A moral dilemma.

You win. Someone else loses.

It's scholarship time in the Knitternall home, and each application has become a moral dilemma for our graduating senior.

"Why do you deserve this scholarship?" He looks at that question and thinks, "yeah, why do I?" Why is he more worthy than every other graduating senior who needs the money?

Our son does not have a competitive nature. He doesn't try to edge out everyone around him in pursuit of a shared objective. Instead, he worries that someone might want/need something more than he does.

In particular, the Crohn's scholarship has been a difficult one for him. "Everybody who has Crohn's deserves a scholarship," he said. "If I get it, that means someone else doesn't. And they may have worse symptoms, or their parents may not have health insurance, or they could be homeless."

We reminded him that scholarship committees see all of the applicants and their personal situations, then decide who gets how much. "It's a kind of gamesmanship - you're playing to the audience. The selection of the recipients is out of your hands." But that doesn't help. He worries, to the point that he doesn't want to apply at all. So I told him the scholarship is as much for us as him ... scholarship money is much needed in a family where medical expenses are overwhelming.

Our debate led to own moral dilemma. Why should our son be burdened by the financial cost of his disease in addition to the physical and emotional challenges he will take with him to college? Who is the beneficiary of these scholarships - our son or us? Do we ask him to be someone he isn't? And does that mean we're pushing him into ethical gray areas for our own financial benefit?

Well, yes we are.  Scholarships specifically benefit the individual paying for college, whether a self-funding student like I was or the family trying to squeeze tuition out of a carefully mapped budget that unexpectedly has to include medical expenditures.

After an evening of internal debate, I told our son to be true to himself. But that we would appreciate it if he would at least find a way to ask for the scholarship without crossing his moral standards.

Yesterday, our son wrote his personal essay for the Crohn's scholarship, in his own way. He wrote that he doesn't deserve the scholarship any more than any other graduating senior. He said good grades, a full plate of extracurricular and volunteer work, and good character don't differentiate him from most of the other applicants. And he wished all the families paying for Crohn's care could benefit because all of them, including his own parents, needed the help.

He didn't pontificate, exaggerate his accomplishments, brag about his honors, or try to make himself stand out in any way.

His essay likely won't result in winning the scholarship.

But he made me feel very humble ... and proud.

As I recall ...

I don't remember a single time in my childhood when there was a FOOD recall. The one time I got sick was after a meal at McDonald's, when the backdoor word-of-mouth mom network figured out that everyone who'd eaten at there one day had gotten sick, too. (Without the internet, they talked directly to each other, playing a variation of the telephone game until everyone around the block knew the news.)

Now I look at our food with great suspicion. We buy primarily organic vegetables, fruit, and meat, and from providers as close by as possible, so I'm somewhat more comfortable with the safety of what we're eating. Nonetheless, the latest ground beef, egg and deli meat recalls had me opening the refrigerator and checking "just in case." (No problem - all's well.)

Since we have Crohn's in the house, we are vigilant about food quality. There's no way to tell the difference between food poisoning and the beginnings of a perforated digestive tract, so we must treat both with the same urgency. Yet we don't want to be paranoid. We eat out in restaurants, our oldest teen is very fond of bake sales and pizza sold by the slice for fundraisers at school, and our peanut butter comes from the plant in Georgia that had its own recall fairly recently. (At this point, it's likely the safest peanut butter place around.)

I know food quality concerns isn't a new thing. Ever since more of us began living in cities rather than on the farm, food has gone through many hands before landing on our dinner tables. In the early 1900's, particularly in the Lower East Side tenement neighborhoods, not only was milk not pasturized and likely to spoil very quickly, some dairy farmers watered it down, added a white powder to make the resulting liquid look normal, and ended up causing many, many deaths.

Food recalls. It's always something.

I don't want to work, I just want to knit all the live long day . . .

