Off to Ammon's

At the beginning of the month I took a trip with my sister, Rachel, to visit my brother Ammon in Portland. For those who don't know, Ammon was recently diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and just started chemotherapy. He has a blog on Caringbridge.com if you care to follow it.

Now this wasn't a trip to bemoan the fact that our brother is living on borrowed time. Far from it. Rachel and I went there to WORK, but also to spread a little holiday magic with his family at this tender point in their lives. We had a great time.

Ammon's wife, Shelli, getting in on the cooking

While the rest of the family went about their normal routines, Rachel and I cooked up a storm, singing along to the holiday tunes and sharing conversation with anyone dropping down on a kitchen stool. For three days we fixed up dinners that could be frozen for later, and then baked all the goodies to deliver to neighbors for Christmas, saving Ammon and Shelli stress and time. We were lucky enough to attend a singing recital for one of our nieces, attend two Christmas parties, and watched the fun as all the kids got in on cookie decorating.



Every night we went away tired, and should have gone straight to bed, but with so few opportunities to see family (we're spread all over the country), Rachel and I would stay up even later talking. Ah, good times, though we both paid for it later.

Rachel with yet another batch of icing

But the best part was keeping Ammon busy. With him home on disability, he's feeling a bit restless, so we assigned him to design a gingerbread house. And he did. A big one. It took four batches of gingerbread and two and a half days to build! Was it worth it? Oh yeah. I haven't seen him that excited in a long time.

Can you find the shepherds, wise men, etc. ?

And then I flew home and had to bake all the goodies for my neighbors and do the gingerbread house tradition with my own family--by myself. Whew! I'm wiped out. So if you're wondering where your Christmas letter is . . . you'll be receiving it next week as New Year's spam.

Ammon's kids creating cookie magic

But back to Portland . . . Before flying back to Indiana, I got in a little driving around the old neighborhood (my family lived in Beaverton about 25 years ago), passing by the Portland Temple, which was announced just before we moved. It got me thinking about the progress that has been made, in the area and with me personally, since I left Oregon.

Aidukaitis kids constructing here in Indiana

Seeing all the places I used to go brought the memories of middle school and high school back, and the great friendship I had with my brother back then. There aren't many siblings who attend the same high school, share the same group of friends, and attend the same parties together, but we did. And it didn't bother us. There was no rivalry, and he wasn't embarrassed by me, for the most part. We got along fine. We would go to church dances, and if a good song came on and we didn't have a partner, we would dance with each other. It wasn't creepy or gross; it was simple. Ammon was fun. He was popular (student body president, on the track and water polo teams). He could drive--which meant going to football games, shopping at the mall, and TP-ing random friend's houses when our parents were away. And he was smart. A lot of kids admired him, including me, even though he wasn't the greatest math tutor: "Here, watch me do another problem. Get it now?" When he left to Stanford, and my family moved to California, I didn't just lose a brother, I lost part of my identity. He was the cool one, so easy to like; I couldn't be that way on my own. High school was a difficult time for me, as it is with many girls, but having a cool brother to share the experience with made it bearable.

More Indiana gingerbread

A couple decades have passed since then, resulting in differing life experiences and the addition of spouses and children. It's just not the same anymore. Life is so serious. Though we are still on good terms, I sometimes miss that energy, spontaneity and light-hearted fun we used to have. Some of my best memories come from humorous experiences I shared with Ammon. It was good to see some of that vitality again during my visit, with Ammon interacting with his kids. As teenagers, I hope they know what a cool person their dad is, and what a friend he can be. I'm sure he helps them just as much as he ever helped me.

Portland, Oregon Temple

Here's to hoping your positive attitude gets you through, Ammon! We're all cheering for you.

Phil From Brazil

Phil Visits the Windy City

Hancock Observatory--2nd Highest Building in Chi-town

For the past four months we've had an exchange student living with us. Some of you might be scratching your heads over this: "What? An exchange student? They never mentioned an exchange student before!" So I have to mention here that this blog is not a great source for breaking news. Did you read my Thanksgiving post, about going to Chicago? No, because it hasn't been posted until now. See what I mean?

There are only two seasons in Chicago: Winter and Construction.
Typical Chicago.

We had no choice but to take Phil in, really. I mean, two of our kids moved out this fall, prefering a dorm room and a roommate to life at home, so we had to find a replacement. Hence, Phil from Brazil.

