in three parts. It was not smooth sailing, as it turned out; the head was on some sort of "wire lollipop." Enjoy.

https://youtu.be/QGzZuxuCIQg

https://youtube.com/shorts/FtWXUSogxJY

https://youtu.be/NU9OajXv9uo

Oh...and please, pray for us.

Pro-...What, exactly?

Hello, everyone! I am working on a Pete the Cat sweater for my kid, and I can't decide if it actually looks like Pete the Cat. I am forging ahead, and then I think I will adjust the next size up if I don't like it.

The phrase "pro-choice" was trending on twitter this morning, because pastor Raphael Warnock (who is running for one of two senate seats in Georgia) said he was a pro-choice pastor. so I am offering my thoughts.

First and foremost, abortion should not be legislated by a popular vote, since the statistical majority of us in this country are Christian and abortion is a religious belief. It should not be legislated by our current contingent of mostly white men, because they (all due respect) have no idea what they are talking about when it comes to women's bodies, fetuses, or how those two symbiotic creatures are housed together.

It should be legislated by scientists and researchers, and economists. Yes, by people who know how money works.

On that note, judge women having abortions all you want. If you feel okay with referring to "those people" because you know someone who knows someone who uses abortion as birth control, then cool. But I am guessing there is a huge contingent of women in your circle who have distanced themselves from you not because they disagree with your beliefs, but because they had an abortion, it is none of your business why, and you have already preemptively made your stand clear that someone who had an abortion doesn't care about "the sanctity of human life."

In other words, you - a rational, grownup woman - are telling other rational and grownup women that they are shit because they made a medical decision that doesn't affect you. And you don't even know you are telling them that, because they didn't tell you they had an abortion. I mean...why would they?

So, the science piece is easy. The medical detractors, the ones who say abortion is not safe, that a fetus has a heartbeat at 18 days, that a fetus feels pain at four months...they are using their religion to justify their stand on the science. Their views are not accurate, not peer-reviewed, and not based on scientific research. Life begins at conception, sure. Tumors grow, fetuses grow, limbs grow, blah blah blah. But if sustainable life began at conception, then abortion would never be an issue. You could give birth at 18 days when you hear a "heartbeat," and that clump of cells would just grow into a person.

Also, life does not start with a heartbeat. You know this, because you have watched every crime and medical drama in the world, and checking for a pulse is the baseline for lifesaving measures. Also, cessation of brain activity is the baseline for stopping these measures (I am generalizing, but you get the idea). So there is no brain at 18 days, but rational, grownup women are convinced that a heartbeat is happening and that the fetus will just come out perfect, inexpensively, and will have a great life because of it.

So, let's look at the money piece. Why should economists be involved? Because you - a rational, grownup woman who is pro-life - don't want "illegals" here because they are taking your jobs and costing you too much in taxes. You don't want to pay reparations to black people because they are asking for something that happened 155 years ago (even though segregation and racism has been legal in your own lifetime...I'm looking at you, Ruby Bridges and Mildred Loving). You don't want your taxes to go up, but actually were alive at a time where someone working at the shoe store on the corner could work from 9:00am to 5:00pm and buy a house on that salary.

So, money is clearly a big deal to you.

Did you know that for every dollar spent on women's health and preventative care/family planning, anywhere from $3 to $20 in benefits is gained and saved from not spending money on unwanted pregnancies and babies?

That is a ton...a ton...of money.

Colorado offered a free IUD program for lower-income individuals and birth control at point-of-sale pharmacy instead of only with a prescription. Their abortion rate plummeted; they have had 10.9 abortions per 1,000 women in the state in the most recent years data is available. Georgia, which has almost twice the population, is at 14.1 per 1,000 with all of their restrictions. That is over three more abortions per thousand women, and with the number of restrictions in Georgia, how many of them do you think are causing people to go into debt and cause poverty? Well, here are the restrictions to get an abortion in Georgia:

• A patient must receive state-directed counseling that includes information designed to discourage the patient from having an abortion, and then wait 24 hours before the procedure is provided.
• Health plans offered in the state’s health exchange under the Affordable Care Act can only cover abortion in cases of life endangerment or severely compromised physical health.
• Abortion is covered in insurance policies for public employees only in cases of life endangerment.
• The parent of a minor must be notified before an abortion is provided.
• Public funding is available for abortion only in cases of life endangerment, rape or incest.
• An abortion may be performed at 20 or more weeks postfertilization (22 weeks after the last menstrual period) only cases of life endangerment, severely compromised physical health or lethal fetal anomaly. This law is based on the assertion, which is inconsistent with scientific evidence and has been rejected by the medical community, that a fetus can feel pain at that point in pregnancy.

Do you think, perhaps, that it may be costing Georgia more money in medical costs (both privately- and publicly funded), more money in public aid with the extra mouth to feed, more money in public housing, more money in subsidized daycare and health insurance, than Colorado?

I mean...we are talking about the difference between the cost of birth control and the cost of raising a child. 

The bottom line is that everyone who is religiously pro-life should be legislatively pro-choice. Quit trying to figure out why women are having abortions. Just know that if you listen to the science, and you listen to the money, and pray for the lost souls of the unborn to whatever god you pray to (I won't even bother asking you to pray for the mother...you are beyond that), then you can actually call yourself "pro-life."

Do The Kindest Thing

Good morning, everyone...I am surrounded by a buffet of knitting projects that, while I have been making an effort to finish, I cannot talk about all of them. One is for an afghan pattern that I am designing, that will be entered into a contest, and another is a shawl pattern that I can't decide if I should submit or self-publish. Any and all suggestions welcome.

There are also two St. Baldrick's hats and two baby hats here. The baby hats are gifts, and the St. Baldrick's hats are for me. I am shaving my head for St. Baldrick's on Sunday, and of course March is still in like a lion so my head will be cold. More on that later.

I told myself I would not write unless I had something to say, and if you read this post and disagree, then I apologize. However, I feel the lesson of always doing the kindest thing has been lost in my life lately, so I wanted to bring it out in the open and maybe encourage others to look in the mirror and do a self-check. I haven't written in nine months because everything I have had to say, has gone straight to an individual and did not necessarily benefit the masses. But here I am, and all I can think about is an impact an individual can have if they choose the kind path over the unkind one.

