Almost a sentence

As I was getting Owen dressed this morning I was singing, kissing his belly and legs. I stopped and smiled at him and he said, "Hi Mama! More kisses." Clear as day! Be still my heart.

Whatever "side" you're on - be a good citizen

Yesterday I was driving to Jenn & Brian's with Owen for an afternoon visit and dinner. While waiting at the flashing yellow left-turn light at Commonwealth and Chapman, a car pulled up behind me. A break in the on-coming traffic came and I started to turn into the left lane of the two lanes going my way on Commonwealth. However, I quickly realized that the car behind me had turned right on my tail and was turning into the left lane - I had to quickly swerve into the right lane to avoid getting hit by them, even though I had the right-of-way. I looked over at their car to figure out what their problem was, and I saw a few college-age girls hanging out the window flashing McCain/Palin signs at me and giving me the finger (we have Obama stickers on our cars, I was driving the Subaru).

I was totally shocked. I am as passionate about this election as anyone I've met, and yet when I drive a car with an Obama sticker on it, I see myself as representing a larger group of individuals. I would never want to pull some jerk maneuver on the road and be "that asshole Obama supporter". Keith and I were talking about how we drive even more carefully and thoughtfully now that we put the Obama stickers on our car. I don't care if someone supports McCain/Palin - although I certainly don't understand why they do - but I would assume they would want to act respectful and in such a way that reflects well on their party.

I felt like I was driving a car with Albany High Cougar stickers all over it and they were some opposing team rah-rah'ing for their mascot at homecoming - that was the level of their ridiculous behavior. And I guess that is part of the larger distinction for me: in their behavior was so much of the machismo and disrepect towards diplomacy and earth-sharing behavior that I feel we've had to suffer for the past 8 years. Their behavior embodied so much of what I disdain about the cowboy-maverick-yeeehaw! behavior we've been subjected to from the Republican side. When are they going to wake up and realize that they're sharing the road?

This will have to do for now

I know it's been awhile since my last post, and it's been a busy time so at some point it's hard to figure out what topic to write about. Owen and I went to MN with the fam, awesome trip! But exhausting; in all the things you quickly figure out about parenthood, the complete loss of "vacation" as relaxation, reading, and playing cards, takes awhile to comprehend. It's a little like being home, but with more chaos. Thank heaven for my fun family and fall colors! It made the trip great.

Then there was Jenny's birthday at Pizza Port. Tasty pizza, lots of catching up with friends, and the requisite San Clemente slightly creepy and exceedingly drunk man wandering around talking to everyone.

This week has been exhausting but nice. Got to see Joe rock the debate Thursday. Can't wait tip 11/4!

Do as I do

Although the biting seems to have mostly resolved, Owen is a physical kid. That is a good thing (there is no snuggle shortage in the Luhrs' household), and also rough right now when he is still learning to express frustration, sadness, and anger.

Hitting is the expression of emotions du jour and our mantra, "hands are not for hitting, hitting isn't friendly" is getting a fair bit of play lately. Not that much, to be fair, but usually once a day for the past week or so.

This weekend, Owen became frustrated that we wouldn't let him play with a camera and he smacked me in the face. The hitting is usually directed at me, and on this particular day I was feeling short-fused and exhausted for no particular reason.

As our routine goes, I removed Owen from the situation, carried him into his toy room while chanting the hitting mantra. I explained that hitting hurts. I am sure he feels a mixture of embarassment and indignation when I go over this with him, he gets everything we say to him. He tried to hit me again (really this one was more of a fake-out) and I grabbed his hands to thwart the wet noodle attack and in so doing, I scratched his cheek. Scratched a gouge really. It bled a little, immediately.

The look he gave me will be burned into my retina for years. It was the worst feeling. In the middle of trying to talk to Owen about gentle touches and alternate ways to express frustration, I accidentally hurt him. I wrapped him into a big hug and he just melted into me but was sobbing. I told him that Mommy did not mean to scratch him. I think he got it, but man, that moment of bewilderment will not be forgotten by me for a long time.

Use your words, honey

Last night, Owen was frustrated at the table during dinner, and was causing a ruckus. As he's back arching and screeching in his booster seat, I said to him, "Are you frustrated? Can you tell us what you want? Can you use your words?" And I really do think that he looked at me and telepathically said: Mom. I can tell you that a cow moos. I can say "baa baa" for the sheep sound. I can tell you dogs bark, lions roar, and owls hoot. I can name my shoe. I can name a banana. I say Mama and Daddy. Are you seriously asking me to tell you that I'm frustrated because you won't hand me that wine glass to shatter all over the room?

