Rachel Callahan

A Seven-Decade Hand-Me-Down.

July 26, 2011August 1, 2011 Rachel Callahan Newbornities, The Blissfulness of Life

1954: Pop (my Dad), Two Years Old, in the days of hand-tinted blush – either that, or babies wore makeup back then.

1980: Uncle JC, One Year Old.

(Apparently, Pop lost his belt sometime in the wild 60’s. And, hopefully, the liberal makeup usage.)

(JC required rehab after those old man compression socks were pried off of his poor tender toddler flesh. And I hear he still has leftover SockMarks…)

1987: Uncle Nick, One Year Old, and a proud drooler.

(Obviously, he lacked the “healthiness” of calves that our older brother had.)

2009: Cousin Eli, One Year Old, sporting the next-generation-rebellion against socks or shoes.

2011: Noah, only 7 Months Old, and barely snapping in the crotch.

(Apparently, I breed Babies of Unusual Size.)

(…and drool capabilities.)

And, one more for good measure:

1927: My Grandfather, back when real men wore frilly dresses…

…and yet he somehow still managed to look more manly than every single baby that branched off of his family tree.

I mean seriously – he looks like he was already a member of The Birmingham Greek Mob…packing heat under his crocheted cardigan and hiding a knife in his left white patent booty.

Impressive…and a little scary.

Hacked: A Shame Too Great To Bear.

July 25, 2011August 1, 2011 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Blogging: the therapy., I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck

Every now and then, I’ll get an email from someone with nothing in it but a mighty suspicious link. With a mixture of disappointment, shame on their behalf, and an unhealthy level of Technological Elitist Disdain, I shake my head, hit delete, wonder what the poor soul clicked on to bring such a travesty down on their household, all while muttering something along the lines of I Pity the Fool.

And then, in a twist of justice to my unwholesome attitude, yesterday happened.

I was sitting in my cozy chair in my bedroom, composing a blog post that you might have otherwise read today, when Noah began to stir from his nap.

I headed to his room to comfort him, tried to get him back to sleep to no avail, and finally gave up and headed back into my formerly quiet workspace, now with baby in tow.

At which point, I noticed I had nine new emails…wow – I must have done something to please the world.

I saved my blog post, cuddled with my baby, then clicked on my email.

Which now told me I had one hundred and nine new emails.

Delivery Notification Failures.

Replies to blank-subjected emails that I didn’t send.

Out of office auto-replies.

My face went white. My hands began to shake. I had somehow, mysteriously, through seemingly no fault of my own, been hacked. My main personal email account, one I’ve had for over 10 years.

I JUST SPAMMED TEN YEARS OF PEOPLE.

OVER A THIRD OF MY LIFELONG HUMAN CONTACT.

I grabbed up my baby under one arm and yanked my rather large laptop from the wall and shoved it under the other arm and raced downstairs, all while still shaking violently and simultaneously dosing myself in a thick blanket of horrifying shame.

(Note: Do not try this at home. The running with too many objects or the horrifying shame.)

I screamed for Chris to help me in the panicky voice formerly reserved exclusively for the situation of being on fire, sinking in quicksand, and covered with cockroaches all at once.

(Obviously, the cockroaches part would be the worst of the three.)

He quickly yanked the baby out of my football hold and told me to turn off my computer, in case that was how they were accessing my email. We logged onto his computer and changed my password as quickly as possible.

Then I began The Type of Shame.

I responded to all of the “Did you send this?” and “I think you were hacked…” and “What’s this link?” and “I didn’t know you sold Malaysian Pharmaceuticals!!” emails..

Then I attempted to re-spam my entire address book with the “I’ve been spammed don’t open anything from me” email…

…which, of course, got caught as spam.

(Why oh why, internet geniuses, do the spam emails NOT get caught, all while I’ve-been-spammed emails always get caught??)

I had officially entered Cyberspace Hell, and each successive ding indicating a new email in my inbox was the Devil prodding me with a fiery, roach-covered pitchfork.

I nightmarishly spent the next three hours on the phone with tech support, email support, computer cleaners, and my new Malaysian Pharmacist trying to get anti-anxiety pills to quell my nerves.

(Okay, all except for that last bit. But something would have been nice. Especially for my poor husband’s sake, having to put up with my state of being.)