Sometimes, shit just happens. It does. Pets die. Neighbors get robbed. You get a flat tire. Someone called you a name or took your baseball cards or said mean things about family members or destroyed your book on purpose. There is always, always someone who has it worse than you do, but then again, things can always get better.

That said, I am not a parent. I am an accessory who spends quite a bit of time with two kids in particular. I feel my job as an accessory is to show them what happiness and integrity looks like, above all. Happiness and integrity are intertwined, and both are necessary if you want to be a good grownup. So when something bad happens, neither extreme can be an acceptable approach; there is no winning in playing the "Pssht...you think that is bad!" game, and there is no winning in playing the "Suck it up, buttercup!" game. You need to find balance. Yes, see how it can be worse so you know how fortunate you are that you are not dead, and find a solution to make things better so you feel how fortunate you are that you are not dead. You cannot find this balance without looking upon both the fortune and the misfortune of others.

This is where kindness comes into play. Kindness is economic; sometimes you have a little extra to give, and sometimes you need a little extra to get by. If you live in the mindset that you never, ever have enough in your life to be happy, you will not be kind because you will constantly be taking from others. If you live in the mindset that you have enough to be happy, but that you can be happier, you will find yourself with more than enough to give others. Seriously! You don't have to have everything in order to ask yourself what you can do to help someone in need. You need just enough, plus a little bit. That's it.

After the seven-year-old ran into a situation which had him in tears, his dad and I tried to think of a way to show him that he can turn lemonade from lemons. In the past, he has dropped off food at a food pantry, raised money for the American Heart Association, enjoys doing chores when he feels like he is contributing to the house (and they are not just jobs so he can get his allowance), and asked me all sorts of questions about why I give blood every couple of months. He wants to help. We decided to hold a St. Baldrick's event to raise money for childhood cancer research. Here is the link to the event:

https://www.stbaldricks.org/events/mypage/12964/2017

We are encouraging people to donate five bucks by skipping their lattes once this week, as every dollar makes a difference. Kids had a 20% chance of survival from cancer fifty years ago, and now they have a 20% chance of dying. In other words, their survival is now 80%, compared to 20% fifty years ago. All because of donations for grants that help find kid cancer cures.

Kindness does not have to be money. None of us know what someone else is feeling, even if it is our best friend and they have rehashed the situation ad nauseum on our messenger windows for days. We never truly know. But what we do know is that everyone is going through something, and that they are feeling something. Ask yourself what you can do to make someone's day better. It very, very rarely backfires.

Donate to a charity where you know the money goes to something you believe is good. Buy a coffee for the person behind you in line at Starbucks. Go through your closet and donate a bag of stuff to a thrift store. Organize a prayer circle at your church. Write an "I'm thinking of you!" postcard every week and mail it. Surprise your spouse by washing his or her car, taking out the trash, or something they generally do for you on a daily basis. Knock on a neighbor's door with a plate of cookies and say, "I just wanted to see how you were doing." Walk dogs at the local pet shelter for a few hours. Knit a hat for a NICU baby. Offer the crying stranger on the train a side-hug and a Kleenex. Read a book out loud in the activities room at a nursing home.

I know I have talked about kindness a ton here over the past several years, but it really is that important. Some people you perceive as the worst people in the world will benefit from you being kind to them, even if they are assholes back to you for it. Don't let one unappreciative person cloud all of the times you did something nice, and the other person was grateful. Keep at it.

Kindness also does not have to be outward. If you are listening to someone talk, and all you can think of to say is, "Shut up, you money-grubbing, fake little bitch!" then the kindest thing might be to just smile. If you see someone bleeding, the kindest thing is not to preach to the person who hit them. It might just be to tend to the victim somehow.

I would love for you to use the Comments area for suggestions on little things human beings can do to be kind. The recent presidential election has brought out quite a bit of anger in us, not to mention the trials of our own lives. Channel your Inner Mister Rogers and just ask yourself a few times a day, "Who can I help right now, and how?" Yet another benefit of being kindness:  that anger dissipates at a pretty direct ratio to how much you return kindness to the world. At the very least, it will not hurt.

The Benefits of Kindness

Good evening, everyone...My apologies for keeping the blog dark for a bit. I have had about a million life decisions that needed to be made, on top of the normal "What do I want to be when I grow up?" crap and the traditional "What should I do with my company?" mumbo jumbo.

Not the smallest of which is that I am getting married in just over three weeks. Yay!

I was thinking about the fact that I have cashed in probably every favor in the world to keep this wedding under an already-minimal budget (which is why there is a cap to the number of people we invited...we chose a venue that maxes out at 95 people). I was thinking about some of the people in the periphery of my life who do not see kindness as a state of mind. In fact, I have a few glaring examples of people in my life who do not even see kindness as an advised practice. None of these people are close to me; I think kindness is one of the most attractive traits a human being can have, and the lack of kindness one of the most repelling traits by the same token. This post, then, is a reminder for most of us, and a tutorial for the rest of us.

This blog post is almost a repeat of a previous one, but it's an ever-important message. Be kind, always do the kindest thing, and accept kindness from others as if everyone equally deserves it (we usually do deserve it, anyway).

Why be kind?

Because the world does not have enough kindness. Don't believe me? Well, if the world had enough kindness, we would not be gushing thank-yous to our buddy when he or she buys us a popcorn at the movies. If it were less of a surprise, that would mean that we were closer to "enough" in this sense. Hopefully, we will never have enough kindness.

Because it feels good. Since kindness tends to be a slight surprise, the recipient of the kindness shows his or her gratitude fairly emphatically, no? Selfish, yes, but it feels really nice to hear someone burst with appreciation for something you did. And there is nothing wrong with that.

Because you can make a difference. Sometimes, people have bad days. Sometimes, people have bad weeks, months, eons...whatever. And you giving up your seat on the bus may feel like the only positive thing to have happened to someone all day, week, month, or eon. He or she may not know your name, but the rest of the day will be spent remembering the sweet stranger who gave up his or her seat on the bus.