View From our Hotel Window

The goal was to learn about my husband's culture (he's half Brazilian), make more of a real life connection with the country, and in return teach a teenager about the United States. So how's it gone? Um, it's been a learning experience. And by that I mean, "How would you like to be responsible for a teenager you don't know, who answers every comment with, 'Oh yes, yes,' and smiles so big you start thinking you should count the silver?" Okay, it's not that bad, but there is a definite language gap that makes things interesting.

Shopping at Macy's on Black Friday

The day after he arrived, he asked if it's a good idea to ask someone at the airport where he can buy drugs. ??? After further questioning, I discovered he had done just that in Houston during his layover, because he needed aspirin for a headache. Duh, what else would you think he wanted? We had a good laugh when I explained to him what he had done.

Great Chicago-style pizza at Lou Malnatti's. Don't go to Uno or Gino's East; this place is good to the last bite, and the salad is to die for.


Animated Store Windows at Marshall-Fields (it will never be Macy's to true Chicagoans)


Brazilians don't hold food in their fingers to eat; they always use silverware. I knew this before, but it never dawned on me just how many foods we eat with our fingers: hamburgers, pizza, chicken, tacos . . . which brings up another interesting point. I assumed that everyone living south of say, Kansas, was familiar with Mexican food, including everyone in South America. They're all considered Hispanic, right? So why not lump all their cultures together like people do with Canadians and Americans? Uh, no. The second night Phil was at our house I prepared burritos for dinner, thinking to give him something familiar. No such luck. He had no idea what to do with the tortillas, or how to eat them (no finger foods, remember?).

German Christkindle Market at Daly Plaza

So, it's been an interesting time learning about Brazil, different customs, different ways of doing things, and getting past all those messy words. And even though Indiana may be the most boring place an exchange student could end up, we've managed to get him a look outside every now and then. Here are some pictures of our trip to Chicago over Thanksgiving. The best part? Everywhere we went sent home the message that America is still the biggest melting pot in the world. We're not just one culture, we're every culture! From hamburgers to Chinese food to pizza over an inch thick, you can find it all in America! I love this place.

View from Shedd Aquarium

Yeah, I know, the sweater makes me look dumpy. I'm throwing it out tomorrow. Hope you had a great Thanksgiving!

A Bite of Halloween

This year we had a cat and an army man tour the neighborhood on All Hallow's Eve--not a lamb or a hobo! But what a dismal Halloween it was. We only got 2 trick-or-treaters at our house, a 50% decrease from last year. And you know the economy is bad when every fifth house is closed down, unwilling to hand out candy. We did a lot of walking without very good results. Talking with the other moms in the area, I think we'll have a party next year and forget about candy.

Our real cats didn't like Halloween either. They took the "Trick" option and decided to spread a few fleas around the house. The rotten rodents. But the experience has been rather enlightening. Erik's been bitten at least a dozen times, but I don't get a bite even when the flea sits right on my arm. It's like they don't see me. And when Erik went out of town last week, leaving me as the sole food source in the room, they still didn't bite.

Why? Because I'm a vampire. I've been telling the kids since Twilight came out, but nobody believed me until now. Yeah, now it's obvious: the cold as ice skin, lack of blood (it took 5 pricks last time to get a decent blood sample), favoring night hours, and never turning down a juicy steak. Fangs? Sorry, three of those were removed in order to avoid braces. Or at least that's the story the orthodontist gave me. Ask my mom.

So now my secret's out. I'll never age. I'll never hold a tan. And I'm going to live forever. But the real advantage? No fleas bothering me. Sorry, Hun.

'Mazed and Cornfused

Just some pictures from the weekend. I took the two younger kids to an orchard with a petting zoo and corn maze, then we stopped at the arboretum to see the fall colors. Beautiful.

Midterm Check-up

So we're about two months into the school year. Time to check in and see how everyone's doing. Lately, it seems all of our lives are revolving around school. Mykell is filling out college applications and will take the SAT and ACT this month. Bryce is considering his options for college and just took the PSAT Wednesday, hoping his scores will result in a scholarship. Erik is gearing up for the GMAT so he can get his MBA.

Sometimes I feel like the only one not making progress.