I just spent the better part of the four-day holiday catching up on a mountain of chores. Understandably, we let most things slide while the teen was in the hospital; but now it's time to pay the piper, so to speak. Laundry, yard work, basic cleaning, and organizing took up much of each day. But we also ate well, went to bed when we were tired, and slept until we were rested. Each evening, as Christmas movies began popping up on Lifetime and the Hallmark Channel, I rewarded myself with peaceful knitting.

Bliss.

I consider it a blessing to be able to do simple things like cleaning and organizing. There's a timeless feel to hospitals. Everything inside the patient's room stops while the world spins along. When you emerge, it's with a sense of being way behind.

Now I feel caught up. If only the teen could feel the same. Unfortunately, school work just keeps piling up, a double whammy with Dunwoody High School's merciless block schedule. (Which is why I'm lobbying so hard to change that schedule - miss a week of school and you're two weeks behind. And finals are just a few weeks away!)

We're enjoying the feeling of normalcy while, deep in our hearts, we know it's a very transitory thing. Crohn's is a pitiless disease, and it isn't curable. But we're blessed in so many ways. He's home, we're together, many people are praying for him, and God is with us each and every moment, good and bad.

Thanksgiving indeed.

Meanwhile, back at the Knitternall ranch . . .

I've noticed times when favorite blogs go silent for awhile. Sometimes it's a week. Often it's longer. I always understood that life happens and blogs aren't always a top priority for their authors.

Which is the case for this blog.

Life has most definitely happened, culminating in another hospitalization for our teen. Earlier abdominal surgeries for Crohn's complications resulted in scarring in the lower intestine. We saw a steady increase in pain and flareups, then a complete blockage of his digestive tract.  He spent a week in that most wonderful hospital, Children's Healthcare of Atlanta at Scottish Rite, at the same time as his surgeon and primary gastroentorologist had hospital rounds. The good news is he had the care of the specialists who know him best and he avoided surgery this time. The bad news is that the stricture remains. He handled the purgatory of stomach pain, NG tube, picc line, and other tortures with grace, occasional cursing, and more patience than I would have had in his place.

A neighbor sent me a wonderful missive focusing on the "thanksgiving" in the bad things that happen to all of us at one time or another. In the same spirit, I offer thanks as well:

Thanks to God for being with our family through this ordeal.

Thanks that our family is home, together, for this holiday weekend.


Thanks that the good people of Dunwoody Nature Center's Board and staff weathered my prolonged absence with kindness and a can-do spirit.


Thanks that Phil the Youth Minister Guy could pray for food and have it appear . . . twice! when the teen was finally allowed to eat after a 6-day fast.

Thanks for DHS Latin students and Mock Trial team mates, fellow Troop 764 Scouts, our extended family, and good friends who rallied around our teen, reminded him that he matters, prayed for his recovery, and shared best wishes when he needed them.

Thanks that our daughter is flexible, kind-hearted, and self-reliant. It isn't easy being the sibling of a chronically ill kid.

Thanks for laughter. When Scoutmaster LaRose told our teen he didn't really have to throw himself so completely into research for his Eagle project, he got a huge roar from everyone. (He's collecting handheld Nintendo and Sony game systems, games, and power packs/accessories for Children's, so Volunteer Services can loan them to bedbound tweens and teens during their hospitalizations. He knows, as well as they do, that distraction is a great way to deal with pain. Coloring books and crayons are great for little ones, but older kids need something a bit more . . . advanced.)

Thanks for knitting. I made two pairs of felted slippers, eleven dishcloths, and worked out a sock design for my mom while listening to IV alarms, vitals monitors, distant pages, and a steady stream of Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon.  Knitting kept me calm, centered, and alert to our son's needs.

Thanks for NetFlix and wireless internet.  For hours at a time, the teen could forget a bit about the NG tube and enjoy some "transforming" entertainment, update his Facebook friends, play games, journal his Eagle project status, and read uplifting emails.

Thanks that we chose Dunwoody as our home a decade ago, little knowing how much we'd need the hospital campus just 15 minutes from our house.

Thanks that research into Crohn's and its treatment has advanced so much in our teen's lifetime.