Because it doesn't hurt. Nobody ever died of too much kindness. Nobody ever went broke from too much giving. Nobody ever depleted their own resources from sharing too much. Just do it.

Because it is easy. Kindness is a state of mind, and the running thread through the psyche is, "How can I give of myself today?" You do not have to write checks to charity that will bounce out your bank account. You can open a door for someone, compliment an outfit, buy a java for the person behind you in line, help someone across the street, hold an elevator, smile at someone and make eye contact, tell someone to have a nice day, give a kid a quarter for the gumball machine, put out a bird feeder and a bowl of water, sweep an elderly neighbor's front porch...

Because kindness begets kindness. It is a well-known fact that kindness is contagious. See, people like to feel good. When someone makes them feel good, they in turn want to make someone else feel the same way. It's why "pay it forward" is a reality; when you have more than you previously had, often times you want to share it to help others. Those people being helped will remember your kindness, and they will be kind to others because they now know how good it feels. It is the best vicious circle in the world.

Why am I bringing this up now?

Well, I am not exactly known as a complainer. I try to fix my broken crap before I need help from others, and if I have to ask for help, I will catalogue in my head and do anything I can to pay the person back. I also dance to songs at work, sing while pouring coffee, ask customers how their kids are doing, and basically treat everyone like they matter (to the best of my ability). As a result, this wedding is a huge cash-in of favors, but it is also just people returning kindness they have received from me, a few of which were because I mentioned the one or two glitches we have hit:

I knitted a hat for a customer to replace a ratty one she occasionally wore, and she is thanking me by doing my hair for the wedding.
I mentioned to a guy who gets an Americano every day that my previous photographer and I are no longer speaking, and he offered to photograph the wedding.
A dear knitting friend is officiating the ceremony.
My big brothers (some biological and some honorary) are setting up and taking down chairs for the ceremony.
My mom is throwing parties, decorating, and basically keeping me as girly as possible.
Erik's friend is playing music for us.
And for the very, very few people who are not welcome, we have both a lookout and a rented crocodile.
The engagement ring was a trade-in of other jewelry, and a favor from Dad's jeweler.

I could have done the big nightmare again, with a banquet hall and a DJ and a bunch of strangers I would have to pay, but why? The wedding is already intimate, but kindness is what is making it feel like family, even for people who are not related by blood. I am of course paying some of these people, but I would much prefer my money to go to people I trust, who want to do their best for me.

Kindness. Try it. You will like it, I guarantee.

Oh...and this is the Eros Drifters Vertical Top pattern by Plymouth yarns. The yarn is Jacques Fonty and Wendy. I think I will wear this to my bridal shower...fresh off the needles (and I actually CROCHETED the arm holes!).

Cheers!

Common-Sense Resolutions

Happy new year, everyone! If you follow my column at all, you know that every year, I post an article regarding what people are resolving for their knitting habits and projects in the coming year. I assure you, 2016 is no different (mostly because I am predictable):

http://www.examiner.com/article/knitters-share-their-crafty-2016-new-years-resolutions

My knitting resolutions are pretty simple:  do as much of it as I can, be as creative as I can, and don't give a crap about spending money on yarn.

Other New Years Resolutions (capital letters added for emphasis), however, are more complicated. I tend to just reflect on the last twelve months, and decide what would need to change in order for the next twelve months to be better. This does not necessarily mean I resolve to change anything; I just like to digest what my life has been like, and be a realist about what it can be like in the future. If you are looking for inspiration, here are some common-sense resolutions to get you started off right in the new year.

1.  Give your haters the benefit of the doubt.  So, you are not perfect. You are probably not nearly as bad as your haters think you are, either, but heed their criticism before dismissing it. The outcome of a quick analysis of your haters is either, "That poor thing...they are just angry because their husband has been cheating for thirty years and they have never been strong enough to leave!" or, "Wow...I never really thought about it, but maybe I AM a gold-digger!" Either way, that dismissal can sometimes prevent you from closure. If you are someone who needs closure to move on, then get it, even if it is only in your own head.

2.  Own who you are.  I had a conversation with someone recently who was busted for probably the tenth time since I have known him, for cheating on a girlfriend. While he was beating himself up over it, I gave him some advice, figuring the last thing he needed was for someone else to beat him up over it. I told him, "You need to either figure out what makes you cheat, or just own it and be a cheater." If you own who you are, you can release a lot of the insecurities that plague your forward movement. Be a cheater! Oh...you think being a cheater means you are an asshole? Okay, then. Ask yourself the next time you are putting your face between a girl's legs other than your girlfriend's, "Do I really want to do this? Because then I am an asshole." Force yourself to listen to the little voice. If it doesn't stop you, then just own it. Be the asshole. You will still have friends, I promise.

3.  Shift out of first gear.  Ask anyone on the planet if they like sitting in traffic. The answer, obviously, is "No." Why not? Because nobody likes sitting around, waiting for the others in front of them to get out of their way so they can move forward. And yet, many of us will go ahead and say, "YOU ARE IN FRONT OF ME AND YOU MAKE ME ANGRY AND I CAN'T MOVE FORWARD WITH YOU THERE!" to something in their life that has nothing to do with their actual happiness. So, your son is dating someone you don't like. Do you really have to let it sidetrack your day, let alone your whole year? Of course you don't; this is a choice. And by the way, if your response to this little section is, "Fuck them...I would rather be angry," then you may as well just admit that you love attention, no matter how you can get it.

4.  Quit the cries for attention. Which brings me to my next common-sense resolution. Are you always late? Do you hold up a line, telling your sob-story to a cashier or bartender instead of being considerate to the people behind you? Do you like to repeat your same list of complaints to every new person you meet? Do you have a "blame others" mentality, where you start sentences with something like, "I don't know what her problem is, but..."? Because if any of these sounds like you, then you need to do a little bit of a self-esteem check. When we are not happy with ourselves, we do teeny weeny things to get attention, be it positive or negative. Don't believe me? Let's start with being late...what does everyone do when someone walks into a room ten minutes after they are expected? Yep...they stop what they are doing, and all eyes turn to that person. When you are comfortable with yourself, you get enough attention. Not only that...it is typically positive attention.

