Rachel Callahan

The Magic of Mommyhood.

February 27, 2010 Rachel Callahan On a more serious note. . ., The Blissfulness of Life, Toddlers: The Experience

It’s been a long week. My normally very emotionally stable and logical three year old has for some reason found the need to have multiple and quite sudden breakdowns. And for very little cause, such as the one about her best friend AJ, which, through tears, she told me tragically, “But she told me to go get Barney!!!”.

Who knew Barney was such an insult.

Last night, after attempting to go to a banquet (where kids were invited) and suffering through three more of these unbelievably unexpected and uncharacteristic random cries (“But I’m just saaaad”, “my head hurts”, “my knee hurts”), I hit the emergency-eject-we’re-going-home-right-now button.

On the way home, I found myself continually questioning my Lack-Of-Mommy-Wisdom into the situation…

What is going on?

Are we hitting the terrible threes?

Are these fits, or is she just getting dramatic?

Is this something that should be disciplined for?

What am I doing wrong to create this?

Why does it all of a sudden feel like I have a one year old again?

Besides the usual questioning of my own abilities and understanding, I was frustrated, spent, and had really had my fill of the crying.

Chris brought her inside and started getting her ready for bed, and I heard another meltdown. I buried my head in my hands.

Then, on a whim, I decided to check her temperature.

100.2.

In less than a second, everything inside of me changed. All of my frustration and aggravation, all of my “I’ve had it for this week” – it all instantaneously vanished.

It was inexplicably replaced with a wave of love, compassion, tenderness, and desire to scoop Ali up in my arms and hold her until she felt better, even if it meant holding her for two weeks straight while she cried her eyes out.

I laid in her bed and sang songs. Longer than I would ever do on her most adorable of days, let alone a challenging one.

I told her to close her eyes so that I could rub her eyebrows, and the way that she scrunched up her eyes and grinned just melted my heart even more.

I felt more love for her than I had all week. And it visibly made her feel better.

For a moment, as I experienced a supernatural gift of compassion and revitalization, all of my doubts, questions, uncertainties about myself vanished.

I realized that I really AM equipped for this Mom stuff.

His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. – 2 Peter 1:3

A Monkey Tale.

February 27, 2010 Rachel Callahan Weird Strange and True

So we have this mystery in our family.

It’s a bit of an odd mystery.

Have you ever had that sensation of remembering something from your childhood that was just plain weird and totally illogical, and then one day realizing that your parents must have been teasing, or talking about something else? That may be too vague to explain what I’m talking about, but here’s our family mystery:

My Mom remembers, plain as day, as a normal occurrence in her childhood, her Mom (Mammaw) telling her about her pet monkey that she had as a child.

Yes. Mammaw had a pet monkey. In the 1930’s.

Sounds logical, no?

Normally, I would just write that off as one of those strange childhood memories. Except for the fact that my Mom’s siblings ALSO remember hearing about said monkey, and also associate their mother’s childhood with having this pet.

However, Mammaw says this is the most ludicrous thing that she has ever heard, that she NEVER had a pet monkey, and has NO idea where they came up with this.

And actually, one of the top 10 funniest moments of our family history (right below the Mammaw/Chris Spoons Debacle) is when this memory discrepancy was discovered.

We were having a normal Sunday Family lunch, and somehow monkeys came into the conversation. Just as normally as she would have said, “please pass the peas”, my Mom says, “Well Mother, you should know, because of your childhood pet monkey.”

Mammaw twists her face in complete confusion and ridiculosity. “I had a WHAT?!?!?!?!”

Mom: “Your pet monkey!”

Mammaw: “I never had a PET MONKEY!!!”

Mom: “Of course you did!! You told us about it all the time!!”

Mammaw, in the most “where did you YOU come from” voice ever: “NOOOO I didn’t!!”

I cannot tell you how long the rest of us laughed at this conversation, as my Mother’s comprehension of the universe came tumbling down around her.

So it has become somewhat of a family mystery AND a family joke. Anytime there is anything to be said about Mammaw forgetting something, someone has to say, “Well there WAS the pet monkey, after all.”

Or, conversely, any time there’s a comment made about one of my Mom’s slight airheaded moments (that “slight” was added so as to not insult my Mother), someone has to say, “Well she DID think her Mom had a pet monkey, after all.”

My personal opinion is that there WAS a pet monkey mentioned in their childhood, but it was some sort of threat, or wild story, or something that left this impression in three kids minds.

There HAD to have been something behind this wild tale.