Some of the most giving people around our family are now enduring or have suffered their own challenges and losses. Thanks for compassion that springs from the most God-centered part of our souls.

This is truly a Thanksgiving Day for the Knitternall family. Whatever comes next, we are together and we are blessed.

Seventy miles!

The teen and I just finished his last required hike for the BSA hiking merit badge. We trod seventy miles on the Big Tree Greenway, over Kennesaw Mountain, around Stone Mountain, and through Dunwoody. His ever-present Crohn's symptoms meant he couldn't get too far away from facilities and medical support, so he got creative with his urban hiking choices. For today's hike, A chose to repeat his favorite, a loop around our little town.

We're both glad it's finished. But we're also a bit sad, because it's been seventy miles of mom-and-son time, a precious commodity in the busy-ness of his teen years. We've talked and we've walked in companionable silence. We've shared leg pain and a loathing of steep grades. We've ticked off each hike with great satisfaction and discussed the pros and cons of repeating a route again.

Bits and pieces of today's hike:

• While the pedestrian crossing on Mt. Vernon Road between Dunwoody United Methodist Church and the Michael's shopping center is CLEARLY MARKED, cars whizzed by us, even as we were IN THE CROSSWALK.
• We passed one of Adam's DHS Mock Trial teammates who called a cheery hello as she continued her run. That lead to a discussion of next year's case, and Adam's expectation that the now-veteran team will do even better.
  
• The sidewalk on Chamblee-Dunwoody between Dunwoody Knoll and the merge with Roberts Drive is really, really narrow. Particularly with overgrowth looming overhead. When we passed a very pleasant woman with a huge dog, she jumped into the lane of traffic so we could pass each other. Not a good thing.
• The sound of aluminum bats connecting with hard-thrown baseballs resounded over Dunwoody Park as we traversed its trails. I confess I prefer the sound of a wood bat. I'm so old school.
• While Abernathy Road undergoes the latest round of "improvements," the sides of the road are nearly impassible for pedestrians. We used parking lots and hopped over construction materials to get to the Perimeter Mall area. In New York, when they're doing something that breaks up a sidewalk, they build a temporary pedestrian pathway. Hello?
  
• I love the iron bench and bike rack perched across from the Fresh Market. It isn't a bus stop and it isn't a decorative accent for a place of business. It's there for walkers and bikers. I hope there will be more as time goes by.
  
• The jaywalkers from the office buildings at the intersection of Mt. Vernon and Abernathy roads have cut a path through the evergreen shrubs in front of the Chic Fil A. Rather than think that's too bad, I think it would be nice if an actual sidewalk were added because, for "legal" walkers along the sidewalk, it's a lot safer to access the restaurants there than trying to walk through the parking lot.
• Tinted windows make it really, really hard to see who's honking a greeting and who's just tooting a warning. We smiled and waved just in case.
• One of the reasons A loves the Dunwoody Hike is that his chosen route passes both Barnes & Noble and Borders. His backpack was much heavier on the return than when we set out.
  
• We were halfway through the intersection of Mt. Vernon Road and Dunwoody Parkway when someone leaned heavily on the horn, then burned rubber as soon as we cleared one lane. I guess we weren't walking fast enough.

The hiking merit badge was A's last Eagle-required badge. Now he's working on his Eagle project paperwork in hopes that he can do his project in the fall.

I'll be right there on the sidelines, cheering him on.

Have I mentioned that I hate being sick?

It borders on the ludicrous. 

• I have broken an ankle, hobbled on it for two days because I had too many appointments, then finally driven myself to a clinic for an x-ray. 
  
• I have caught a cold, which turned into bronchitis, which escalated into a full-blown upper respiratory bacterial infection, and finally, fussily driven myself to the only urgent care place open on a Sunday morning and in our network to get two mega-shots of antibiotics.
• I have ignored the early signs of shingles to the point where the rash spread into one eye and put  me on the verge of vision loss.