5.  Be kind.  This is the ultimate common-sense resolution, but it never ceases to amaze me how many people make this look difficult. If someone is crappy to you, and you are crappy to them back, does it really make you feel better? In general, no. The reason doesn't have anything to do with getting even, either. Most of us just really like being kind, and we can't get pleasure out of watching others suffer. If your enemy is drowning, pulling him or her out of the water feels way better than pushing them under, every single time. And again, it's not because you are sitting there and saying to yourself, "I just saved a life!" It's because you are saying to yourself, "I did the right thing."

6.  Do what makes you happy.  I don't just mean career-wise, I mean every damn day of the year. Does eating a doughnut in the morning set the mood for the rest of the day? Do you like organizing junk drawers? Do you knit? (Oh, please...like you didn't see that coming). Then do it. If all of your friends think that live-action role-play is nuts, and there you are, sewing your costume by hand at Starbucks, then maybe you need different friends. If you love your raw-vegan diet, if you love knife-throwing class, if you love reading about the American Gold Rush in the 1800's, then do it. Anyone who gives you a hard time about something you love is either the most boring person in the world, or the best at keeping secrets. What so-called "weird" thing do they do that they don't want you judging?

7.  Prioritize.  We are a compilation of a million little factors. Priorities can either be a most-important to least-important list of tasks, or it can also be a list of qualities we see in people, and in what order of importance they are. Put the good stuff ahead of the bad stuff, not just in you but in everyone else as well. Maybe you think I am weird because I have a whole list of qualities incompatible with your "mainstream" ideals:  I don't own a television, I knit in public every chance I get, my close circle of friends ranges in age from mid-20's to mid-60's, I don't have an I-Pass, I am "just" a barista at Starbucks...the list goes on. But if you see that stuff first...the stuff you don't agree with...before you see that I am kind, loyal, intelligent, financially independent, etc...well, then you are telling me more about you than you are pointing out about myself. How about making 2016 the year we all try to see the good in people before noticing the bad?

8.  Live.  If you have put something off all of last year, then do it this year. If you get bogged down in your office every day, then start to take your lunch break outside. If you spend too much time on your smartphone, then put it in airplane mode for an hour per day. Take a day-trip in your car. Find the nearest forest preserve and plop your blanket down in it...along with yourself and a sandwich and a book...for a little while one day. Sign up for the damn guitar lessons. Write that novel. Start that company. Write a hand-written letter and mail it. Send thank-you notes. Buy the stranger's coffee behind you in line. Kiss the girl who makes your heart go pitter-pat (bonus points if you kiss her in public). Tell the world how awesome you are without following up by telling them how crappy they are...they are just as awesome as you. In short, live. And live your best, brightest, most imperfect work-in-progress life you can live.

Resolve to make this year better than last year. And then just go ahead and do it. No matter the teeny details, let's make the balance sheet on 2016 end in the black, shall we?

Are You Happy?

Good morning, everyone...I am sitting at a Starbucks (not the one where I sling lattes), taking a break from getting about sixteen-hundred bits of paper together. I need a break, or I can already tell I am going to start filing things in the wrong place. That said, something has been on my mind for about a week, and I wanted to share my thoughts on it. Seems silly, but I want to talk about happiness.

My stepmom called me last Thursday, and to tell you how rare this is unless it is a federal holiday of some sort, my first thought was, "Crap...now who died?" My stepmom is excellent at actively loving her family in the truest sense of love, but correspondence just is not her thing. Knowing this, I call her every two weeks or so, and we catch up on each other's gossip and any events that are worth noting.

So, after establishing that I was me and she was herself, she said, "Greg has asked me to marry him." I took a breath and started to freak out on her behalf, because that's what girls do, repeating "Omigod omigod omigod..." over and over again until both of us stopped giggling. We talked about how some people have expressed concern...or, at least that is how she interprets it...regarding her and Greg moving faster than they think is appropriate, or that she isn't thinking things through, or being irrational, or whatever.

"But you know what? I'm happy." Meg's words should slap every naysayer in the face.

She started dating him around Thanksgiving last year. He moved into her house shortly after that, and they talk on the phone often when not next to each other, and they tell each other everything. In fact, they have been like that pretty much since they met. I saw them in August, and they sat on the same side of the table at a restaurant, ordering one meal and splitting it down the middle. They did that the next morning as well.

So I ask you...the next time someone says anything along the lines of "Are you sure this is the right decision?" remind yourself of two things:  they probably actually do mean well, and they do not determine your happiness. You do.
So, if someone feels the right to question you on something that makes you happy, then ask yourself if you are truly happy. My guess is that most people do not know the difference between forced and true happiness, until they have had an event or period in their life where they can look back and realize that their happiness was forced. Also, the ones who are asking may also have never felt true happiness. I am not saying their concern is unjustified; just know that true happiness is more rare than we give it credit. Look at anyone's facebook page for proof of this. How many times do we see someone smiling in a single photograph, but we know the history behind the smile plastered on his or her face? We are all guilty of it.

I am truly happy. I have work to do, decisions to make, and will always have the typical stressors in my life like never-ending bills, but I do know the difference between truly happy and manufacturing something I want people to see. Happiness is relatively easy, and when you have to work at it, you enjoy working at it. Happiness feels relieving, peaceful, and genuine. Forced happiness feels more like a balance sheet, where we take stock of our problems and our good qualities, and justify having 50.00001% good in our lives.

When I get questioned about me being happy, especially regarding my relationship, the questions are pretty typical:  How can you be in love with someone almost twelve years younger than you? But...what about his kids...have you thought about that? Are you sure you want to get married after how the last marriage ended? Do you really think a year is long enough before you know if you want to be with him? Don't you think you should live together first? How do you know he is not after your money? You know that his ex-wife and mother are part of the package, right?

Because when you are truly happy, you know the difference. Of course there are always compromises, negotiations, details to work out. But another major component of happiness is the ability to communicate, and the two concepts (communication and happiness) are absolutely intrinsically related. There is an incredible amount of contentment that comes with knowing I can say anything at all to him, and there will be a discussion but no irrational yelling or accusing. We talk. A lot. About a lot of different sides of the same issue. And we figure out what is worth continuing and what is worth dropping as a two-person unit.