Either Mammaw made up a series of bedtime stories about a pet monkey that was very realistic, or she threatened them that she would get her pet monkey to attack them if they didn’t behave, or SOMETHING.

Or maybe Mammaw DID have a pet monkey, and just loves to see us all squirm with curiosity. I could totally see her pulling that trick.

The world will never know.

This post was originally published March 25, 2009.

The Charleston Connection

February 25, 2010 Rachel Callahan I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., The Blissfulness of Life

We have houseguests this week! One of my favorite people, Barkley, and her son Woods are visiting with us from Charleston.

Ali has been so excited about our houseguests that, while playing with them at lunch, she learned how to transform her two-eyed somewhat spastic wink…

Into a very suave, grown-up, one-eyed wink.Hopefully she won’t be using that to attract any MORE boyfriends. Yeesh.

At any rate, we’re so busy having fun that I don’t have too much to say, so I thought I’d beg your forgiveness and share our attempt at this year’s photo shoot.

The last time we got together almost exactly a year ago, we met halfway in Atlanta, where I attempted, quite optimistically, to get a “perfect photograph” of our kids.

The closest I got last year was this one:

And, one year later, this one:
…Still not a perfect picture, because the possibility of that happening is …not.

However, since last year, we’ve all learned a few things about photography.

I’ve learned that bribery goes a long way in getting a kid to keep a permasmile – especially if it’s PEZ.

At least for a three year old. Notsomuch for a one and a half year old.

Ali learned how to fight off her aggressors with a smile (because of the PEZ, I’m sure):

As opposed to last year.

Woods learned how to walk, and therefore escape quickly, creating the need to be repeatedly shoved back into position.
Last year, he could only dream of such things.

Ali learned to use holding hands as a helpful technique in controlling the not-quite-wanting-to-sit-still-so-she-can-earn-her-PEZ-toddler…

Instead of just barely offering her hand as an obedient-but-not-thrilled-about-it-gesture.

Woods grew out of his charmed by the older woman phase,

And entered the MUST BODYSLAM HER BECAUSE SHE BREATHES phase.
But no pictures from this year outdid my favorite from last year, the old couple in marriage counseling shot:

If I ever become a Psychiatrist, that will most definitely be on my business card.

I might, for the first time in my blog’s history, have a re-run or two over the next couple of days if you would be so kind as to let me, so that I can fully enjoy our houseguests.

Can You Recall a Product for Faulty Naming?

February 24, 2010 Rachel Callahan Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Weird Strange and True

I received an email from one of my favorite clothing companies on Friday, and they were so!! very!! excited!! about their new and amazing product!!

And then I saw the NAME of this product: Jeggings.

Apparently, Jeggings are a combination of Jeans and Leggings – they LOOK like the Skinniest of Skinny Jeans, but they are actually cotton/spandex leggings.

…which very much reminded me of a tweet that my friend Sara had about another new product called Pajama Jeans:

But I am not here to critique the fashion of Jeggings. If they look good on you, by all means, more power to you. They’d look so horrible on me that I would have to have therapy after just THINKING about trying them on.

However, the term Jeggings…please tell me that Tim Gunn is somewhere shuddering at the thought. Jeggings sounds more like a term used for juggling eggs in a circus than supposedly high fashion wear. Just because you CAN combine two words to make one doesn’t mean that you should.

For instance, what if, instead of naming it a catsuit, the fashion industry at the time had excitedly combined the word shirt and pant and called this a Shant?
Somehow, it seems that catwoman would have not had nearly the attraction had she been wearing a shant.

(Then again, maybe she would have…)

And how about if, instead of calling this Sweater boots, they called them Sweatoots?

And sometimes, just because you could combine two products doesn’t mean you should. For instance, I suppose that this would be called the Shoilet:
Hopefully that lovely European idea will never, ever make it across the pond.

And, hopefully, Jeggings will quickly fade so that all of us with thighs wider than a Sharpie won’t end up in therapy over our inability to fit into egg juggling pants.

Rainbow Brite Winners

February 23, 2010 Rachel Callahan Giveaways and Contests

Here are the winners from the Rainbow Brite Giveaway!!

Rainbow Brite or Friend Doll:

1. Shelly Overlook
2. Cheri

Rainbow Brite CD-Rom with Video Short and Games:
1. Debbie Jackson
2. Kerrie Mayans
3. Sally
4. Leigh
5. Rajee
6. Jessica
7. Amanda
8. Michelle
9. Tracy

Congratulations!

I will email you all later, but if you could do me a huge favor and go ahead and email me your address at rachel@graspingforobjectivity.com, that would be excellent!!

Framed.

