Rachel Callahan

The Misconceptions of Childhood.

June 9, 2011June 9, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year

I distinctly remember a feeling from when I was a kid that I am now knowingly repeating in my daughter.

It’s kinda like deja vu, but not.

I remember having assumptions about the world – assumptions that my parents had definitely (at least in my mind) confirmed for me at some point, either by emission or commission.

And then, one day, they’d tell me that’s not how the world works. And then I would have to completely rebuild my ideas about the world.

Now that I’m a parent, I totally understand the concept of letting your kid believe something – because sometimes, it’s easier than the truth.

The mind of a four year old is a fascinating place, because they’re old enough to apply the scientific method and draw conclusions, but way too young for those conclusions to have even the tiniest amount of accuracy.

Sometimes, it really is best to correct those assumptions as soon as possible to avoid later disappointment.

We drove up to Target the other day. Ali wanted one of the special carts – the ones with the seats on them. She calls them “gymnastics buggies” because of my long-standing parental irresponsibility of letting her swing on them, jump off of them, and balance between the two seats.

(I’m stellar, aren’t I?)

However, those carts aren’t great for babies, so I explained, “We can’t get a gymnastics buggy right now, because I don’t have anywhere to put Noah. He’s not old enough to sit on the seats yet.”

“Oh. Well, when Noah goes back to his family, can we get Gymnastics Buggies again?”

**crickets**

“Uh, baby…we ARE Noah’s family. He’s not going anywhere.”

**shocked crickets**

“Six months and you still thought Noah was going to go home eventually?”

“Well, he’s going to get married and go live with his family, right?”

“Yes, but probably not until after you do.”

“Oh.”

**disappointed crickets**

Sometimes, those assumptions are harmless and cute, so why not leave them alone?

Ali is convinced that life is made up of two paths: the white path and the red path.

The cool, adventurous people travel on the white path.

But her Mommy – her Mommy ALWAYS drives on the red path. And, therefore, is the most uncreative, un-fun Mom in the entire world.

“But Mommy, WHY can’t we go on the other side and drive on the white path?? Why do we ALWAYS have to be on the red path??!!”

And then there are other assumptions. Assumptions so dangerous that you cannot possibly discern which is worse: the assumption itself, or sharing the truth.

In a completely logical manner. Ali has decided that size is directly correlated to age.

Makes sense, no?

It’s great and wonderful when kids are involved, but notsomuch when applied to adults.

ESPECIALLY since Ali is also very curious about how old everyone is.

It goes something like this…

We’re in a public place, and Ali sees an exceptionally large person.

Her eyes get wide. She begins to stare at them.

I mean, STARE. THEM. DOWN.

Then she points dramatically.

“MOMMY!!!! How OLD is THAT man??!!”

“SHH. I don’t know.”

“Do I even KNOW anyone that old?!?!?!”

I talk in a whisper, hoping that my tone will rub off on her…

“Well, Mammaw is 84 – she’s probably the oldest person you know.”

“Yes, but she’s not old like he’s old!!! He’s the OLDEST MAN I’VE EVER SEEN!!!!”

But I can’t bring myself to deal with it. After all, if I had my rathers, I’d go with being called old every single time.

But one day, she will find out how the world really works, and she’ll have to rebuild her ideas about the world.

Oh well – it didn’t hurt me.

Let’s Play!

June 7, 2011June 7, 2011 Rachel Callahan I'm a Blog Geek, Let's Play, Utter Silliness

NEVER HAVE I EVER…

… been summoned for jury duty – although I’ve always wanted to be.

… fainted – although I’ve secretly thought it would be fun.

… gotten, nor wanted, a tattoo.

… lived alone – I went to college in town, got married when I was 19, and moved straight from my parent’s house to my husband’s house.

… even stayed alone for more than 3 nights. Yet I did travel internationally by myself when I was 16 years old.

… been on a date with anyone but Chris.

… been to Six Flags, despite the fact that there is one only 2 hours from my house.

And now I absolutely must show you how my iPhone’s autocorrect took down my notes for this blog post:

Stayed alone bit have flown Inge atop ally along
Dated Myomere nut chris
been to sex flags

I love autocorrect.

And now it’s your turn: What have you never done?

The Diet Bearability Report: Two Months.

June 6, 2011October 1, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Actually Possibly Informational, Can I get a copy of that recipe?, Lose It Diet

On Saturday, Chris and I celebrated two months of our Lose It diet plan with a combined weight loss of 39.6 pounds.

