Floam Infestation

Aidan rolling out his Floam-cake...

...which became this menacing bug

Not to be left out of the picture taking, Kellen sat for this photo (he sits and says cheese whenever I get the camera out). Yes, he carries the Wii controller around all day.

The Loquacious Toddler

As previously mentioned Kellen’s communication skills are decidedly advancing. He’s the little echo in our house repeating absolutely everything that he hears. He likes to repeat the words that get smiles from the rest of us like chanting “Cubbies, Cubbies, Cubbies!” when I’m watching the game. That was especially fun last night when he had no interest in sleeping and I was trying to get him to snooze on me while I watched the Cubs dismantle their chief opposition in the race for the division title for the third straight day sending the Brewers four games back in the standings…but I digress.

We continue to work on cool things like counting to 10 and our ABCs. We’re getting pretty close on the counting sometimes getting all the way to 10 missing only two or three numbers. There are many more holes in his ABCs but he’s got the cadence down. While he’s coloring he likes to identify the crayon colors and I’m helping him distinguish between blue, red, green, etc (thank you to Crayola for labeling these things for us colorblind folks). He’ll get stuck on a color calling everything blue or green for a time but it’s cool that he remembers the names nonetheless.

Kellen now makes specific menu requests when hungry which is fun until he asks for hot dogs at breakfast time or waffles for dinner. He also requests milk about a dozen times a day and will make the call for cheese at random moments. Most often asking for a snack starts with him smiling at you to break down your defenses and saying “bites” in a song like voice. He is starting to get a bit miffed when his requests are denied and we have the occasional showing of an angry streak when he’s not getting his way. We are working to curb these little outbursts.

He’s also a very enthusiastic waver. It’s hard to explain the underhand, scooped wrist, reverse “Hola” that he gives from across the room but it’s certainly unique. There are many variations to the wave. Especially humorous are the times when he’s sitting on you or next to you and feels the need to salute you at close range. I try not to take offense when his wave is accompanied by a “bye, bye dada.”

UPDATE: I forgot to mention Kellen's head nod which I find very amusing. When he asks for something (as he just asked to color) and I seek confirmation, he gives a very deliberate nod. It looks kind of like that kid who always dosed off during films in school. You know, the slow neck wobble and head sway ends with their forehead heading rapidly south towards the desk but they catch themselves loosing control and try to over correct right as they reach the bottom?

UPDATE 2: ...and I love it when he fist bumps me and yells "Boo-dah!" (boo-yah).

Travumentaries Flashback: "Welcome to My Technicolor World"

By mentioning my colorblindedness (not sure that's a word), I've opened myself up for questioning from those who were unaware that I live my life with such a crippling disadvantage (did that sound dramatic enough?).

Here's a posting from my former website that explains the adventures and frustrations faced by those of us who confuse our black and navy socks. The dialogue tends to begin this way...

“So everything is black and white…or is it all gray?”

Here we go again. I’ve just let someone else in on my little secret. Yes, I have a confession to make. It’s a serious affliction, or so everyone seems to think. A topic that seems to fascinate others much more than it does me anymore.

“Or are all the colors swirled together?”

No, my world is not as it was in old black and white films, nor is it a psychedelic haze. And the game that’s sure to follow has grown quite old.

“What color is my shirt…what color is that…”

So I now default to the following article. It is simply the best resource I’ve found to explain to others a phenomenon that brings about such interesting conversation.

Yes, I’m colorblind. No it’s not as exciting as you may think…or is it?

YELLOW SKIES, BLUE TREES?

A fellow fourth grader broke the news to me after she saw my effort on a class assignment involving scissors and construction paper. "You cut out a purple bluebird," she said. There was no reproach in her voice, just a certain puzzlement. Her observation opened my eyes-not that my eyes particularly help-to the fact that I am colorblind. In the 36 years since, I've been trying to understand what that means. I'm still not sure I do.