The next step was deciding whether to kill my email address and start over or not. Were the hackers gone? Were they still in, crouching like those evil roaches, ready to eat my precious cyber-identity again? Would anyone ever read anything I wrote again? Had my email address been permanently blackballed by everyone I ever cared for?

Then, of course, I got the phone call.

The phone call that everyone gets when they’ve been hacked – who’s the one person who would call, old-school-style?

Yup – Mom.

I confirmed that I was a mongrel and reminded her to never ever click on a link with no text explaining it no matter who sends it, and she assured me that her computer told her that I was spam, so she hadn’t done so.

Even my Mom knows I’m spam. That’s a sad day, folks.

So. If you’re still reading this and haven’t completely written me off as a faceless, dark-alley spam-mongerer, I did decide to change my email – it will take a while to make a complete transition, but you can reach me either at my blog email (it was not hacked) rachel (at) graspingforobjectivity.com, or my new email that I made eerily similar to confuse the mess out of you, graspingforobjectivity (at) gmail.com.

Awesome, huh?

May the rest of your day be full of roses and daisies, and may the malicious (and, might I add, brilliantly sneaky) hackers stay far away from your doorstep.

And to all of you who received any email from me yesterday, my deepest apologies are hereby extended. I shall wear my shame with dignity, if that’s possible – but feel free to pity me, starting now.

The Diary of a Backyard Naturalist.

July 22, 2011July 21, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Storytime

Many people have asked for “less kids and more bunnies!!” in the posts around here. Okay, maybe they haven’t said it quite like that, but it’s been pretty close. At any rate, the following is a fully Yard Bunny Family update.

I sat out in the backyard, being eaten alive by bugs.

I watched the mosquito spraying truck come through on the street below ours – which gave me the awesome benefit of all of them running for safety – and dinner – at my house.

My purpose in providing myself as a insectual feast was to stalk observe Momma Yard Bunny, knowing that it was right about time for her to feed her babies.

Plus, I enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the empty-of-other-humans backyard.

I watched and hoped. She munched on grass, perked her ears up every now and then, and acted nonchalant.

Then I saw something else jump through the grass – something tiny.

Ooooh…Momma was just trying to look uninterested – she was, in reality, very subtly supervising tiny sets of ears, barely visible peeking over the tops of the blades of grass – her baby’s first playtime.

Can you find the baby that she’s guarding below?

Three tiny bunnies, hopping playfully from clump to clump of our natural area, which will remain as natural as possible until they are grown and headed off to college, if I get my say.

One jumped out of that thicket and froze in place when he saw me,

One hiding under a rather impressive weed,

And the third crouching into the grass, hoping I’d soon leave and he could get back to playing chase.

At 12 days old, they’ve grown impressively since my last photographs:

One Day Old

Three Days Old

Twelve Days Old

They’re still nursing – and I must say, three active bunnies wrestling over who gets the best spot on the trough looks quite uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure Momma is weaning them and getting them onto the weeds, though – and I don’t blame her a bit. Their newly added playtime – every day sometime during the hours of 5:30 and 7:00 PM – is awesome. I should totally set up bleachers and charge admission.

(I have a suspicion that they’re also allowed to play at those same times during the AM period, but I’ll never find that out firsthand.)

Momma remains totally cool with me, but the babies are much more skittish (and shockingly quick – no worries about the neighbor’s cat). I’ve taken Noah and Ali out to see them close up, and surprisingly enough, Noah is much more interested in them than Ali.

Momma is also interested in Noah – I think she understands our similar circumstances.

…and may be a bit jealous that I only have one on my trough.

Mommy Is Not Your Servant.

July 20, 2011November 3, 2013 Rachel Callahan Blogging: the therapy., It's Tough Being a Girl, Kids: The Experience., Pop Post, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

“Hey Mommy – Can I have some more apple juice? My cup is empty.”

“Sure, honey! Just a minute and I’ll fix it for you.”

“Okay! I’m going to go play in the Living Room. You can bring it to me in there.”

SCREEEEEEEEECH

“OOOOH no you didn’t, girlfriend.

Before you were born, I endured being constantly miserably vomitous, actual vomiting more times than I cared to count, gaining bone-chilling amounts of weight and having to be horrified by it on the scale and in the mirror EVERY DANG DAY, living in a constant state of zombie-like exhaustion, spending 30% of my days peeing and waking up every 30 minutes at night to pee even more, not being able to eat the things I love, snoring like a foghorn, WADDLING, swelling, sweating, cramping, craving, crying for no reason, forgetfulness, horrifically Junior-High-looking face breakouts and acid reflux, all culminating in getting my entire abdomen sliced open, dug into, and YOU yanked out of it.