With regard to all of the questions above, my response in my head (and sometimes out of my mouth) is, "Why does it matter to you?" Otherwise, it is not really anyone's business. If I say I am happy, and I seem happy, and most importantly, if you can tell the difference in how I am when I'm happy and how I am when I'm not, then just wish the best and move on. And I will wish the best for you, whether or not I understand it.

Sometimes I fail at that. But I try. Because everyone...everyone...should find happiness, no matter what.

Life Can Scare You

Good evening, everyone. I am exhausted, but I am 100% positive that I can't sleep. However, if you would like to read about yarn stores in Barcelona, this is your lucky day! I just came from there, and I toured the city to save you the trouble of needing to look this stuff up when you go there:

http://www.examiner.com/article/take-a-knitting-vacation-through-barcelona?cid=db_articles

Please forgive me for being vague; you will understand why when you keep reading. That said, if you are reading this, please focus on the details that matter, and not the ones that do not. The context details are just there for that very reason:  context.

I got a call from a shovel buddy this evening, requesting a prayer for my board. Don't know what I am talking about? Okay, then...either go to my facebook page, or follow me on Instagram under @thefiberfriend. I have a prayer request chalkboard, and when enough people have contacted me with a prayer request (usually every day and a half or so), I fill the board, take a photo, and send it out to the cyberverse so that others can get in on the prayer chain as well.

Anyway, this friend told me that their spouse was in the hospital, because the spouse was feeling severely depressed. I asked if this person tried to commit suicide, and was told, "Not exactly."

My friend was worried in a way I had never heard them worry, and I have known this person since grade school. I was asked to maybe call or swing by the hospital, you know, just to make sure this person knows that I love them. I asked if there was anything else I could do, and of course reiterated that my phone is on at all times. I went to the hospital.

"What relation are you to the patient?" the desk nurse asked me.

"Uhh...sister-in-law," I said. Good one, I thought. Then last names don't matter. I was escorted down the hallway. In the next hour I learned more than I had learned in the previous seven years about this couple. I am sharing this with you (and doing my utmost not to violate HIPPA, break this person's trust in me, or anything equally egregious) because you may very well find yourself in this situation one day, and not see it coming.

I was armed with a pretty empty bag, when it came to information:  depressed, spouse worried, waiting to get transferred to other hospital. That was about it.

"I just got tired of faking it."

This is, on the surface anyway, one of the cheeriest, happy-go-lucky, giggly people I know. This person always seemed comfortable in their own skin, happy with life, and accepting of the cards they were dealt. The hug hello was different than the usual hug at the door, however; there was a little bit of a slump before letting go. On both sides.

After staying for an hour, I walked back to the car and my brain shifted into Drive without so much as a pause at Neutral. How brave is this person to choose living another day, over the horribly unpleasant alternative that so many others before them have seen as an out?

How thankful was I that something...I don't know what, exactly, but something...caused this person to pull off to the side of the road, contemplate the next move in a parking lot, and finally walk through the doors of the hospital?

How worried is this person's spouse right now?

And if I feel as on edge over it as I do, knowing how close the world came to losing this person, then imagine what the magnitude of emotion is like inside the head of the person we almost lost?

Depression is not just frightening for the people who experience it. It is a battle for those around them as well, not knowing what may trigger something or change the course of "normal" or even end the life of struggle that their friend, family member, coworker, or peer is feeling. The really frightening part is that none of us can do anything to fix it, sometimes including the person who is depressed.

That said, there is no reason to just stand by the wayside and wonder if things will correct on their own, instead of taking action. One of the main symptoms of depression is hopelessness, so it stands to reason that a viable antidote is hope. No, depresseion can't just be "fixed" or "minimized" by hope, but it is certainly possible that things can get better. Doctors, therapists, pills, techniques, and even lifestyle or environmental changes can all contribute to depression changing its course to a more positive direction. We, who are the support systems for those with depression, can encourage that positive direction, and we can also just be in the room while they figure things out on their own, but see us in front of them.

The person who sought help today is an upstanding, intelligent member of the community. If this person wanted to die, I have to think that they could have figured out a definitive way. Life is scary sometimes, and if being afraid to die is what keeps you from swallowing that bottle of pills, pulling that trigger, or jumping the final jump, then fine. See that bottom, realize you do not want to smash into that bottom, and look the other way to see light closer to the top.

But if you ever get to the point where being afraid to live is what causes you to grab that bottle of pills, I hope (in the best way possible) you have a spouse, friend, family member, or any combination thereof to have the crap scared out of them as well. I hope their fear of losing you is greater than your fear of staying with them. Because life may be scary, but it is the only gift in this world where we can't just end it and start again, hoping for a better and less scary outcome the next time around.

Reach out. We are here for you, and equally important, we are here for each other while we are here for you.

Let the Hate Rest In Peace

Good morning, knitters! We here in Chicago are gearing up for the Chicago Yarn Crawl, scheduled to begin this Saturday. My plan is to show some leg at all of the stores in the hopes of getting free yarn...worth a shot, right? Here is a preview (and understand that almost ALL stores are doing awesome things for the Crawl...I just have a word-limit guide):

http://www.examiner.com/article/2015-chicago-yarn-crawl-preview?cid=db_articles

And for those of us trying to get through the stifling humidity, here are some suggestions for beating the summer at the knitting game:

http://www.examiner.com/article/beat-the-heat-with-these-knitting-pattern-ideas?cid=db_articles

Something has been bugging me this week. Caitlyn Jenner came out as transgender over three months ago, and the ESPYs (where Jenner was awarded the Arthur Ashe Courage Award) were over two weeks ago. Yet, my social media feeds are still full of memes with a message of "Bruce Jenner isn't courageous...the MILITARY is courageous!" or other messages of that sort.

See, I was an asshole once as well (on this topic, anyway). Back in college, a friend of mine told me about a mutual friend who was transgender, and the conversation went something like this:

"Omigod did you hear about Bob Slob?"
"No, why?"
"Omigod...he, like, went to Europe to have a sex change and now his name is Lisa."
"NO. WAY."
"Right?!?!"
"Weird! Why would he want to be a girl? I never even knew he was gay!"