So I'm stubborn. The older I get, the less I'm willing to accept pains, creaks, injuries, etc. because I have TOO MUCH TO DO. I don't have TIME to be sick, hurt, out of action. So I will it away. I tackle physically demanding chores and walk those ten-mile hikes with my Eagle-bound Scout.  I lift tables and gigantic boxes full of who-knows-what and turn over mattresses and reorganize storage. And if something hurts, I just take a Motrin and keep on moving.

Most times, willpower works. Sometimes it doesn't. Right now, it isn't going so well.

On the other hands, if one of my kids sniffles, I'm at the pediatrician's office in no time flat, checking for strep, etc. With a kid living with Crohn's and the other under my vigilant eye for signs of its sister autoimmune afflection, rheumatoid arthritis, I don't underplay a thing.

Gotta love self-denial. So far so good! Or not.

Enough already.

When news writers raise alarms about biological warfare, viruses let loose accidentally by the CDC, bird flu, patches of black ice on the road, deadly strains of influenza, et al, my mom-sense goes into hyper-drive. Crohn's Disease and Remicade are a double handicap in the resistance game. While we're fighting to keep A's colon intact, Remicade is suppressing his immune system so it won't attack the colon . . . or any other disease, infection, etc. that happens to come along.

I want to stay home with my kids. Of course that's not realistic. I well understand the importance of preparing them for living with and in the world. I also understand that alarmist writing increases readership and ratings. But it doesn't stop me from enjoying snow days and stormy weather when we have no choice but to stay home.

There's an inordinate glee underlining doom-and-gloom news "reporting." Now that we're afraid of everything, narcissism rules the day. Don't tell us what to do. But SOMEONE should take care of all the bad stuff so we don't have to deal with it.

Enough already. There are enough real-life challenges. The stomach flu is waiting for the kids to get back to school so it can roar through families all over again. Life-changing illnesses are going to turn future plans upside down. The roof will leak and car break down when we can least afford the repairs.

And people will surprise you with kindness. 300 friends and neighbors will line the streets to welcome home a young mom recovering from months of physical rehabilitation. They'll let you in a long line of rush hour traffic and NOT bang the horn because your attention drifted for a moment when the light turned green. They'll see some broken glass in a picnic area and pick it up. They'll bring you an heirloom tomato plant just because they have extra and share the first crop of green beans from the backyard garden. They'll show up for volunteer workdays at church and the Nature Center and school and will value the results of their labors rather than the accolades.

Those kinds of stories don't sell newspapers or ad space for newscasts.

But they make living in Dunwoody all the nicer.

Remicade day.

Today is A's seven-week Remicade treatment, so I've taken a day off from the Nature Center. We'll get to the infusion lab at GI Care for Kids by 915 and he'll be hooked up to the IV for three hours. While he's passing the time with DVDs and Nintendo, I'll sit in the parents' micro-waiting room and work on a freelance assignment. Hurray for laptops!

This particular assignment is a "boomerang," a re-direction in style and format that has gone through second thoughts and now needs a fresh start. The client has a tight deadline, so I do, too. The three hours will pass quickly . . . my goal is to have most of it reworked by the time A's infusion is complete.

I've worked on hundreds of collections through the years, for high end designers and mid-range brands you'll find in the pages of Southern Living and Better Homes and Gardens. The furniture collection I'm profiling today is one that I would love to have in my own home. Ssshhh . . . can't say anything about the design or name because it's a big intro for my client. Even the name is cool.

Once I've finished the writing assignment, I'll dive back into the Vogue Sideways Cardigan project. I finished the back and am now getting ready to start one of the front pieces. Fun thing about the pattern (note: sarcasm) . . . the directions for the back didn't include ANY binding off point. They just stopped, as if there were about four stitches left on the needles for the shoulder area. As if. I had 24 on the needles and just bound off. I figure once I get to seaming, anything that doesn't fit can be adjusted at that stage. I want to finish it by this weekend because AG and I are heading to Savannah with her Girl Scout troop for a mother-daughter trip. It'll be a great piece to wear in the evenings.