He had a good point.

Butt

We have heard from many a reliable source that, at some point, Owen would have a word explosion. That, some day soon, he would just kind of start talking.

Of course we disregarded this, thinking most likely that is just how the process looks in hindsight. But this weekend, at Meg and Adam's lovely fun wedding, Owen really did have a word explosion.

It started off with an adorable moment when Keith showed Owen a picture of Owen and Stew on the patio and Owen pointed to Stew and said "Schteewwww". More words followed. But my absolute favorite was this morning's event: I was crouched down in a squat with my arms out ready to hug Owen running towards me. Instead of running into my waiting arms, he ran around behind my back, put a hand down the back of my pants and said, "BUTT".

Jaws, Part I

This post is probably not a light one. It's kind of the elephant in the room, but my amazing sister has finally encouraged me to write about it.


From my post a couple weeks ago, any lurker to my blog knows that my Dad and sister have dystonia. My Dad developed symptoms in...I want to say Spring of 1998, at the age of 54. My sister developed symptoms in late summer of 2005, at the age of 32. This is insanely young for dystonia - it definitely supports a genetic component; most CNS genetic disorders are charcterized by early onset. My Dad has segmental dystonia (cervical dystonia, specifically, affecting his neck, shoulders & arms). My sister has focal dystonia (specifically oromandibular dystonia).


In some ways, there is too much to say on this topic. There is no way that I can appropriately address the depth of this issue and how it has affected all of us, on a blog. But I find that I don't talk about it enough, and being bottled up really isn't my bag. Although I tend towards neurotic, and sometimes I talk obsessively about things that worry me, I do know that it's not in my nature to keep things tightly wrapped. My Dad's disease has been heartbreaking for all of us for a million reasons that can't possibly articulated. My sister's disease is heartbreaking in most of those ways, too, and also some other ones.

Like, she's so young. She is 35. She has two small kids and has a hard time speaking & eating. She has a hard time reading books to them. I'm not sure she can sing to them easily. She tends towards being thin - difficulty eating is just a cruel symptom. She's smaller, physically, than I am & there is this weird thing for me about needing to protect her. I almost wish I had a big cloak and I could wrap my arms around her and carry her with me, and make sure she's eating enough, and take care of her. It's a very vivid image I have, and it's probably not coming across very well, but that's ok.

My understanding of dystonia, in many ways, is very clinical. I've read the literature. I know the anatomy. I know what Botox does. I know what drug families are used, what generally works, what their common side effects are, what the treatment option schedule is. In some ways having that clinical perspective has been helpful for my family, but probably only marginally, and looking back it's probably much more of a defense mechanism.


I want to be Erin's cheerleader, the upbeat one that can reassure. But there is something about reassurance when things are hard and treatments aren't working the way they should that is maddening. It's awful to be terrified and anxious and angry and frustrated and be told to "give it one more try" or "give it one more week" or "we'll just try something slightly different next time". It's so easy to say those things when it's not YOUR life, not YOUR everyday, not YOUR every meal. And I totally know that.

I went to get some fillings the other week and a few days later my jaw was really sore. I mean, sore in a way that was totally foreign to me; my tongue felt too big for my mouth, my jaw and under my jaw felt really tight and it was exhausting trying to normalize it all day. I'm not exaggerating when I say that about 99% of my attention Monday - Wednesday the following week was focused on my jaw. I. Was. Terrified. I was a complete wreck. I couldn't function, couldn't find joy in anything except a few stolen moments with Owen. I felt like I was staring down this motor disorder that had captured my Dad and has stolen my sister' s voice from the other end of the phone, and I didn't know how I - the optimist, the cheerleader - would deal with it. I couldn't imagine not talking to Owen, not singing, not reading books. I couldn't imagine how it would affect my job, could I give talks at work still? Would Botox work for me?

I didn't want to talk to Keith about it, he is already so hyperaware of any abnormal movement I complain about. I didn't want to talk to my Mom about it - that's the last worry she needs. I certainly didn't want to talk to my sister about it - asking her to comfort me seemed cruel. But I did talk to my sister, and I'm so glad. She is the only person who would know that panic that I would feel, and she was amazing.

My jaw is ok. And that's not really the point of this post anyway. The point is that I got a glimpse, however small, however superficial, of what my sister faces EVERY SINGLE DAY. The uncertainty, exhaustion, fear, anxiety, and I totally understand if it makes her angry to have to deal with all of this. I don't know what my future holds with dystonia, and it's a little scary staring that question in the face all the time, but I do know that I will do whatever is humanly possible for me to do to help find a treatment for my sister.