For the next week, I suffered through untold amounts of pain as my ripped open abdomen contracted horrifically all while trying to heal back together again, as my internal organs tried to refind themselves after being shoved to the netherest regions of my body cavity, and as I attempted to figure out how to nourish another human being with nothing but my own resources all while getting absolutely zero sleep and being in complete shock at the gigantic responsibility of caring for another human being.

For the first year of your life, I wiped your butt at least 3,000 times, gagged as I changed diapers fouler than the smell of the Bog of Eternal Stench, somehow managed to salvage my car and my sanity after you pulled out all of the contents of one of those diapers and smeared it all over your face, your carseat, your mouth, and then proceeded to clap the remainder of it repeatedly and thereby splatting it all over the car, I fed you morning and night by sacrificing the comfort of my body being only mine, woke up all night long at the beck of your cry, couldn’t sleep when you weren’t crying because I was so wrought with thoughts of you, cleaned out your mouth after you ate a ladybug, removing each horrific wing and body part from the inner corners of your jaws, carried you approximately 50 miles, endured your horrific screaming, fed you disgustingly cementous rice cereal and oh-so-smeary baby food, dressed you, bathed you, held you, and lived with your puke on my shirt at all times.

In the second, third, and fourth year of your life, I lovingly taught you to talk, wiped your butt and cleaned your diapers as your poo got even nastier, still woke up in the middle of the night with you when you had nightmares, fixed your breakfast, lunch and dinner, potty-trained you and dealt with poo now in panties – a much nastier proposition than in diapers, responded to approximately 556 calls of “I pooooooooped!!! Come wiiiiiiipe me!!!”, taught you your letters, your states, your countries, and your presidents, answered the same set of questions approximately 5,681 times, took you lovingly to gymnastics, to the playground, to the zoo, and to your friend’s houses, woke up when you woke up no matter when that was, changed your sheets six times in one night when you got a stomach bug and couldn’t hit the trash can to save your life, bathed you, read inane Clifford books until my brain completely caved in on itself, and watched more Dora the Explorer than anyone but the most vile of criminals should have to endure.

But now that you’re four and a half years old, and now that you just asked me to deliver your juice on a silver platter because you’re too busy playing to wait 60 seconds for me to pour it, it’s time that this relationship righted itself.

Here’s the way it works from here on out, kid.

You will learn to cook and prepare my meals, you will scrub the toilets and mop the floors, you will vacuum and do the dishes, you will change your little brother’s diapers, you will sort the mail and pay the bills, you will make up all of our beds despite the fact that I’ve never made up any of our beds, you will clean up after yourself and your little brother, you will learn to wipe your own butt and you will paint my toenails while I eat truffles, not having to share a single one with you.

AND YOU WILL STILL NOT BE CAUGHT UP TO WHAT I’VE DONE FOR YOU.

Oh – and by the way, I love you. And here’s your juice.”

Invitations and Announcements

July 19, 2011July 19, 2011 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Alabama Bloggers, I'm a Blog Geek, Newsflash

As most of you have heard (or rather, read) me talk about over and over and over again until your ears (or rather, eyes) fell asleep from boredom, one of my main motivators in blogging is relationships. There is nothing that excites me more about blogging than to get emails and comments, or better yet, to get to meet a reader.

Call me weird, but I consider you all friends.

You enrich the whole experience for me, and your interaction urges me on to be a better blogger.

With that in mind, I have a couple of invitations for you – two events are coming up soon, and if you are local (or semi-local), I would love to meet you at one of them!

The first event is less than two weeks away, so hurry up and get your calendar out!

Another local blogger and writer, Javacia Harris Bowser, has organized a wonderful resource for bloggers and writers called See Jane Write. She hosts panels, discussions, and learning seminars, as well as sharing great information through her website and email list.

The next See Jane Write panel is specifically about blogging, called So You Think You Can Blog. It is planned for Thursday evening, July 28th from 6-8pm at the Homewood Public Library.

I am honored that Javacia asked me to be a part of this panel with two absolutely fabulous Birmingham bloggers, Laura Kate Whitney of Magic City Manifesto and Jen West of The Jen West Quest.