On to Remicade. And writing. And knitting. Oh, yeah, and baking - I need to make a batch of goodies for the fab teachers and junior counsellors working summer camp this week at Dunwoody Nature Center.

Day off? I think not!

Dear, I'll knit you a car

My son is reluctant to get his driver's license. Prudently, he's aware of the heavy toll on teenage lives this frantic Atlanta traffic levies. While he could get his license next December, he's chosen to wait to take the study program until the summer following his 16th birthday. I am grateful to have a prudent teenager. Living with Crohn's Disease means facing the fragility of life, a lesson I'm so sorry he's had to learn at such an early age.

My daughter, on the other hand, is already checking out vehicle options. At just 11, she's imagining the freedom and the fashion coordination possibilities of various models. I envision her pleading for some hot little number as soon as she gets her license.

I love my kids and want to indulge their every whim. So it isn't unreasonable to offer her a red Ferrari.

She just has to knit it.

Does that make me a cool Mom or what?

Spring break, cleaning, and knitting

This week is Spring Break for AG and AM. Since AM had a Remicade treatment scheduled Monday, we stayed in town (we never know whether he'll take the treatment well or be wiped out for awhile). Monday was pretty much Remicade Day, with AG and I waiting in the tiny airless waiting area and AM getting his three hours of infusion. (Our fearless leader and nurse extraordinaire Cathy came breezing in shortly after the infusion started with her latest load of munchies from Costco. The lab always has a tray of snacks for the kids. Crohn's is all about stoking the body with enough fuel to keep going - most of it doesn't stay in the system long enough to do any good.)

Tuesday was sleep-in day for the kids while I started on a long-deferred project: clearing out, de-cluttering, and organizing the basement storage area. They awakened in time to haul stuff to the curb.

Argh.

The pile by the curb was embarrassingly huge - and those were the rejects. We took a load to Goodwill as well (my favorite treasure-hunting place). I HAD to check the household area. A few weeks ago I scored a huge bag of fuzzy Patons Divine in an assortment of pinks, purples, creams and grays for just $4. So I made 2 prayer shawls, one in purples and pinks, and the other in white and pastels (for a mom in the neonatal ICU).

Purple Prayer Shawl Pattern:

• 4 Balls Patons Divine in Light Pink, Dark Pink, Purple, and Cream
• Size 13 circular needles
• Finished size: 18" deep x 68" wide (without fringe)
  

This is a self-fringing pattern in that you break the yarn at the end of each row of knitting. By tying two ends together, you add fringe as you knit.

Cast on 120 stitches on size 13 needles loosely, using long tail method. Knit across. At end of row, break yarn, approximately 9" from edge of shawl. Insert needle into first stitch (preparing to knit across the next row), carefully looping yarn as if to start a new ball. Leave 9" tail. Tie strand to previous strand. Knit across.

Continue knitting in garter stitch, adding new colors on the right side as you stripe in any pattern you like.

Knit until shawl is approximately 18" or more deep. Trim fringe so it's even (I trimmed this one about 6-7").

During this most recent visit, ostensibly JUST to drop off those donated goods, I scored another bag of yarn: 8 balls of Bernat Sox in a cheerful rainbow of pink, teal, line, brown, and orange for $3. That's enough to create a mitered square prayer shawl, the next design I'll put together. When yarn just falls in my lap, it seems meant for a prayer shawl!

Wednesday was the day of the Big Reveal. I redid AG's bedroom, taking out one of the twin beds and making it more tween-friendly for her gatherings. We found a huge butterfly chair with a deep, feathery cover that she proclaimed "yummy" for her room. AG and BFF D were playing Dance Revolution on the Wii in the basement rec room while I worked. When I was finished, I called them up for the Big Reveal. Squeals and a prompt slamming of the door in my face after a heartfelt "Thanks, Mom!" were proof of the successful results.

Today is all about fun. The weather is beautiful, the temp warm enough for shorts, and we're headed to the Island Ford part of the Chattahoochee National Recreation Area nearby. It's just a ten-minute drive, but it feels like the middle of a natural nowhere. We'll picnic, take a hike along the river, and then go to a movie (Nim's Island).