My research hasn't been overly scientific. I know colorblindness is almost always a genetic condition, affecting males far more often than females. It has to do with color receptors, called cones, in the retina. There's some question as to whether the problem exists in the cones themselves, or the brain's ability to process the signals the cones send.

That debate I leave to others. I'm more concerned with the practical effects, such as: how can I tell when the hamburgers I'm grilling are done? Some of my past dinner guests can attest to the difficulty I've had making that determination.

On the positive side, there's a certain conversational value in the condition. When I confess my colorblindness (it often has a way of coming up), people at first assume my world resembles a Mathew Brady photograph or a 1930s movie, pre-Ted Turner. I explain to them the failing of the word itself. Total colorblindness is exceedingly rare. People who suffer from it usually have a host of other problems as well, including extreme sensitivity to light and poor visual acuity. Those of us with a simple color-vision deficiency face much more mundane problems: If I wear this shirt with these pants, will people stare? Or, worse, laugh?

Early on, I learned the hazards of shopping alone for clothes, when I bought a blue shirt that turned out to be-yes-purple. Even dressing myself is hazardous. I've mistaken green shirts for gray, brown pants for green. And I'm hopeless with ties. I never wear one unless it's been cleared for use by someone I trust.

Fortunately, some clothing makers include the color of their garments on price tags. Unfortunately, those colors tend to be listed in terms such as raisin, sesame, citron, salmon, shrimp, celery, saffron, wheat and maize. It doesn't help to tell me my clothes are the color of a fruit, grain, seasoning or water creature when I don't know what color any of them is, either.

Because the most common form of colorblindness involves distinguishing red and green, people logically assume it involves only those two hues. That is the type I have, but the problem is not as simple as it sounds. Sometimes I can tell red from green. Sometimes I can't. It depends on how intense the colors are, how much light is available, how far away I am from the objects in question. I can always tell a red traffic signal from a green one, for instance. I can't tell a lone red signal from a yellow one. At night, from a distance, I can't tell a green signal from the glow of a street light. My confusion can make for some adventurous driving.

Other nonassertive colors can be troublesome, too. When I bought my house a few years back, I assumed the living-room walls were some variation of a neutral white tone. A visitor told me they were, in fact, quite pink-that I was more or less living inside a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. I called a painter who recommended something he called eggshell. I took his advice.

That sort of thing is a source of great amusement for my color-visioned friends. When they learn my world is not completely black and white, they get a kick out of pointing to various items and asking what color I think they are. When I say I don't know, they almost invariably ask: "Well, what color does it look like?"

It's hard to explain that the color they see simply isn't on my list of options. They seem to prefer to think that I see all the right colors but in the wrong places. That life for me, and those similarly afflicted, is a psychedelic planet of yellow skies, blue trees and orange oceans. I admit, I sometimes wonder myself whether other people see a completely different world.

Usually my problem is of little consequence. Like not knowing whether I've picked up a spearmint or cinnamon gum ball until I put it into my mouth. Or having to ask a store clerk what, precisely, is meant by a tag that says a jacket is "bark."

Of course, my career options have been limited by my condition. Fashion designer or interior decorator were never on the list. And in the case of war, where it might be of real importance to differentiate the people in green uniforms from those in brown or gray, I would not be your man.

There have been certain drawbacks in my job as newspaper reporter. When it comes to painting a picture in words, my palette is limited. There are no comparative allusions to sunsets in my work, no evocations of azure or magenta. No one has ever described my writing as colorful.

At least two purported cures exist. One involves a red-orange contact lens, worn only on one eye. A Japanese clinic claims results with treatments involving electrodes at specific points a sort of electric acupuncture. I haven't personally investigated either, partly because I'm not sure my brain could handle a world without color confusion.
Besides, I wonder how much real need there is to be able to perceive jute or ocher.

Over the years I've considered petitioning the federal government to include colorblindness among the legally recognized disabilities, but I suspect we lack collective political clout. I've also made some passing effort to form an association-a League for the Color-Vision Impaired, say. Unlike left-handers, however, we seem disinclined to rally round our deviation from the norm. Thus there's no ready source of information about how many presidents, or military heroes, or rock singers have been colorblind.