The three of us, moderated by Javacia, will be discussing many different facets of blogging, the challenges therein, and strategies for improvement.

Besides the panel discussion, there will be plenty of time for visiting and networking before and afterwards, and I would absolutely LOVE to meet you! The event is free, all you need to do is register. I hope you’ll join us!

Secondly, I am organizing a Blogger Tornado Relief Work Day through one of my other blogs, Alabama Bloggers, and I wanted to extend the invitation to all of you to come help as well.

The date is Saturday, August 13th from 10am to 1pm.

There is still so much to be done in our state, yet there are drastically fewer volunteers, so this is an opportunity for us to pitch in and help. Let me stress – you can sign up to come whether you are a blogger or not – we are just scheduling this in lieu of our monthly Alabama Blogger’s Lunch Meet-up, hence the name.

We will either be serving alongside the amazing volunteers at the Old Scott School in Pratt City, or with the organization that has largely headed up the disaster relief in our community, the Christian Service Mission. I am talking to both of them, and we’ve just not determined which we will be working with yet because it is dependent on how many people we have sign up and which one needs help that particular weekend.

But if you sign up to help (the sooner the better for planning purposes), I will be emailing with further instructions and details as the date gets closer.

Pratt City

We would love to have you join us and help volunteer on that day. If you have any questions or need more details before signing up, feel free to email me at rachel@graspingforobjectivity.com.

Last bit of news – I am going to get to go to San Diego for BlogHer!!

And better yet, Chris is coming with me!

No, no, no, I’m not going to make him attend BlogHer. I’m going to only go BlogHer on Friday (while he runs and explores San Diego – I told him he could do anything he wanted – EXCEPT hop the $2.50 trolley ride to Tijuana), and then he and I are going to have a San Diego date day that Saturday. So if any of you are in San Diego, used to live in San Diego, or have visited San Diego, feel free to knock me over with sightseeing and food recommendations – they would be much appreciated!

…Regular Programming will resume tomorrow.

Cousfusion.

July 18, 2011July 20, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience., Storytime

Meet Eli.

Eli happens to be Ali and Noah’s dashingly handsome cousin. He’s the perfect age of old enough to verbalize his opinions, yet young enough for them to be awesomely flawed.

So, it totally makes sense that, when he met Noah for the very first time, and that very first time happened to be Christmas day,

he made the honest mistake of assuming that Noah was Baby Jesus.

I mean, a brand new baby that you’ve never seen before all of a sudden shows up at your house on Christmas Day, what are you supposed to think?

(And the reindeer on Noah’s feet and butt didn’t help any, either. Obviously, Jesus and reindeer are tight – why else would they get such a posh job on His holiday?)

But after a few weeks of intensive therapy, we all thought that Eli had gotten over this idea. The new baby on the block was cousin NOAH (not to be confused with having an ark full of fabulous animals). Eli moved on, and seemed to accept that Jesus had not, in fact, visited him on Christmas Day.

Until yesterday, in a crowded restaurant, when Noah was trying desperately (and quite successfully) to get into Eli’s lunch, causing Eli to scream for justice,

”Stop stealing my Cheetos, Jesus!!!!”

That kid’s gonna have some skewed theology.

Jesus, the Cheeto Pirate.

To The One Who Endures Me.

July 17, 2011July 19, 2011 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Newsflash

The awesomely wonderful hubby is 35 today.

Yes, I’m keeping a close eye on him for any signs of milestone-birthday-crises… but luckily, since he married a (MUCH) younger woman, I’m not worried about being traded in for a newer model (how much newer could there be?!?) – I’m just keeping an eye out on our driveway to make sure his College Dream Car doesn’t mysteriously show up.

(A Mercedes SLK, circa late 90’s, silver, hard-top convertible, black leather interior, low mileage, driven by a grandmother to church and back for the last 15 years, preferably with the perfectly-sized-to-fit-in-the-trunk-with-the-hard-top-down luggage set included as an accessory.)

(And he needs this dream car because he actually has, in his possession, through an unbelievable twist of hand-me-down fate, the custom Mercedes branded infant seat that is pictured in his prized vintage SLK brochure.)

(He calls this fate. I call this BabiesCan’tRideInTwoSeatConvertibles,Dummy.)