Tomorrow, we'll head to the Atlanta Zoo.

Happy Spring Break!

There's nothing heroic about a kid suffering

Double mascara alert: after I dropped off AG at school this morning (no power, major storm just roared through), I tuned into Q100 and heard their latest "Burt's Big Adventure." They took a bunch of families whose children are enduring terminal and chronic illnesses to Disney World. Wonderful! The song "Baby of Mine" from Beaches was interspersed with snippets of reactions from the families and children. That definitely had me tearing up.

Then came the caller.

Bless his heart, he's a soldier who's defending our country. And he knows families in similar situations. Then he said the one thing that just frustrates me over and over again. He said the "real heroes" in the Disney trip weren't the show's producers and talent. "The real heroes are those kids, because they're really having to go through a lot."

Please.

As a mother of a child with a chronic illness that nearly took him from us twice, please please please don't call these kids "inspirational" or "heroic."

A hero is someone who chooses to do something amazingly brave and giving with full awareness of the risks and danger.

A child would NEVER choose to go through cancer or Crohn's Disease or diabetes or a genetic condition so severe that their entire life is a challenge. There's nothing inspirational about what a child suffers. Yes, they have the gift of innocence, of not knowing the full story shared by the adults around them.

Love a child like that. Nurture that child and give that child all the joy you can so there's a "happy place" in memories to go to when the treatment hurts or the pain of the illness is so overwhelming.

Just don't tell that child or his family that he's a hero.

Random thoughts on knitting, Dunwoody, and Queen Bees

It's been a busy week of constant hat-changing. I've published the workbook for the next Preschool Phonics classes, conferenced with AG's teachers, thought about the main course for my son's church youth group Progressive Dinner coming up on Sunday, and, of course, blogged.

Out of all that frenetic activity have come some random thoughts.

1. After road-knitting for 12 hours last weekend, I needed a break. I've discovered my passion for knitting doesn't lessen just because I take a periodic breather. It just gets more savory.

2. The Queen Bees have emerged! Their circles are busy, busy, busy with long hair, appropriate clothing, and a constantly changing list of "dos" and "don'ts." It's fascinating to watch the queens use their power. Ah, but if it were only for good.

3. Crohn's Disease is one of those pervasive genetic disorders that seem to affect every possible body process. On the other hand, it's all too easy to dismiss something new as Crohn's related. We're still learning how my son's disease works. And just when we think we know, it evolves.

4. I snore. There, I admitted it. I can't believe I do it and there's not a darned thing I can do to stop it. Sigh.

5. I love managing the Nature Center's web site. Want to see it? It's at www.dunwoodynature.org. I took a DreamWeaver class to get me up to speed, and it's been a joy ever since. I'm far from being able to design a site from scratch (the center's site was created by a very talented web designer), but this part of my morning job is definitely keeping me in the loop web-wise.

6. Berroco's new web site design is really good. And Norah Gaughan's latest design is cool. The short-sleeve sweater has an intriguing circular design that radiates out beneath the sleeves. Definitely thinking about knitting it.

7. I'd love to own a knitting shop right here in Dunwoody. But I don't have the business acumen and that's absolutely essential. It's one thing to love all things knitting. It's another to run a business.

That's enough for one day. On to my morning job!

5 Reasons I CAN'T Be Sick

I can't have a cold. Despite evidence to the contrary, I cannot be sick.

1. My son has Crohn's, and the Remicade treatment gives him a double whammy when it comes to a compromised immune system. I am cleaning my hands like crazy and avoiding contact with a kid I love to hug.

2. I'm the Mom. (If you're a mom, you know exactly what that means.)

3. I have work - job, house chores, carpool and a grocery run this afternoon, and a kids Choir holiday party to put on tonight.

4. It's a hundred degrees outside in this crazy Southern December.

5. I can't knit because every time I look down, my nose drips. Ewwww.

Did I mention I CAN'T be sick?