(The total being 39.6 completely killed me, seeing as how 40.0 in 2 months would have been such a beautifully neat and clean number. I suggested cutting off my arm – or maybe a finger at a time – and re-weighing to help us meet this goal, but Chris declined.)

Not that I’m competitive or anything, but I’m currently accounting for 19.2 pounds of that (19.6 if he’d have let me cut off a few fingers), and he’s at 20.4 – which means I’m WAY ahead of him percentage-wise (which in an unfortunate twist of fate, means that I am currently, the Biggest L… Los… I just can’t say my least favorite word in the English language, even for celebratory purposes.)

But at any rate, we decided we’d share a couple of things that have helped us along the way.

First: Chocolate is a requirement of any successful diet plan.

For the first three weeks of our diet, I wanted to get a good kick-start in the right direction, so I didn’t allow myself ANY sugar.

This caused a great gnashing of emotional teeth bubbling up from the depths of my soul.

Much like when one of the Biggest L***r contestants gets unnecessarily emotional and Chris yells at the TV to “Eat some CARBS, buddy!!!”, I’m pretty sure he said those same words to me several times – except in a nicer, more subtle tone.

(For fear of my emotional hand grenade blowing up on him, I’m sure.)

So after I realized that the lack of chocolate was detrimentally affecting my family and mental stability, I reintroduced chocolate into my diet (in calorie-controlled increments, of course).

Because really, no one should have to parent without chocolate.

No one.

We usually stick to a couple of Lindt truffles, Ghirardelli squares, or other similiarly portioned sugar+cocoa-filled lovelies for our after-the-kids-are-in-bed dietary happy pill.

BUT.

My good friend Nikki introduced us to the most amazing chocolate we’d ever tasted – homemade Oreo Truffles – at our small group, and I have thought of nothing else since.

They were so delectable, so amazing, so stupendous, that on the night of our introduction to them, another small group member asked Chris what they were, and Chris pulled out his infamous small group analogy habit and told her in a far-away, over-dramatized voice, “They’re the John MacArthur of desserts in a world of Joel Osteens.” *

And so they immediately were renamed to John MacArthurs.

* I realize that this analogy is either hilarious, horribly offensive, or makes no sense whatsoever depending on your Famous Preacher Preferences. It would also help if I explained our church’s connections with John MacArthur, but that would take too long, and this is a diet post, not a theology post. So just go with it.

So, to celebrate our two month marker, I decided to make us our very own batch of John MacArthurs.

Three Ingredients go into a batch of Johnny Macs: 1 pack of Oreo Cookies, 1 block of Cream Cheese, and 8 ounces of Semi-Sweet Baking Chocolate.

After much confusion from the online recipes, I called Nikki to find out: do you or do you not take the cream out of the Oreos before grinding them to a pulp?

You do not – they just magically disappear when ground:

(My Ninja pureed the whole bag of Oreos in approximately 75 seconds. Awesome.)

After the Oreo Emulsification, you mix in the cream cheese, then form into very unappetizing-looking balls:

(51 balls, to be exact. Adding to our infuriating numerical unevenness.)

After chilling, you coat the balls of ick with melted baking chocolate, creating a gigantic tray of what looks like Miracle Max’s Miracle Pills to cure Mostly Dead People:

Then you sprinkle a bit of reserved Oreo crumbs over the top, and enjoy the amazing John MacArthur:

Surprisingly enough, the calories in these (which yes, I calculated) are perfect for our evening chocolate therapy.

(If you want to know that calorie count, I will tell you. But I will not spoil it here in public view – I am a firm believer in not opening the Pandora’s Box of Calories for anyone else – I feel this sin is equitable with describing in great detail the last episode of someone’s favorite show before they have a chance to watch it.)

(Although, doing Lose It, you can accumulate a fountain of memorized odd caloric info. Such as the fact that a chocolate covered espresso bean has 7 calories. That example shouldn’t drive anyone to despair.)

So. Chocolate is a great dieting tool.

Our second helpful item has been having the opportunity for true accuracy in weight measurement.

I always assumed that I was one of those people that fluctuated 2 – 4 pounds a day, because that’s who my scale told me I was.

In fact, it told me I was the kind of freak that fluctuated 2-4 pounds between stepping on said scale.

(That was most likely because I had a bad habit of stepping on my scale at every possible angle, including on my head, to get it to say that I weighed the absolute least amount possible.)