February 23, 2010June 24, 2012 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, The Blissfulness of Life

We had a girl’s night on Saturday night, and our always-creative leader, April, turned us all into hopeless addicts of a new craft.

I’m pretty sure that we all dreamed about our new love Saturday night, and have thought of nothing since then except how and when we would get our next fix.

It was beautifully simple, yet crazy-cool.

We started with five ingredients.

1. A $1 unfinished wooden frame from Michael’s, our local craft store:
2. An X-Acto knife:

3. The cheapest paint brush on the face of the planet,

4. My new best friend, Mod Podge,

5. And something that I’ve always, ALWAYS wanted to have a reason to buy because it’s just so darn pretty, a piece of scrapbook paper:

(Obviously, I couldn’t just pick one. Who could? All those amazing colors and designs..it’s like chocolate on paper.)

With our ingredients at the ready, we set off to work.

There was much debate as to whether we should share our secrets as to how unbelievably easy this project really was. We felt that the result was pretty impressive (we MIGHT have stood around our creations and oohed, aahed, stared, complimented, and admired them for 30 minutes at the end of the night), so letting you believe that we were more artful than we were was definitely tempting.

However, we’re nice people at heart, so here are the steps:

1. Brush Mod Podge on the front of the frame.

2. lay the frame carefully on the scrapbook paper, turn it over, and then push the paper down well to prevent any bumps or wrinkles.

3. Using the X-Acto knife, cut around the outside and inside of the frame, leaving only paper on the surface.

Editor’s note: I forgot to add sandpaper as an ingredient. After step 3, sand the edges with sandpaper to get the paper smooth.

4. Use a flat object to scrape any bumps or wrinkles out.

5. Paint another layer of Mod Podge over the paper.

And the result….

Piles of scraps of scrapbook paper.

Oh – and the frames!

Between the seven of us, we made fifteen frames, all works of art, in our humble opinions.

The plan was to each make one, but we had so much fun on the first round that we took a field trip (all squished between or in carseats in a minivan) to buy more frames and papers.

Bonus tips:

1. We found that the thicker paper seemed to prevent bumps and wrinkles better, and the glittery papers do work – they’re still glittery, even through the mod-podge!

2. Other extras that we used on some frames: Antiquing ink, rub on letters, scrapbook stickers, and wooden cut-outs.

I made three frames, including this funky one for Ali’s room (The heart is a 29 cent wooden cut-out from Michael’s, just covered in a different paper):

And these two coordinating frames for our guest room (You can see the the effect of the antiquing ink on the brown and white one):
Warning: I’m serious about this being addicting. I might have gone to TWO stores today and spent a bunch of money on supplies to make more.

Because I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT.

AND, to make it all the more addicting, you don’t have to limit it to frames! You can decorate wooden letters, tables, dresser drawers, canvases, footstools, cabinets, bookshelves, cats, children…now I’m eyeing everything in our house to see if I it’s mod-podgeable.

I wonder what our siding and front door would look like covered in scrapbook paper…

TeenToddler.

February 21, 2010 Rachel Callahan Toddlers: The Experience

There’s a bit of romantic drama going on in Ali’s life right now.

She’s got two boy friends who are claiming to be her boyfriend, a term I’m pretty sure I had no idea what it meant at the ripe age of three.

Her two friends seem to be taking different strategies at winning her affection: one defends her at all costs, and the other tries to find opportunities to spend quality time with her.

In fact, after their first play date, boyfriend #2 announced to his Mommy, “Ali is my girlfriend because we jumped on the bed together, and that sealed it.”

Ali, however, took a little longer to come around. But at some point, she became obsessed with their family picture and started carrying it with her everywhere.

Then she began to dance with it, ball-room-Cinderella style, multiple times a day:

So she seems to have fallen for boyfriend #2.

And today was his birthday party, a long-anticipated event.

When we arrived, he was reportedly heard to be squealing, “MY GIRLFRIEND IS HERE!! MY GIRLFRIEND IS HERE!!!”

But of course, once we got inside, he was much more shy, or, as they like to call it these days, “playing it cool”.

Ali and AJ weren’t too sure about the amount of boys in attendance at first, so they hung out in the kitchen and consumed all of the food (a side benefit of being coy, I suppose).

And then, when all of the kids were on the trampoline, they practiced their future-sitting-in-the-football-bleachers-and-cheering-the-boys-on skills and watched them jump.

The birthday boy, however, wasn’t too cool to dump all the guys and come join the girls, despite how they might have felt about his intrusion into their girl talk:

He got the nervous giggles. Ali wondered why.