Anyway. Back to celebrating my husband. Besides the fact that he adores our children and is pretty much the most awesome Daddy ever, and besides the fact that he spoils me absolutely rotten, he is a saint for simply putting up with me.

And the embarrassing situations I put him in.

And then the aftershock of humiliation when I blog about said moments.

And for that, he deserves untold amounts of accolades.

So in honor of his special day, I thought I’d rehash my favorite moment of wife-induced humiliation of the year…

Originally posted September 17, 2010.

Chris and I had the privilege of attending the Birmingham Restaurant Week Preview Party on Wednesday night.

It was quite the lavish occasion – I actually even had the thought that this was the first event I’d ever attended that my photo might end up in the “Social Scene” pages of one of our local magazines.

(And, of course, it would be when I was gargantuanly pregnant.)

At any rate, it gave me an excuse to wear my awesome sequined shirt (luckily it still fit nicely over my pregnant belly, although I didn’t get a picture of us, so it might not have fit as nicely as I imagined it did…and if it didn’t, I sure hope I don’t end up in the Social Scene Shots), but a lot of people decked out much fancier in their cocktail dresses.

There was much food, much mingling, many Birmingham Socialites, and a live band. As we were out on the patio drooling over all of our samples of delicious cuisine from all of our favorite restaurants, I was watching a table where there was a painting easel set up. I saw someone walk up to the canvas, add a few thoughtful brush strokes, and walk away. I remembered seeing someone do this out of the corner of my eye earlier.

“Oh look, honey! They’re doing one of those cool paintings where everyone puts their little touch on it, and by the end of the night, it’s a masterpiece!”

We were both intrigued.

When we finished our feasting, we walked over to the table. No one was there, so we quickly read the sign that said that the painting would be auctioned off after the event. There were two palettes full of colors sitting out, along with a bunch of paintbrushes…

So far, the painting was of a chef, all in white, with the exception of his polka-dotted scarf. It was already great, but definitely looked as-of-yet unfinished.

Being that Chris is the more artistic half of our family, I chided him to leave his mark.

“You should TOTALLY add something to it.”

And, being that Chris is Chris, he noticed the big blank chest of the Chef’s outfit, the large glob of red paint that was as yet untouched, and said that the Chef really looked like he wanted – nay NEEDED – a big Alabama A on his chest.

He pondered, he sized the chef up, he thought about his strategy for implementation.

And, as we were standing there analyzing, the lady that had been manning the table walked back up.

“Isn’t it beautiful? The artist is here tonight working on it. She’s amazing!! She’s doing it a little at a time throughout the evening, and at the end of the evening, it will be one of her valuable original works of art, and we’ll auction it off.”

Our hearts stop beating.

“Oh…yes…it’s lovely!!!”

We run wander off as quickly as possible….and as soon as we’re safely out of earshot, I burst into a fit of HorrifiedNervousRelief giggles.

Chris, although not laughing, was quickly turning an Alabama A shade of embarrassment-red.

“You just almost TOTALLY sold me down the river!!!!!”

“I know!! I can’t believe that…it would have been hysterical!!! I mean terrible!!!”

“Let’s never speak of this again.”

…Good thing blogging doesn’t require speaking.

Sorry, babe – something tells me we may not get an invite for this year’s Restaurant Week Party.

…But I probably owe you an SLK for all the pain I put you through.

Happy Birthday, and thanks for your continuous endurance of me!!

What Voices of the Year Means to Me.

July 15, 2011November 1, 2011 Rachel Callahan Blogher, Newsflash

The first year that I attended a BlogHer conference, it started out as a rough trip. I missed Chris and Ali desperately, found out that I wasn’t very good at travelling alone, and realized that I was WAY too introverted to be at a conference with 1,500 people, 6 of which I knew.

By Friday night, I was already done for. I really wanted to go home, but I made myself go to the Voices of the Year keynote address, having no idea what it was.

It was a magical experience.

21 presenters got up and read their best blog posts. Hearing blog posts read aloud is a unique experience in and of itself. Normally, we all have to make our best guess at the author’s intended inflections and voice, but to hear stellar posts read in in the way that they were meant to be heard is awe-inspiring.

And the posts – they were amazing. Some were touching, some were hilarious, some were thought-provoking. During those two hours, I cried, laughed, went back to crying, then laughed again. It was so engaging, such a rich experience, and so healing to feel all of those emotions, that it made the entire conference worth it. After that night, I was able to get myself together, enjoy the rest of the conference, along with having a couple Chicago adventures.