And although I appreciated the fact that I could trick my scale fairly easily, the day that it fluctuated ten whole pounds was the end of our symbiotic relationship.

So I researched scales on Amazon, and found that there was one in particular, an Eatsmart scale, that had amazing reviews. People actually said that you could step on it as many times as you wanted and it wouldn’t waver by even .2 pounds – a fact I found that impossible to believe, especially since it was half the price of my now-outcast scale.

Chris agreed that we needed a new scale, but he also suggested that I needed to use this opportunity to give up my scale-tricking ways. After all, I probably led our old scale down the road of the Temptation of Bad Accuracy to begin with.

So I agreed, knowing that I would have a very painful transition to get used to my “normal” weight – especially since I’d been deceiving myself for years.

And yes, our new scale told me how much I REALLY weighed.

(Which should tell you how very much I love it – to still adore it after THAT.)

The reviews were right – it never wavers in it’s firm grasp of accuracy, which proves that I actually do NOT fluctuate multiple pounds a day – it moves up and down at a much slower, more reasonable pace, greatly increasing our geeky confidence in our actual weight lost.

So that’s it – a combination of Lose It, chocolate, and accuracy. With a plan like ours, how could we fail?

The Side Effects of Blogging, as Indicated in Children.

June 2, 2011June 2, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm No Videographer, Kids: The Experience.

Ali, of course, is my blog’s biggest fan.

She pores over every single word I write, reading and re-reading every post. Her eyes well up with tears as she thanks me, overflowing with gratitude, for documenting her childhood in such a laborious and meaningful way.

Okay, maybe that’s just what I hope she’ll do one day – like maybe when she can read.

But for now, she does enjoy looking at the pictures. She also especially loves the videos – of which there were a lot more created when she was younger and cuter.

So when I told her this morning that her best friend AJ was coming over to play today, it was totally natural for her to jump up with excitement and say, “Oh good! Can we remake the “bouncy, bouncy, bouncy” video???!!”

It took me a minute, but I caught up with her scary-good memory. AJ had stayed with us when her little sister, Tessa, was born, and I made the following video – one that apparently really made an impact on Ali:

It was, oddly enough, exactly two years ago, as Tessa turned two yesterday. So a remake was meant to be. Except this time, it would include another kid – one that happened to be the age that Ali and AJ were in the original movie:

(And obviously, my videographering-while-swinging skills have not come very far in two years.)

One day, Ali’s going to thank me for this post, with tears of gratitude in her eyes. And who knows – maybe AJ and Tessa will as well.

Dropping Off the Kids at the Pool.

June 1, 2011June 1, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Just My Luck, NoahBlogs, The Blissfulness of Life

Hi, blog world. Noah here.

So The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy took some, what she called, “Stinkin’ Adorable” pictures of me last weekend, so she asked me if I could come up with a blog post to go along with them.

(You know, so it didn’t look like she was just filling up her blog with stinkin’ adorable pictures of me.)

(I personally don’t see what’s so wrong with that, but whatever.)

So I thought about it really hard…

And I considered telling you about all of the extra food that The Servant has had for me lately…

Which, apparently, making so much food causes other side effects…

…side effects that made The Servants buy this weird test Friday night – I don’t know what it was for, but they made me hold it because they said it’d be “ironic”.

The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy failed the test, but seemed oddly relieved about it.

And here I thought she was an overachiever.

But besides that, I also wanted to tell you about the event that precipitated the stinkin’ adorable photos.

(What?!? Precipitated is totally not too big of a word for a five month old. I am a man of high vocabulary, after all. Yeesh.)

So. Saturday was weird.

The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy dressed me up in this crazy outfit…

Put me in the weirdest and most chafing undergarment…

And then she stuck me in the biggest, coldest bathtub I’ve ever seen. It hurts just to think about it.

At first, I was pretty ticked because The Sister was getting to play in the big bathtub while The Servant just made me sit there and be photographed.

She was so dang happy about it, too.

But once I got in and saw that the big bathtub gave me Old Man Feet,

I was ready to go back to just being pretty for my pictures.

So to get myself out of the ridiculously cold bathtub, I used my secret weapon. I’d actually been saving it for six days for such a need, and what better place to unload it than in a bizarre, unabsorbant undergarment?

Ah, yes, I felt much better after that.