Rachel is taking the extracurricular road to success, getting involved in track, band, and working as a teller in the school banking program. And then there is Jason and his, um, unique humor. . . . This is the reason I can't move on.

I've often thought about returning to work, but honestly, my kids need me just as much now as they did when we were all home together. Whether giving advice on college essays over the phone, caring for a sick child, or supervising one as he cleans the wall in the Boys bathroom--just to make a point about respect--I have to be here, available. I know some moms don't have that choice, and I regret that because there are so many times when I've had to stand up TO or stand up FOR my kids in a school setting.

Like when Jason was playing around in the school library last month and lost his computer privileges. He also lost his chance at the drawing for a candy bar for good behavior, and had to write an apology to the librarian. It was the letter to the librarian that got me a call from his teacher. She read it to me over the phone. (I wish I had that letter for posterity)

Of course Jason said he was sorry for running in the library and that he wouldn't do it again, but then the letter took on an arrogant tone. Jason chose to elaborate on why he didn't need a candy bar from the library. He stated that he could get a snack anytime at home and that he could get more than just one little candy bar. He then mentioned the money he has saved up, and the amount of candy he could buy with that. Lastly, he sited the upcoming holiday season and how Halloween and Christmas would reward him with enough treats to satisfy him for months, making the library candy bar totally unnecessary and not worth his concern.

"Sounds like he was mad," I said, knowing how Jason endures library time just for the computers.

I listened patiently as the teacher voiced her concerns about respect, and how his letter was clearly disrespectful to the librarian and her disciplinary actions. She couldn't see me smiling and nodding my head. The truth was, Jason's letter sounded very much like something his parents would write. Either one of them. He had obviously put a lot of thought into it.

"At least it's logical," I replied, impressed by the high-level thinking involved.

The teacher went silent for a moment, then started again on the Respect issue.

I assured her that she was right, and that he should write another, different apology, and that we would talk when he got home, but pointed out that this was some of the best writing Jason's done so far, if we wanted to look for the positives. The call ended quickly after that.

That's why I'm still at home. Somebody's got to be there for the kids, no matter how old they get. They need that knowledge and assurance that someone's got their back--not that I'll defend everything they do--but that I will sort through the good and bad, still see their potential, and keep nudging them lovingly along until they get it right.

I like Jason's teacher. I liked her when she was Rachel's teacher. She's got her act together and I admire her expectations for the class. I've told her all of this. But no teacher is perfect.

This month we had another incident where Jason called a boy a liar (for denying he was goofing off in the bathroom) and Jason had to write another letter of apology, which made him appear to be the liar. He was very upset. So I wrote a full page letter to the teacher, explaining Jason's dismay, suggesting that if Respect was so important at the school, then she should write Jason a letter of apology.

She did.

After calling me to apologize as well.

Don't worry kids, I've got you covered.

Fall Clean-up

Indiana Corn

Though the warm temperatures are deceiving, yesterday was the first day of fall. In Indiana that means . . . The corn stalks are dry and dull, brittle beside the barns. The soybeans are changing color, glittering green and gold. I know, I should change careers and become a poet, but I suspect another relative would strangle me if I invaded her turf. I'll stick to story telling for now. Here's a little diddy about my fall clean-up catastrophe.

soybeans

The Plant that Mom Picked

This is the place where Mom spent four hours improving the yard.

This is the plant that Mom picked from between the myrtle and bark.

This is the rash that Mom got, itchy and red and sore.

(not really mine, but close enough)

With that, she decided it just wasn't worth doing yardwork anymore.

This is the week the rash got worse, requiring drugs and a shot.

And this is the rash after starting to spread--poison ivy--I think not!

(love the tan line from my watch)

This is the nurse, who put Mom off, saying a reaction was highly unlikely.

And this is the place where Mom ended up in a drab wrap-around nighty.

This is Mom's foot, the only appendage where the rash had yet to spread.

This is the doctor who diagnosed hives and released her from the hospital bed.

These are the drugs Mom's been on, all from a stint in the yard.

Take her advice and stay inside. Good health is something to guard.

Translation: I was trimming and weeding four different types of shrubs and ivy, not noticing the two types of poison ivy mixed in. Had a reaction, which then changed to a different reaction, which made me want to claw the skin from my bones. This has REALLY messed up two weeks of my life. Watch yourselves out there. Plants can be dangerous, even in subdivisions.