Between the 2009 and 2010 BlogHer, I got another blogging trip under my belt and made some tweeks to help me enjoy a “by myself” trip (I can’t help it – I just like being with my husband), so I was ready for New York City. The entire 2010 conference experience was great, but what I looked forward to most was Voices of the Year, knowing it would be a comfortable old friend.

And it did not disappoint.

Just like the year before, the selected readers were absolute perfection, and their posts had me running the gamut of emotions. Afterward, there was a fabulous gala honoring the Voices of the Year presenters as well as the honorees (those who didn’t read aloud but were chosen as finalists). There was actually commissioned artwork created for each post – beautiful pieces conveying, in color, what the author had written in black and white.

My fellow Birmingham blogger, Country-Fried Mama, was an honoree that year, but not able to attend. I remember searching for the piece of art representing her post and tweeting the photo to her, wishing she could have been there to see it in person. It was a beautiful moment that I felt like I got to live vicariously as her local proxy.

So this year, when I found out that I was selected as a Voice of the Year Honoree, I could not have been more thrilled to be a part of something so dear to my heart. And the post chosen, A Tornado Story (a post that I wrote at 5 Minutes for Mom), made it all the more of a special honor.

That post was one of the hardest posts I’ve ever written. Right after the tornadoes, I emailed my dear friends Susan and Janice and asked them if I could post about our state’s tragedies on their site, and give their readers a chance to help. They welcomed me to do so, but then I put it off – I didn’t think I could do it. There was so much pain in our state, so much that just couldn’t be put into words, so much that needed to be DONE – it felt as if writing about it instead of using that time doing something about it was disrespectful to the thousands hurting.

A week later, due to a royal wedding and the capture of Osama Bin Laden, Alabama’s devastating destruction had been completely discarded by all national news outlets. All of a sudden I knew that I NEEDED to write that post. But I didn’t know how to start. I prayed desperately for God to show me how to put my state’s tragedy into words – it just felt so wrong to boil down people’s lives being destroyed into 700 words, as if I was somehow cheapening their pain.

And finally, very late on that Thursday night when I should have been sleeping, the words came. I grabbed my computer and set in bed, typing feverishly.

And the response to my post blew me away. Between the readers at 5 Minutes for Mom, the readers at another blog that I wrote at, Southern Hospitality, and my readers, they (you!) donated over $1,500 in cash to supply diapers and formula for babies affected by the storms, sent me coupons that helped me save over $850 while buying those items, mailed me many items to give away, and bought around $3,000 of items off of the Christian Service Mission’s Amazon Wish List for tornado survivors and recovery projects. You made it possible for me to take 73 canisters of formula, 25 gigantic boxes of diapers, and many, many other supplies to Henager, Pleasant Grove, and Alberta.

The blogosphere is an AMAZING place!!!

So really, the Voice of the Year honor should absolutely go to all of you who gave so much to help Alabama – you truly showed love and compassion above and beyond what I imagined, and blessed our state – and my heart – immeasurably.

Thank you to all of you, thank you to Susan and Janice for letting me share, and thank you to the amazing ladies at Blogher!

(Now if I could just figure out how to get to San Diego in three weeks for the Voices of the Year Keynote!!)

Stuff I Like, v.2

July 14, 2011November 1, 2011 Rachel Callahan Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Shopping: A Girl's Best Friend, Stuff I like

This is simply a bunch of random stuff I’ve run across lately (or not-so-lately) that I think is awesome. Nobody has paid me or asked me to say any of this. The first post in this series can be found here.

Windows Live Writer

If you’re blogging and not using Live Writer, I highly recommend that you check it out – ESPECIALLY if you’re on Blogger, what with all of the usability catastrophes that they’ve been having lately. I’ve been using Live Writer for a couple of years now, thanks to my friend Rhoda at Southern Hospitality who shared the secret with me.

Why should you try it?

1. It’s free.

2. It makes it quicker AND easier to upload photos, both in Blogger and WordPress. I despise the WordPress photo interface, so thank goodness I was already using Live Writer when I switched.

3. You can customize your photo uploading so that it automatically loads your photos in the exact format and size that you want, saving you from having to modify every photo each time you post.

(To do this, click on a photo that is formatted just right, then click on the “Save Settings as Default” option in the lower right corner.)