This of course was twenty years ago, but it was also at a time where validation had to come in three dimensions. Nowadays, you can say stupid crap like "Bruce Jenner puts on a dress and he's courageous?" and then watch the "likes" from like-minded people pop up on your facebook page. The flipside is that ignorance is completely exposed in this format as well. I realized the conversation I had with my friend twenty years ago was out of ignorance, and while I have never been a truly hateful person, I do see a lot of hate stemming from this issue. So I thought I would offer my five-cent tour of being transgender (I am not, by the way, but I used to date a guy whose sister was transgender, and many a conversation was had because the guy I was dating was still getting used to the idea of having a sister instead of a brother). Ready?

First of all, being gay and being transgender are two different things. Saying, "I have friends that are gay, and..." does not hold water in this argument at all. See, homosexuality is about to whom you are attracted. I actually think straight people understand people who are gay, to a degree. But being transgender confounds the minds of pretty much everyone who is not facing it.

Being transgender means your physical anatomy clearly presents as one gender, yet your psyche and your soul present as the other one. This is not just about dressing a different way; there are cross-dressers, drag kings and queens, and even tomboys (yes, some are accused of being a tomboy like a gender stereotype is an unbreakable rule), but transgenderism is not cross-dressing. It is actually the opposite; transgender people believe they are dressing up to please society when they are dressing as the gender they present, not as the one with which they identify. So this is way deeper than "getting some boobs and slapping on a dress."

Transgenderism is not something you can pray away any more effectively than praying away the gay. Or, as long as we are speaking outlandishly, imagine praying away being left-handed...it can't happen. I have a therapist friend in Minnesota (and yes, she is also a knitter) who specializes in transgender patients, and she said that in fifteen years, she has never had a patient that she thought she could "change back." People are born this way.

And it is one hell of a struggle. Parents are doing their best; you enter the world looking like a boy, but insist at a very, very young age that you are a girl. Of course, any rational parent is going to think this is a phase at first, or they are going to look at the rest of your siblings and think "He just wants to be like his sisters." So it's not like all parents come out of the gate with full acceptance that their child is transgender. There is a series of stages to go through, and like most other major life traumas (I do not mean "trauma" in a negative way...just big-impact moments), it begins with denial and ends with acceptance. Some parents never get to the acceptance phase.

My ex-boyfriend's mother...the one with a transgender daughter...said to me, "I still wake up on some days, wondering where I went wrong. I usually know better, but...I mean...I just think I must have done something different with this one than I did with his siblings. Her siblings." And the daughter was in her forties at the time; she transitioned in her late-thirties.

So now, we have a world full of children who are confused about their gender identity, and their parents are not jumping straight to acceptance (how could they?). If this happens at a crucial time in the child or young adult's life, like adolescence, the child may second-guess her existence. This is one of several reasons why the suicide-attempt rate for transgender kids hovers around 40%.

Pronouns are important. Bruce Jenner no longer exists, and her name is now Caitlyn. It is disrespectful to call her Bruce, or a "he," after she has told the world she wants to be referred to as a female, with female pronouns. It is also offensive to call her "gay," a "tranny," or a "drag queen." She is transgender.

I have heard people say "Bruce Jenner is just doing this for publicity." First, it's Caitlyn. Secondly, that is one hell of a life change to make just to get some attention and make some money. Step back a second:  Do you really believe that the Kardashians, and all of their manmade drama, needed to spice things up a bit by asking the patriarch of the family to get plastic surgery on her face and start taking hormones? Really? People do not even take marriage as seriously as people who are transgender choose to live their best life; nowadays, people go into marriage with an attitude of, "If this doesn't work, I can always get divorced." This is not only not an option with transgenderism, but their magnitude of surety on the inside is way beyond some haphazard decision. They are as sure as you and I are sure about what color our eyes are.

To me, this means that two out of every five kids who are transgender contemplate suicide because very few people understand their struggle, they receive varying degrees of support, and they are universally ridiculed by people who really are nothing more than just ignorant. But ignorant or not, ridicule can hurt like a bitch when you are too young or not confident enough to stand up for yourself.

Caitlyn Jenner was once crowned the "World's Greatest Athlete." She could have faded into obscurity and transitioned with nobody but a paprazzi photo or two catching her, but she recognizes that she has a prime platform for raising awareness. If you do not understand, then fine. But what if one of your female kids came to you and said, "Mom...umm...I know I am a boy. I don't care what my body says...I KNOW I am a boy." Your response (among other factors, of course) has a two-in-five chance of acting as a catalyst to a suicide attempt.

Is the hate worth it? I don't think so. Whether or not you understand it is not the issue. But how about we stop letting lack of knowledge translate to hate? Just an idea. I think someone coming out as transgender after forty years in the spotlight, espcially when he was an icon for manly men, is pretty  amazing. And if her speech at the ESPYs results in someone saying, "Thank you so much...I contemplated suicide and then Caitlyn helped me realize I was not alone," to open a dialogue with a parent, then I sing her praises from here to eternity.

It's Father's Day

Good morning, everyone. And a Happy Father's Day to you who celebrate...by the way, I am talking about fathers. Not single mothers, not people full of resentment and and immaturity who walked away from their families in a misguided fit of irrationality. I am talking about Dads with a capital "D," gentlemen who had a hand in creating a child, raising someone else's biological child as their own, stepdads, uncles, godparents, and any other men who were or are the guiding force in a younger person's life.

I may or may not have collected a silly list of knits for dads, including a set of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle golf club covers, for your reading pleasure:

http://www.examiner.com/article/the-best-knits-for-dad-honor-of-father-s-day

My dad is dead. I find it easier to say it that way than to say "he has passed on," or "he is no longer with us." He is biologically dead. And while I am not exactly thrilled about it, he has been dead for over seven years, and somehow or other, my world keeps spinning. It's okay. People die.

But if they did it right, and if you are doing it right, lessons will continue to be passed from one to another. I often find myself thinking, "What would my dad do?" And this is both before and after talking to my mom, and finding out what she would do as well.