In fact, it was downright enjoyable to watch The Servants scramble around and hold me at arm’s length as my pooey mess dripped from beneath my swimsuit.

(Yes, I might be just a wee bit sadistic with my poo timing.)

But I don’t worry too much about them getting mad, because I know how stinkin’ adorable I TOTALLY am.

A Deeply Personal Note.

May 31, 2011June 2, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Bit More Vulnerable Than I Usually Am, On a more serious note. . ., Thoughts about Faith

Last weekend, A friend and former coworker that I have known for 13 years passed away. I saw on Facebook that he had died, but not how. He was only ten years older than me, so I knew that his death, however it occurred, had to have been tragic. So I googled his name and date of death, not expecting to find anything.

But I did.

First, a little background: I worked at the same company for 13 years, starting when I was 16 years old – through the second half of high school and all of college, and then continuing with them after college. I stayed on to do their human resources from home for four more years after I had Ali, and just resigned this past December upon the addition of my second kid.

(I also do Chris’ company’s accounting from home, so two kids, two jobs, and three blogs was a bit too much to handle.)

I had practically grown up at that company, so it was like breaking up with my family to leave, but I knew that for my kid’s sakes, it had to be done.

This friend worked at that company before I did, so I met him when I was 16. He was ridiculously tall and quite dashingly handsome. We had a lot of fun together – always joking and having rubber band shooting wars across the cubicle aisles. I gave him a terribly hard time, and he did the same back to me. After I got married, his favorite thing to do was to repeatedly announce in his unbelievably loud voice,

“WHAT?!?!?! RACHEL’S PREGNANT???”

On days where he didn’t feel like his voice carried far enough for the whole office to hear (which in reality it always did), he’d make the announcement via intercom, yelling it into his telephone set.

(He often had his intercom privileges revoked.)

“My” announcement was made at least once a month in the office, as well as at every awards banquet, company party, or company event for five years.

So naturally, when I did get pregnant with Ali, I let him make the announcement.

And naturally, no one believed him.

The last time I saw him was in November shortly before I resigned – I had stopped by the office, quite pregnant with Noah, and so in his thunderous voice, he shouted,

“RACHEL!!! YOU’RE HUUUUUGE!!!!”

We had a fun, surface-level friendship, but I knew that he had his struggles. He was a torn person. He desired to live a holy life, but was broken from hurts of his past. He tried to run from himself and find peace, once even setting off on an indeterminably long RV trip around the country.

But his struggles didn’t define him. He was kind, charismatic, gentle, and loving. He once fell off of Shades Crest (a steep mountainside that he lived on) to save his falling dog, who was incidentally named Ali.

(Yes, he did accuse me of naming my child after his dog. And no, I didn’t.)

He cared deeply for his family, his friends, and obviously, his dog.

So when I found this article Friday night, I was devastated for him and his family.

The picture alone broke my heart. I didn’t recognize him – there was barely a shadow of the handsome, charismatic man that I’d known for nearly half my life, and had just seen a few months ago.

Of course, I didn’t know he had those particular struggles, and so it was a lot to take in at once – his death, his federal fugitive status, his attempted crime… it was unbelievably overwhelming.

Yet over all of the emotions I felt, compassion for his broken and hurting heart overtook me.

Yes, his attempted crime was horrible. Absolutely, he deserved to have consequences. Yes, I was shocked and upset. But more than that, I hurt because I knew how badly he must have hurt. And that he never got the opportunity to have victory over his pain in this life.

I made the mistake of reading the comments on the article, knowing that many people that comment on news articles say terribly heinous things.

And although it hurt to read their hateful words about the man that I knew and they didn’t, I was actually surprised that I wasn’t surprised by them.

Because if I’m being honest, had I not been friends with him for over a decade and that article was all I ever knew of him, I am ashamed to say that I might have had some of those same thoughts. I would have never written them, but I would have most definitely passed my judgement on the situation.

And so I found myself, screeching to a halt, and faced with the reality of my own sin: judgementalism.

I knew this person. I knew his heart. I knew his struggles. And I knew his hurts. So I didn’t judge him like I had so harshly done to others in the past.

I knew that he was a man who devotedly loved his mother, father, and brother, and his friends. I knew that he loved God and desperately tried to live for Christ. I knew that he fought hard to overcome his struggles. I knew that he was a real, live, loving human being – not at all the monster that people were assuming he was (and that I might have assumed had I not known him).