4. If you choose the option to “Edit Using Theme”, you can write your posts directly into your blog view, so it looks like it will look when it is published.

5. You can write your posts while offline.

Okay – enough justification. Go download it. You will thank me later.

The iMapWeather Radio iPhone App

After the April 27th Tornadoes, they gave away several thousand free copies of this app to us Alabamians. The app is $9.99 regularly – pretty pricey in my opinion – but it would have been worth it to have had during the tornadoes when nothing worked BUT our phones (and even they were spotty).

But I don’t like this app for it’s automatic push notifications of weather warnings (mainly because I’ve been getting multiple thunderstorm alerts every stinkin’ day for a month), but because of it’s street-level radar map.

It’s a geek’s paradise.

You can actually zoom in to your exact location (which is pinned for you to easily find) and see what the weather is at street level:

(No, this isn’t my neighborhood, so don’t try to stalk me.)

So due to the daily afternoon thunderstorms we’ve been having here, Ali and I regularly sit and look at my phone, watch the “red” creep to us, then look out the window and see it happen – REAL TIME.

Ali thinks this is fun, but is completely unimpressed with the fantabulous advance in technology that it represents.

(She has no idea what we did in ye olden days.)

Heaven Is For Real.

I never write book reviews – mainly because I never have time to read anymore – but Heaven Is For Real is an exception to both. Chris heard about this book and told me about it, and I immediately ordered it. I read it on our trip and was absolutely mesmerized.

Although it reads quickly, it’s not the most well-written book in the world – it’s just a Dad telling his family’s true story. But the fact that he wasn’t already a writer kind of makes it more endearing.

(Kinda like me, right? Err…or not.)

Anyway.

The book is about their four year old son, Colton, that has a ruptured appendix that goes untreated for several days. By the time he is properly diagnosed, he very nearly dies. After his recovery and for the next few years, he starts telling his parents about visiting heaven during his operation, knowing things that he couldn’t have possibly known (like exactly where his parents were and what they were doing while he was being operated on – things that they hadn’t told anyone), and with absolutely astounding descriptions, facts, and biblical truths that a four year old boy would have no way of knowing.

For instance, one night out of the blue, he said, “Mommy, I have two sisters.”

“No, you have your sister, Cassie, and…do you mean your cousin, Traci?”

“No. I have two sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn’t you?”

(They had never told him that.)

“Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?”

“She did, Mommy. She said she died in your tummy.”

He told them all about his sister, about her running up to him and being so excited to hug him (which he didn’t like since he was a boy), about the fact that she couldn’t wait to meet them, and how she looked like his (other) sister, but with dark hair like his Mom’s.

When they asked him what her name was, he told them “She didn’t have a name – you guys didn’t name her.”

He also tells them about meeting his Great-Grandfather, Pop. His Dad showed Colton a picture of Pop, and asked if that was who he met. Colton said it wasn’t. Then, months later, Colton saw a picture of his Pop as a much younger man – a picture he’d never seen before – and said “Hey! How did you get a picture of Pop??”

The number of chillbump moments such as these go on and on – I couldn’t quit reading. Whether you believe in heaven or not, it’s an amazing read. Some of his descriptions and conversations in the book changed the way I look at prayer – I’ve always been very passionate about prayer, but now it seems so much more real.

And plus, it’s a good feeling to be inspired by a four year old.

Amazon Mom Subscribe and Save Diapers

I’ve had a lot of people ask me about my Tornado Relief shopping research findings – where the cheapest prices ultimately were. Although I combined sales and coupons and rebates and store coupons to get great deals, they never surpassed the prices I got using subscribe and save on Amazon Mom (a free service). However, this was for diapers only – not true for formula or wipes.

(Formula is cheapest if you can combine formula checks with sales, rebates, store coupons and manufacturer’s coupons, but if you don’t want to do all that, the $20 Member’s Mark canister at Sam’s is the way to go – nearly unbeatably cheap.)

Word of Warning, though – Don’t forget to unsubscribe when your kid outgrows a size. I forgot, so I’m still cramming Noah’s 18 pound rear into size 3 diapers until I run out.

Nuk Genius Pacis

They stay in the mouth when others won’t. ‘Nuff said.

Hooked on Phonics Learn to Read

I bought this DVD, book, workbook, sticker set for Ali two months ago, and she went from refusing to even try to read to being able to read nearly every word she looks at! I was stunned and thrilled with how quickly it happened.