See, family has been as hot a topic on this blog lately as knitting, partly because I realize how fortunate I am both in the moment and as I get older for having the family I have. Not only that, though; I was told recently that I could never understand something because, and I quote, "You are not and never will be a mother." The person telling me this was a father. And while I don't live in his house, or set up hidden cameras to document every move of every day, I do know this:  him being a father didn't make him any more of a man than before he was a father.

Anyone at all can be a father. You can just biologically, you know, do it. And poof...forty weeks go by, and the world now has proof that biology works. But to be a good father? Well, that is another story entirely.

From what I have gathered in my (almost) forty years, there are certain traits one needs to adopt to be a really good father. Here is the short list, and of course feel free to disagree with me since I am not and never will be a mother:

Humility:  It is okay to be right, and it is okay to be wrong. But be self-aware in both states, because there are literally over two billion actual biological fathers on this planet, so my guess is there is more than one correct path sometimes.

Class:  Unfortunately, we cannot stop others from judging. But we can make these people take notice of their obnoxious selves by being the bigger person, and our kids will notice this as well. Someone has to be the bigger person; it may as well be you.

Strength:  All humans face things that suck. All of us. Even if you make it to age thirty before losing a family pet, chances are you were next to someone when they received the news that their sibling passed away, or that they got fired, or that their condition can't be healed. If you can say "Why me?" in the same conversation as "Why not me?" and have people come to you for an open discussion about it, then you are there. You do not have to carry the world. You just have to carry yours. And by the way...crying and strength have nothing to do with each other. Men cry. Deal.

Common sense:  I am only going to say this once. If your tombstone should read "His final words were, 'Hey, y'all...watch this!'" then maybe you are not ready to have kids. But if you know that babies need a bit more work than thinking a computer cord is an okay teething implement because it is coated with rubber, then you have a chance.

An open mind:  Are you a racist? Bigot? Homophobe? Misogynist? Then newsflash:  your kids will pick up on that. When they are old enough to decide for themselves, they will either choose the same path, or defiantly choose the opposite path. But there is no telling, so just save them the trouble and accept that not everybody is like you. Make it easier for them to love everyone by showing you can find a way to love everyone as well.

Positive:  You do not have to be Stuart Smalley. But it would be nice if your kids came to you and said, "I did THIS today!" and instead of shaking your head in disapproval, you were excited for them. If it is truly morally offensive, then it is okay to say, "That's great that you were able to discover today! What you discovered is pretty bad, though...here's why." If you constantly disapprove of your kids' decisions and discoveries, then you are teaching them to lie. Simple as that.

Encouraging:  Get your kids to learn stuff! Teach them stuff. Show them stuff. Explain stuff to them. Kids are sponges, and from about age three, they tend to mid-term (meaning not short-term and not long-term) remember absolutely everything. Don't believe me? Look at the kids you know who learned English after moving here in kindergarten, versus learning English after moving here in high school. Which one has an accent? Kids need to discover. Far be it from you to shield them from everything...let them discover the good and the bad, and help them to learn the difference.

There are many, many others. But as I look at the good fathers I know, they all possess these traits. Feel free to leave others in the comments, and I will approve and post them for you. Oh, and for an audience of one:  keep up the good work. They are really great. You are really great. And the rest of them will learn some day. If they don't...well...then the kids will make their own decisions on who gets to stay in their lives, and who gets to go.

Here is my favorite picture of me and my dad:

Choose Your Family

Good evening! First, we must get business out of the way. June 13 is World Wide Knit in Public Day, and there are a ton of fun events going on around Chicago. Peruse the list, head to the one that sounds the most fun to you, and knit away!

http://www.examiner.com/article/world-wide-knit-public-day-brings-crafters-literally-out-of-the-woodwork

Now, where was I? Today, I was having a conversation about how, in some cases, grandparents are not really necessary. It began as a discussion of anger toward family members, and who shares time with whom because of obligation, But it ended on the topic that the word "family" is not all blood-ties and happy photos.

My facebook page leaves many, many details to the imagination. I see facebook as a way to sort of make people chuckle with the anomalies of the day, and perhaps a place to let loose with the underlying assumption that what people read is not 100% of the picture. As an example, I go back to late summer of 2013 when someone who shall remain nameless (this is a bow to him referring to me as "she whose name shall not be spoken") was dragging his heels in moving out of my house. I posted a status update on facebook which read, "Is now a good time to mention that I have been divorced for months?"

Best reply ever:  a friend from high school posted along the bottom of that update:  "Is now a good time to mention that I didn't even know you were married?"

So I do not plaster every detail of my life on facebook. I also do not try to paint an inaccurate picture to mislead people...I don't burn enough calories deciding what to post on there where I want to make an effort to make myself look either better or worse than I truly am. Very few things make me more queasy than seeing someone's facebook page full of happy hugs and snuggles with their spouse and kids, when I know the back story and this picture they paint is actually like a photo negative of reality. I knew a girl once who was so horribly abusive to her husband that he finally was strong enough to leave, but her facebook page was photo after photo of her "wonderful hubby and gorgeous children" smiling and laughing away. If I look back now, I see how fake his smiles were.

Anyway, I am fortunate to have a pretty fantastic family. We are far from perfect; three of the five kids are divorced, most of us have lived with our parents more than once, our choices have not necessarily been the stuff of legend...but we are pretty great as a unit. But there is a difference between "my sister-in-law" and "my brother's wife" (brothers:  don't get the wrong idea...I think you all married quite well). One is stating someone as a member of your family, and the other is stating someone as a member of their family.

Both are okay. Grandparents often flip out in the best way when they become grandparents. Other times, though, people go weird. Sometimes, it is the grandparents who question every single decision of the parent, which is their son or daughter. Other times, it is the son or daughter questioning the decisions of his or her parents. Ironic, since most of us think we turned out okay, to question our own parents like that when they are watching our children.

I do believe family is absolutely necessary, but I do not believe that the role of "biological family member" comes with guaranteed entry into certain levels of either closeness or privledge with the kids. I had a friend tell me this week that she thought of me as her honorary daughter-in-law, because her actual daughter-in-law was a disappointment. I am not married to her son, but she chooses me and I choose her.