And so I felt my objective outlook beginning to crumble…

If HE was human, and if HE was just another hurting person, then so are all of those other people that I’ve just written off in the past as lost causes.

Who am I to judge someone’s heart?

They all are someone’s cherished little boy or girl.

And many of them probably struggled against their sins and fought to overcome them just like my friend did. They are all deserving of the same compassion that I had in my heart for my friend, and I had not given it.

That was a hard pill to swallow.

We all have our issues. We all have our struggles. We are all sinners in need of a Savior. And we are all loved by God, despite ourselves. And so we are called to love each other, not to judge.

I certainly hope that I do better at this in the future.

Romans 3:23: For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.

Ephesians 2:8-9: For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.

Matthew 7:1-2 Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

Please be in prayer for his family during this incomparably difficult time.

BabyFax.

May 27, 2011May 27, 2011 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Rachel's "Brilliant" Marketing Ideas, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Utter Silliness

Nobody buys a car anymore without first getting a CARFAX.

And nobody would buy a used baby product ever, EVER again if there were BABYFAX.

Imagine going to your favorite kid’s consignment sale… only every item had it’s BABYFAX attached….

Oh! Here’s an adorable Easter Dress! And it has BABYFAX is attached! It looks like it’s in great condition – it can’t be too bad, right?

***********

Three Owners –

First owner had multiple poo incidents between the years of 2008-2009, one which was so powerful it landed on the collar that would lay right next to your precious blossom’s face.

Second owner suffered through the Swine Flu Pandemic of 2009 while wearing this dress.

Third owner had a serious case of reflux, causing this dress to be puked on approximately every five minutes throughout every wearing in the year of 2010.

BABYFAX rating: –20 and highly contagious.

***********

Umm… an adorable Easter dress for someone ELSE’S child.

Oh! Look! A great deal on a stroller!! It looks brand new! Let’s check out it’s BABYFAX.

***********

One Owner – but said owner’s child was a serial booger-picker, wiper, and smearer-into-strollerer.

BABYFAX rating: Contamination Level 5. Also, do not expose to rain – will become slippery.

***********

Ooooookay. Maybe toys. Oh look! A brand new teether toy!! It still has the tag on it! It’s gotta be okay – right?

***********

One owner: Upon purchase of teething toy, baby’s toddler-aged sibling took said toy into the bathroom and promptly dropped it in the toilet. Of which his just-potty-trained self hadn’t flushed. Baby’s Mom immediately threw toy into consignment stack, figuring she could get most of her money back on it since, after all, it still had it’s tag attached.

BABYFAX rating: Beyond the measurement of disgust.

***********

“BABYFAX: Making another paranoid Mom feel justified every second.”

p.s. – You might want to think twice before ever shaking hands with me – because if I had a BABYFAX, you’d probably see that I’ve had infant poo underneath my fingernails and caught newborn puke with my bare hands more times than you’d ever want to know.

When Not To Be a Supportive Parent.

May 26, 2011May 26, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

Ali had her Cubbies awards program two weeks ago.

(By the way – did you know it takes approximately fourteen days to transform a traumatic memory into a funny one? Well now you do.)

The idea was to get 25 preschoolers to stand in front of a room full of their parents and cooperatedly say the pledge, a verse, a motto, and then quietly wait for their name to be called to get their award.

Obviously, a situation just begging for one of the kids to use it as their platform to humiliate their parents.

I wanted to let Ali know that I was excited for her, and I wanted to be able to see, so I sat on the front row.

This was not a well-thought-out plan.

Because when they filed in, Ali was also on the front row, which meant that we were approximately 18 inches from each other.

(The Flamingo with her hand in her mouth would be my child.)

Everyone else’s kids behaved. Nathaniel kept his tummy in line, AJ kept Nathaniel in line, and Michelle had so much forethought into her perfect behavior that she wore her blue jeans backwards to help her keep her hands to herself:

But my kid? Notsomuch.

The fact that we were nearly nose-to-nose made her feel free to talk to me.

Constantly.

And loudly, of course, so that I could hear her over the other Cubbies saying all of the things they were supposed to say.

It all started during the pledge of allegiance. Instead of saying a single word of the pledge, she began to loudly question me.

“Mommy, why aren’t the other kids saying the pledge?”

I shhh’ed at her nervously.

“MOMMY. WHY AREN’T THE OTHER KIDS SAYING THE PLEDGE??!!”

I whispered, “YOU’RE not saying the pledge. THEY are!”