He was sure to make his position of boyfriend known, scaring off all of the other bigger, more imposing boys who might have stopped to visit with the girls:

And he even pulled out his serious face on when the occasion called for it:

Which ultimately won him a spot on the bleachers…

And a hug at the end of the day.

Ah, young love.

A Tortured Romance.

February 19, 2010 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck, Storytime

I told the story of our cat, Oreo’s rebellious peeing-on-the-bed teenage years a while back.

However, I left out an important part of her saga.

If you don’t remember the original story and don’t want to go read it, the basic idea is that Oreo has an odd and unexplained abhorrence for crutches. And since I had two foot surgeries which created the need for 10 weeks of crutch use, Oreo decided to deal with her crutch-angst by peeing in our bed.

But only when I was in it, of course. After my first surgery in 2005, we didn’t immediately realize that the crutches were the problem. We hadn’t had her very long for that point, and it also coincided with her approximate “coming of age”.

And so, we thought that maybe she was in heat.

But I didn’t want to get her fixed right away. My beloved childhood cat, Boots, had a couple litters of kittens, and I had VERY fond memories of playing with tons of tiny and precious kittens.

(Granted, being that I was four years old, I didn’t have to do any of the hard parts like clean up kitty afterbirth or a whole litter of kitty poo or find homes for a gazillion kittens.)

So, since I was idealistic about the whole thing, we decided that if she WAS in heat, then she must need a man in her life to make her feel better, and, therefore, quit peeing on me.

AND we’d go ahead and get kittens – a double solution!

(I have no idea why Chris was agreeable to this plan.)

Luckily, my friend Gina’s cat, Kolby, also a newly-no-longer-kitten, was quite obliging about the idea of romance:
So we invited him over for a date.

Oreo, however, was not as excited as he was about their evening together.

As soon as Kolby arrived, she ran to the top of her tower, and would hiss at him anytime he got close.

Kolby’s tension over his newly discovered needs being met escalated. He could sense Chris’ maleness and immediately sized him up as competition, and possibly even the reason that Oreo must not be interested in HIM. So Kolby attacked Chris’ legs with the ferocity of a fire-breathing dragon.

(I’m pretty sure that Chris still has scars.)

At that point, we decided that they must just need some time alone. Maybe Oreo was bashful to get to know a man in front of us.

So we carefully gathered them up and shut them in our guest room, told them to have fun, and came downstairs and turned on a movie.

Periodically, we would hear crashes, shrieks, and thuds.

Things must be going well.

After the movie, we headed upstairs to see how their date had gone.

Our guest room resembled the aftermath of a Great Feline Massacre.

Clumps of hair rolled through the room like tumbleweeds. The smell was overwhelming from Kolby’s attempts to impress Oreo with his ability to spray pee. And from Oreo’s attempts to use her pee as mace.

And Oreo’s tail was very solidly locked between her legs.

The next day, I determinedly hobbled, on crutches, and took Oreo to the vet to IMMEDIATELY get fixed.

And Kolby? Poor guy. His heart was so broken from his failed romantic pursuits that not long after The Date, he ran away from home. We are nearly sure that he set off in a vain attempt to reunite with his lost love.

Oreo, however, refused to return his calls.

That’s Because Daddies Fix Everything.

February 18, 2010 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck, Toddlers: The Experience

It’s amazing how differently the same three-year-old logic can sound based on the situation they choose to apply it to…and how completely oblivious they can be at the things they say.

And really, that obliviousness is a very, VERY good thing.

As I’ve ~~complained about~~ mentioned before, we all know that Mommies get no privacy. And this lack of privacy leads to…perplexing conversations.

I was getting dressed, as usual accompanied by my little sidekick.

When I finished, Ali calmly informed me,

“I think your chest is broken.”

“What??!!”

“Your chest – it’s broken.”

Hoping she means something else but knowing what I taught her to use that term for, I ask,

“Where is it broken?”

She reaches up, pats me right where I feared she would, and says, “That…that is broken.”

“How is it broken?”

“Because…” …she moves onto other things, and I’m left wondering how I managed to break my chest.

A few minutes later, I sit down to help her get dressed. She leans over me, pulls my shirt open, peers down inside and says, “Yup, it’s broken.”

“Well how do I get it fixed, then?”

“That’s because Daddy fixes it.”

“How does Daddy fix it?”

“That’s because he works it.”

“He WORKS IT? How does he work it?”

“That’s because he’s happy.”

And I…am still left speechless.

Rachel, Child Not-So-Star.