I don’t know that the set itself was a miracle worker, but what it did do was get her interested in learning how to read (everything else I’ve tried she’s rebuffed heartily), and that’s all it took – she took off on her own from there.

Leapster Explorer

We bought this handheld learning computer for Ali along with the Cars 2 Game and the very affordable camera attachment before our first family-of-four car trip. I was leery because of some negative Amazon reviews, but she loves it, we’ve been very happy with it, she was able to figure it out with hardly any help.

Google+ (??)

I don’t know if I like it or not.

(For those of you who don’t know, Google+ is the new social network, trying to replace Facebook and Twitter.)

The platform has it’s benefits (the friend circles being the main one), but it can only be awesome if everyone moves over to it and quits Facebook – which, at least in the short-term, is not likely to happen.

One thing is for sure – I do not have the time to continuously keep up with three social media interfaces, so my verdict is still out on Google+.

But If you want to try Google+, I have a bunch of invites I can share – just let me know in a comment and I’ll send one to your email.

So that’s my list of new(ish) things – have you found anything great lately?

Yard Bunny

July 12, 2011November 3, 2013 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, It's Tough Being a Girl, Pop Post, Storytime, The Blissfulness of Life

We have, despite our suburb-dwelling ways, what Ali calls “A Friendly Outdoor Pet” named Yard Bunny.

YB can be seen in our backyard, side yard, and occasionally even front yard nearly every single day.

We have a beautiful symbiotic relationship with her – we love watching her, she loves eating our weeds-that-are-pretending-to-be-grass, and she acts as a Yard Roomba for Chris, wacking down the highest of the thistles and briar patches that magically crop up every stinkin’ night.

She’s gotten quite used to us, and will let us all walk within a couple of feet of her. She stares at us quietly, and I think she likes us a bit.

She doesn’t come without her share of Looney Tunes entertainment, either. The neighbor’s old, slow, rather paunchy cat enjoys stalking her on a daily basis. We regularly look out our window to see this scene:

You can almost hear the cat declaring that he’s going to catch that Wascally Wabbit, and Yard Bunny simultaneously taunting him with an En Vogue tune..

“No you’re never gonna get it, never never gonna get it…”

Saturday evening, I noticed that YB had been sitting in the same place all day – at the back of our yard in a “natural area”. Either she was hurt, or, … could it be…?!?!?

I walked over to her, very hopeful. She seemed a little more ill at ease than usual, in a pounce-like position, spread out over something.

I watched for a second, and at once, all of my hopes and dreams for YB’s future came true: I saw tiny movements under her belly.

I looked back at Chris and quietly cheered. He knew exactly what that meant.

They couldn’t have been more than a day old, because I’d seen her unencumbered the day before. And they seemed absolutely microscopic.

I ran in to get my camera and came back out, wishing all the way that I’d taken the time to change to my zoom lens. Chris was humming something about me being eaten by a Killer Momma Rabbit…

I walked back to her, and she didn’t move, still in her spread-over-her-nest pose:

She watched me, I photographed her, and then, in a bizarrely human act, she lifted up on her front legs, crossed them like arms, and showed me her brood of tiny bunnies.

It took my breath away.

She was proud of her babies!! And she wanted me to see them!!

She’d look at me, then look at her babies.

She even pointed. Do you see those tiny, tiny, TINY ears?!?!

I was even more frustrated at myself for not bringing my zoom lens, especially due to the fact that it was dusk. But the moment was so perfect that I tried to just bask in the beauty of our bonding, despite my lack of proper photographical preparation.

After a few minutes (all of which she stood for me to see), I figured I should leave her alone with her newborns. I ran inside, squealing to Chris, Ali, and Noah that Yard Bunny was so proud of her babies.

Then I remembered what it was like to be a first-time Mom, and I realized what she might have actually been trying to communicate to me when she stood up – “Get these needy leeches off of me!!”

But whether her standing was precipitated by her bursting pride in her beautiful babies or shock and horror over the responsibilities of motherhood (or, more likely, a little of both), I completely understood.

Epilogue

Last night (Two days later), she gave me another peek at her already doubled-in-size babies. She let me watch her feed them, bathe them, and then tuck them in, at which point they quite literally disappeared underground. And then she breathed The Sigh of Bedtime Relief.

An update on the bunnies can be found here.