Then she decided to amp up my embarrassment.

She singled out another kid in the class, for no apparent reason since he was behaving perfectly well…

“MOMMY!!! WHY ISN’T HEZEKIAH SAYING THE PLEDGE?!?!?!?!?”

Her voice was so loud that it resonated off the back wall. But it didn’t have to – because Hezekiah’s parents were sitting right behind me. I’m sure they noticed my neck turning red.

“Hezekiah IS saying the pledge. Quit talking and say the pledge!”

While still standing on one leg, she accepted my answer and began looking around the classroom. At which time she spotted the birthday chart.

“MOMMY!! WHY ARE THERE CUPCAKES ON THE WALL?”

I looked around the classroom to see if there was an empty chair in the back of the room…or an escape route.

The other parents could smell my fear.

“SHH!!! That’s the birthday chart.”

“WHOSE BIRTHDAY IS IT???”

“SHH!! Just Say The Pledge!!!”

Mercifully, the pledge ended.

Then it was time for their verse and motto.

“MOMMY!! WHEN AM I GOING TO GET MY AWARD??”

I don’t remember what happened after that. But I think it’s safe to assume that I either found her award and threw it at her, or I actually managed to finally melt through the floor.

But the bright side? At least my kid made all of the other parents even prouder of their children that night.

Daily Exercise Log: Mommy.

May 24, 2011May 23, 2011 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, A Day in the Life, Do You Know? Because I Don't., It's Tough Being a Girl, Kids: The Experience.

3am: Jumping out of bed from dead sleep to go comfort crying baby: 10 calories burned.

3:05am: Jumping out of bed again to give crying baby a paci, praying feverishly that it sticks this time while imagining inventing elastic ear loops to hold the stinkin’ paci in: 10 calories burned.

4am: Jumping out of bed from dead sleep to go comfort nightmare-having kid: 10 calories burned.

7am: Nursing, changing, rocking baby: 100 calories burned.

8am: Bathing squirming kid: 20 calories burned.

8:10am: Bathing even squirmier baby*: 30 calories burned.

(* add extra 20 calories burned if baby poops in tub and you have to start over. And 20 more calories burned if he does it again)

8:30am: Bouncing, rocking, walking with baby to get him back to sleep: 50 calories burned.

9am: Taking shower at the speed of a high-impact workout in order to make it out before baby wakes up again: 20 calories burned.

9:30am: Carrying baby in baby carrier down stairs and loading kid and baby up in car: 30 calories burned.

9:35am: Performing and holding the yoga move “Downward Paci” for 30 minutes to be able to hold baby’s paci in his mouth while simultaneously driving car: 35 calories burned.

10am: Unloading kid and baby, carrying baby into store, pushing grocery cart with kid and baby inside: 40 calories burned.

10:10am: Pulling screaming baby out of car seat, begin pushing grocery cart with one hand and one hip while holding baby with other hand: 50 calories burned.

10:11am: Picking up 41 pound kid with what was the grocery cart arm when said kid falls and hurts her knee, then pushing cart with nothing but the hips while grocery clerks watch in amazement: 60 calories burned.

10:20am: Loading groceries and kid into the car while still holding baby: 25 calories burned.

10:30am: Unloading groceries, kid, and baby and carrying all but kid into house in one load because you know said baby will begin screaming if you leave him up or down stairs while you unload groceries: 20 calories burned.

10:31am: Putting away groceries while rocking baby, fixing kid’s snack, cleaning out the refrigerator to make room for the groceries, and answering phone: 20 calories burned.

11:00am: Nursing baby, rocking, bouncing, putting back to sleep: 100 calories burned.

11:20am: Running down the stairs to finally answer the screams of “I poooooooped!!! Come wiiiiiipe me!!!” that were on repeat and max volume the entire time you were nursing the baby: 10 calories burned.

11:30am: Sitting down to color, do schoolwork, or watch a movie with kid, running up and down the stairs once every 20 minutes during chosen activity to comfort or rock baby back to sleep, but ultimately getting baby up from nap: 40 calories burned.

2:00pm: Putting kid to sleep, then nursing baby, rocking, bouncing, putting baby back to sleep: 100 calories burned.

2:30pm: Going downstairs to SIT: 0 calories burned.

3:00pm: Washing loads of laundry, cleaning kitchen, straightening up destroyed living room, all at a sprint of a pace, trying to finish before anyone wakes up: 50 calories burned.