Based on the law of averages, though, there must have been some. We are everywhere, trying to cope, trying to blend in. Usually we succeed. Until someone spots our purple bluebirds. Then the jig is up.

Joe Rogers; Newsweek, New York; Nov 30, 1998; Vol. 132, Iss. 22; pg. 14, 1 pgs

Countdown to Gameday (39 Days)

Thanks to the wonders of eBay my seat is reserved at Jack Trice Stadium the night before my birthday at 1/4 face value.

I'm not sure who was more excited about winning the auction...me, Aidan or Kellen. Despite Kellen's celebratory dancing he may be a little young to be tagging along to a night game (though he is a multi-game Wrigley Field veteran). Aidan will definitely be getting his first taste of the Iowa State Cyclone experience which was my main reason for seeking out the tickets.

Now if we could just score such a fortunate deal for the Cubs this weekend.

Go Cyclones!

Completely Random Memory from Out of Nowhere 2

This story came up again over the weekend. I am still in absolute disbelief as to what I witnessed several months ago.

I'll admit my multitasking sometimes finds its way into the car. I try to keep distractions to a minimum and save any diversionary acts until I reach stoplights and such but when we travel long distances I have indeed mastered the act of McDonald's-ing while on the open road.

One Sunday in Chicago on our way back from church I saw someone eating while driving and could not believe my eyes. She was not at a stoplight but in fact navigating a not-so-straight stretch of road while eating...spaghetti. On a plate. With a fork (not that there are many variations on how to eat spaghetti).

Who chooses spaghetti as an appropriate "while driving" food? I have never eaten spaghetti in a moving vehicle even as a passenger. Certainly I would never choose such an entree as a driver. Eating spaghetti away from the table seems to require the use of both hands (got to hold the plate too, right?). Was she steering with her knees? Is there a common automobile with an autopilot feature? I watch enough TV to have seen the commercial touting autopilot and your chance to finally eat that plate of spaghetti you've been craving on the fly as you've been hoping desperately to do for so long.

I'm going to bank that memory in the "Now I've Seen it All" file.

Sweet (Used to Be) Home Chicago

What do you do for an encore after a big family weekend? How about a trip back to the Windy City?

Rachel’s got some business to tend to in Chicago next weekend and we decided we’d all tag along. The boys will have a chance to visit their friends at daycare and we hope to see a few friendly faces during our stay. It will be fun to head back to our former home of eight years for a few days.

I scoped out the possibility of Cubs tickets for the trip but it looks like the team’s success is driving the asking price to slightly irresponsible levels. The online auction prices had me wondering if I could schedule a quick surgery for some kind of organ donation (you’ve got to cover the cost somehow) but it looks like we might choose to spend our dollars on more reasonably priced entertainment options.

Weekend Wrap

It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen three movies in the theater in such a short span of time (about 4 ½ years to be somewhat precise). I added the new Batman flick Friday to recent viewings of Kung Fu Panda and the newest Indiana Jones movie. It’s nice to have parents who are willing kid sitters after driving several hours to see us. The Dark Knight was part of a double date with sister Allison and Steve on Friday night.

Allison and Steve took Aidan miniature golfing on Saturday after lunch and ice cream. Aidan loves his ice cream but told me miniature golf topped his vanilla and Oreo dessert.


Last evening we engaged in the always epic Phase 10 marathon. How serious do the Deurs take their cards? We’ve got a travelling trophy for the reigning champion and some specific regulations on just when and how the trophy can change hands. These late night card games have taken place from San Diego to New Jersey and several mostly Midwestern states in between. Allison got to bring the hardware east today after closing the game somewhere around 1:00 this morning. Phase 10 allows us to snack, partake in a few adult beverages and see if we can break each other’s concentration with giggle induced distractions.