The "Making Do" Philosophy

There's a reality check in any family's life. Ours was the impact of medical costs. We are grateful for the exemplary care our son has received by pediatric gastroenterologists, by our providential proximity to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta at Scottish Rite, by the rapid rate of research into treatment and (we pray) a cure for Crohn's Disease, by a generous and responsive health plan provided by my husband's employer, and the fact that Remicade is working for him. But all this comes at a tremendous cost. No health insurance covers 100%. 20% adds up when you're dealing with medical costs that run up to six figures each year.

Making do is our mantra. My children are still young enough not to realize how much their parents skimp and move and adjust and tweak. And that's wonderful. They take pleasure in family traditions, occasional outings and luxuries, and the continuity of everyday life. I've found resources that make our budget happy while indulging them in their special pleasures. Thrift shops and estate sales, consignment shops and sales, homemade cooking and hand-crafted treats - put it all together, and we live darned well!

Making Do Pointer #1: Income isn't really disposable.
If you find a Goodwill Store in a very upscale area of town, check it out! I have searched elbow to elbow with women decked in couture and found designer jeans, Coldwater Creek, and Chico's in mint condition for myself, and the trendiest Abercrombie & Fitch, Limited Too, and N Kids outfits for my daughter. It seems disposable income equates to a disposable attitude about nearly-new fashions!

Making Do Pointer #2: Shop with purpose.
I can't stand keeping up with coupons. It's just too much work. Instead, I always work with a menu and a shopping list. I plan four meals a week, two of which have no meat, and try to limit my shopping to just one trip. I find that my costs stay much lower when I'm disciplined. Buying off the menu and spontaneously always costs more!

Making Do Pointer #3: Make your hobby self-funding.
The Shakers got it right. Take pleasure in hand craftsmanship. Utilitarian objects can also be aesthetically pleasing. Knitting is my indulgence as well as a source of income. It began when my son was hospitalized the first time. He went from tummy pains to full septic shock in a matter of months. A dear lady in my Bible Study handed me a pair of needles and yarn and showed me how to knit. I knitted my first prayer shawl in the ICU during ten days of critical condition and slowly improvement. I knitted my first handbag during the few months we were "back to normal." Then I knitted scarf after scarf, another shawl, a few more handbags, and more when he went critical again, perforating at the ileum and sustaining multiple surgeries.

I sold more than $500 worth of those handbags and scarves the first bazaar I tried - that was more than enough to pay for the yarn and add some to the kitty for future projects. Such "self-funding" takes the guilt out of something I love doing so much.

Making do. It's a GREAT thing!

In medias res

As always, I'm between things. Just returned from AG's choir practice and waiting to go pick up A from Mock Trial practice. T in New York on business and sure to check in shortly. Dinner a medley of hurried bites - cereal for A, mac & cheese for AG, and PB&J for me. Just not enough time for more. Somehow I need to finish three more dishcloths before heading to North Carolina on Saturday AM for the annual N family Christmas gathering. And there's a freelance writing project on my desk, a web site to update, tuition receipts to log, a class to prep, and laundry to do.

I'm sure Scooter the Wonder Dog would appreciate a walk, but that's just not going to happen tonight.

Yet I feel rather peaceful at the moment. Because my life is constantly in medias res. I've learned the value of living in the moment. Having a child living with acute Crohn's Disease keeps us all very much in the moment. (Thank you, God, for Remicade, amazing pediatric gastroenterologists, and Children's Healthcare of Atlanta at Scottish Rite.)


Tonight I wore my "vest of many colors," a painterly mix of stash remnants that turned out pretty well. The pattern (definitely more like a recipe) came from Dazzling Knits: Building Blocks to Creative Knitting by Patricia Werner. It's called the Ojo de Dios Vest, and it was a pleasure to make. No more than 25 or so stitches on the needles at any time - very transportable and an easily memorized pattern.

Waiting for the phone to ring. Perhaps there's time for just a few more rows on those dishcloths . . .