4:00pm: Taking kid and baby on a walk to pass the time until Daddy comes home: 50 calories burned.

5:00pm: Cooking dinner while simultaneously (and very unsafely) holding a baby and entertaining a kid: 30 calories burned.

6:00pm: Eating dinner while holding baby, cutting food for kid, talking to husband, and answer kid’s interrupting questions: 5 calories burned.

7:00pm: Nursing, rocking, bouncing, putting to sleep baby while husband puts kid to bed: 100 calories burned.

8:00pm: Collapsing on the couch with husband, out of breath and exhausted. Spending rest of evening wondering why I don’t look like the smokingest hottest of supermodels after that workout: 0 calories burned.

A Mid-Life Crisis, of the Feline Persuasion.

May 22, 2011May 22, 2011 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Anal Retentivity to a Fault, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck

My cat has gone crazy.

Not to say that I haven’t had my issues with her in the past, but this time is different…odd…and a bit unsettling in an eerie sort of way.

It all started last week when she disappeared.

(And, might I add, she is an indoor cat.)

We saw her the night before – she was laying by us on the couch, acting normal. But the next morning, she skipped all of her usual routines.

(It is important to note that our cat is as much OCD as every other member of our household – she does everything. the. exact. same. way. every. day. And don’t mess up her routine, or she’ll pee on you.)

She didn’t come upstairs when Chris woke up to get her morning petting.

She didn’t come back upstairs when she heard me open my drawer and pull out my bible to take the opportunity to make me lose my temper while studying my bible by insistently laying right in the middle of it – over and over – no matter how many times I threw gently moved her.

She didn’t even go back downstairs to get her three daily treats before Chris left for work – she never skips her treats.

(If you give her four, she’ll puke. If you give her two, she’ll meow at you until you give her THREE. I only wish I were joking.)

I looked for her off and on all day – no signs of her anywhere. By the time the afternoon arrived, I was convinced that I was going to find a dead cat when I finally found one – she’d never been missing this long.

I began looking under and around all of the furniture, my heart jumping every time I saw something white, hoping that it wasn’t a kitty carcass.

Chris texted me a list of household crevices to check. Behind the washer, behind the fridge, in the baby clothes closet…

Checked them all – NO cat.

I finally gave up and decided that Kitty Carcass could wait until Chris came home.

A bit later, I was in my office, and as I was walking out, something caught my eye. I jerked around – and there she was, sitting on a bench in my office, nonchalantly licking herself.

WHAT?!?

Naturally, I asked her where she had been.

Naturally, she just glared at me.

She was skittish for the rest of the day, so I assumed she had gotten caught behind something for a while.

(Or maybe that or she really did die, and the process of starting up another one of your nine lives is a very disturbing experience.)

So since her mysterious visit into the Kitty Dimension, she’s been weird.

Not doing any of her routines (which I do appreciate during my bible study), and doing all sorts of new things she’s never done before.

At least once a day I hear a crashing sound, only to find nothing when I come running. I finally figured it out – she’s stepping across the dishes in the sink.

Weirdo.

(Of course I always have dishes in my sink. Haven’t you ever had a newborn?)

She’s laying places she’s never laid. She’s hissing at the children. She’s jumpy. She’s weird.

Oh – and she stinks.

(Which is becoming quite a pattern in our house.)

And finally, her mid-life crisis came to a head.

I started laundry on Thursday, but had one load left, so I left it in the floor of the laundry room overnight.

The next morning, I threw all of the clothes in the washer and turned it on. When the load finished, I started putting it in the dryer, but I noticed that it didn’t smell quite as fresh as it should have.

In fact, it smelled a bit nasty.

When the clothes were all out, something in the bottom of the washing machine caught my eye.

Was that a…

Surely not…

I used my laundry detergent cup to scoop it out.

OhMyGoshItCannotBe…

I smelled it.

OhNoNoNo…

Yes, yes, yes.

It was a cat turd.

Washed, spun, and soaked, yet still maintaining it’s turdish qualities, thanks to the unbelievable dryness of cat defecation. Although it was about an inch narrower than it probably started out, thanks to the infiltration into our laundry that the washing process allowed.

Gagging, I threw it out, returned all of the clothes into the washer, set the washer on the maximum-get-the-turd-smell-out setting, and prayed that it would work.

Then I went and told Oreo to please go back to her Kitty Dimension, post-haste.