If more people put emphasis on each other instead of themselves, then maybe the family you inherit and the family you choose would overlap more often. Until then, however, it is okay to look at your closest friends and call them "family." They are, after all, the ones with whom you want to spend the holidays. Right?

And while it would be nice for some kids to have four grandparents (or, in my family's case, eight), the number could be zero if it is healthier for the kids to not be around them. What is best for you? What is best for the kids?

"A kid needs his grandmother." No, he doesn't. He needs unconditional love, boundaries, fun, adventure, encouragement, and maybe a bit of spoiling rotten with ice cream and gummi bears. But that can come from your best friend as easily as it can come from your mom. Accept your family for who they are, choose your family for who you want, and just remember to choose wisely. "Family" is the group of people who makes you feel like you belong in the middle of all of the chaos, and the dust on their heads will be the same amount as the dust on yours when it settles.

Let Me Live My Life

Good morning. As complicated as I may be because of my personal journey (aren't we all?), I am actually quite simple. When it comes down to it, here is who I am:

A knitter. Business owner. Sister. Daughter. Stepkid. Aunt. Girlfriend. Investor. Advisor. Imperfect. Sound. Generally ethical. Wealthy. Optimistic. Emotional. Objective. Passionate Chicago Blackhawks fan. Slightly messy. Tall. Survivor. Reliable. Painfully honest. Classy. Good at keeping secrets. Listener.

You want me to catalogue my flaws as well? Okay.

I swear too much. Eat too much chocolate. Make my birthday the most important day of every year and yet don't make an effort to wish everyone ELSE a happy birthday. Procrastinate. Don't give a crap about my looks. Talk too much. Forget important deadlines. Don't get motivated by the approval of others.

Except for one person, and it is starting to wear on me.

Well, I am not seeking her approval...just her acceptance. We don't have to go out for coffee every week, but being welcome in her home would be nice, even if it is just to wait in the front hall for a couple of minutes while my date finishes primping.

I am fortunate in the sense that, through both birth and marriage, I am the last of five kids. This means that if my parents wanted to try something out on one of the older ones, I received the benefit of refinement when it came to them helping to shape me into an adult. Families with fewer kids do not have this benefit.

That said, I look at the five of us and how we turned out. Brother Number One is getting married for the second time in two weeks to a lovely human being, and he is a successful man in his own right. Sister Number One is married to her second husband, and she is a great career woman and stepmom to two beautiful young ladies. Brother Number Two is married, has two cute kids and a cute wife and a cute house and two cute dogs, switched careers and is heading back to college. Brother Number Three is a successful grownup with a wife, two silly little boys, and a generally pleasant existence full of humor and love. What more could we ask for as a family?

I know that much of it has to do with our parents. There are four of them total, with Dad of course passing away almost seven years ago at this point. Three of the five of us are divorced. I have not been privy to every conversation ever had in the family, but I do not recall any parent telling us, "I do not approve of your new fiance, and I will make it that much more difficult to see this person because of my personal feelings." If my parents didn't like Bert, Helen, or Mike, they never told us...they let us live our lives and we always knew they were there for us if we needed them.

I have a successful business, but I had a failed business as well. Even now, my stepmom told me recently, "I think you just opened too soon." Never, out of any of the four of them, did I hear, "You need to try doing this or that, or your coffee shop is going to fail," and then later, "See? You failed because you didn't listen to me." When I closed the coffee shop, the feeling I received was more like, "You did your best, we love you, and we are proud of you for trying."

If I came out as a lesbian, I would be supported. If I came out as transgender, Democrat, Atheist, Carnivore Flip-Flopper, tree-hugger...whatever...my family would support me whether or not they agreed with me.

When I arrived at Easter dinner, my mom said, "Where is Alex?" Alex's parents live in Michigan, so when there is a holiday that involves a traditional family dinner, Alex is a member of our family. It did not dawn on my mother that he may have had other plans; he is a straggler, and stragglers are always, always welcome, even at the very last minute. The front door is open.

Even if you are in the process of leaving your wife, and you are seeing someone before the ink is dry on the divorce. You are welcome, and the front door is open.

If my family didn't agree with me seeing someone who was technically still married, I had no idea. Because disagreement (or disapproval) and lack of support are two different levels of loyalty. I can't imagine anyone in my family agreeing with my decision, but they support me, and the man is welcome in the family. Not just tolerated, welcome. Because instead of getting caught up in one single moral, my family is excellent at stepping back and knowing that everyone has their own story, their own struggles, and far be it from them to do anything but allow them to live their lives as they go through their personal journey.

There are a few exceptions, but beyond excessive illegal drug use and physical/emotional abuse, the list is very, very short.

The person who does not "approve" of me, I am sure, does not give a crap that she is affecting my life. Why would she? I am obviously not an acceptable child of god if I can't keep my hands off of someone. But by affecting my life, she is also affecting someone else's life twice, because now he feels he needs to be there for me when I am upset. He is in the middle. And nobody should have to choose sides when it comes to relationships; I and my ex-husband share a few mutual friends, and that is not only okay...it should be encouraged. The judge does not arrange custody of anyone but minor children; be an adult, love who you love, and develop the friendships which enrich you even if they are becoming half of an ex-couple.

Also understand, she is who she is. She is a parent, and she wants what is best for her kids, and she does not think I am "best." Okay, I get that. But I am really not that bad. I grew up in a world where it was okay to fail, okay to go off the rails to look for a better path, and to backtrack on one decision only to end up following the original advice of one of my parents. She is a great parent. But she is affecting my life, and I do not appreciate it. However, I know that since she is a great parent, the problem about her affecting my life is me. Not her.

My apologies if my decisions are incompatible with your views, but here is a news flash:  that means that your views are also incompatible with mine. The difference is that I let you live your life. I avoided you on St. Patrick's Day, never call your land line, and generally do not want to upset you. I do not agree with you, but I support your decisions, and I will continue to support your decisions with one tweak:  let me live my life, and I will let you live yours. If I run into you, I am sorry, but my mother raised me to face things. And I will face you as a woman, a good person, a sound decision-maker, and a classy human being. You are always welcome in my home.