February 17, 2010 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck, Mystery Solved, Storytime

The year was 1987. I was six years old. There was a movie being filmed in town, and they needed antique cars. My Dad and Granddad both had Model Ts, so they were loaning them to the producers for the movie.

And, it happened to be my lucky day that they needed some children as fillers in one of the scenes. So Dad took me along for the fun.

I was beyond thrilled. I was going to be a Movie Star!! We arrived, and they whisked me off to wardrobe.

WARDROBE!!!

They dressed me in period clothing and gave me a baby doll to carry. Besides the fact that I was MUCH too old to be carrying around a baby doll, it was the ugliest baby doll I’d ever seen.

I hated that doll.

The scene was a carnival, so besides the fact that I was going to be a MOVIE STAR, I got to ride carnival rides – for free!!

Never had there been a better day in my six years.

Except for that stupid doll, of course.

I was assigned to sit on the Merry-Go-Round. I excitedly took my post and started my circular movement.

I went around…and around…and around. I kept thinking that surely I’d get to move on to the Ferris Wheel soon, but no. I sat, spinning endlessly with only my stupid doll to keep me company. For hours.

By the time I was told I could get off, I had sworn off Merry-Go-Rounds for the rest of my life. Or for the day at least.

I was a smart one, though. I “accidentally” forgot my baby doll on the Merry-Go-Round. After all, she was ugly.

My new assignment was to walk around the carnival with my Granddad. Five minutes into my walk, a producer comes running up to me with that awful doll.

“Excuse me, miss – I think you left this on the Merry-Go-Round.”

I was so aggravated and confused as to how they had known it was MY doll. Why couldn’t they have given it to some other little girl?

But I dutifully carried her for the rest of the shoot. Stupid Doll.

After the shoot, my Dad took me to the producer’s office, where I was paid a whopping $70 for my outstanding talent.

(For years I wondered if Dad had staged that whole thing and if HE had actually paid me, but Dad reassures me that I was actually paid for my role.)

Dad immediately took me to the bank and helped me set up a savings account to store my fortune, where it stayed for many years.

When the movie was completed the next year, I received a beautiful invitation to the Premier at The Alabama Theatre.

I couldn’t wait to go see my soon-to-be-famous face!!

Except for one small detail. It was rated R. And I was six.

My DEBUT MOVIE was rated R! I couldn’t even see my infamous performance!! That day, I came to terms with the fact that the world was a very unfair place.

My parents went to the premier, as did a few other people we knew. They told me that the movie itself was horrible, but that I did wonderfully, and that there was a close-up shot of me that EVERYONE saw.

I believed them and reveled in my fame.

Twenty-Two years later, it all of a sudden dawned on me that I was now old enough to see my star-studded performance.

But … I didn’t remember the name of the movie.

I asked Mom about it.

“Oh – you don’t want to see that! It’s a horribly low-budget and violent movie about a gangster dying of Syphilis!!”

“But I do! I was in it!”

“Well, I don’t remember the name of it either. I’ll find out for you, though.”

She went through her ~~Shrine Of Rachel~~ ~~Celebration Box of her Favorite Daughter~~ Folder of my childhood junk and found the invitation.

Verne Miller.

I immediately loved the subtitle. How classy can you be if you’re dying of Syphilis?

I tried to NetFlix it. NetFlix laughed at me.

Blockbuster? No record of such a movie.

Amazon – Found it. Sorta. With some qualifications:

It apparently was never made into DVD, so if I wanted it, I was going to have to lug out our VHS player to see it.
Nobody sells it new. It is as discontinued as it could possibly be. The only copies available are well-used former rentals, but very cheap, at least.

So I ordered it. A $5 investment in the excitement of seeing my debut into celebritydom.

A few minutes into the movie, I recognized the rolling hills from driving by them when we went to the movie set. Then the car turned, and sure enough, he was headed to a carnival:A much smaller carnival than I remembered, but a carnival scene nonetheless.

The scene lasted MAYBE two minutes, and I saw zero traces of myself.

THEY LIED TO ME! THEY ALL LIED TO ME!

Okay…calm down. Maybe he comes back to the carnival.

Sure enough, nearing the end of the movie, he returns to the carnival. This time, it’s about one minute long.

STILL NO ME.

How could this be true?!!?!?

After the movie was over (which wasn’t as horrible as we expected – I guess my Mom helped out by completely trashing our expectations), I agonizingly-VHS-slow-re-winded it back to the original carnival scene to study every character, and then, although skeptical at first, became pretty convinced that I found myself.

There I am, on the Merry-Go-Round, right behind the amazing Star of the Movie, Scott Glenn.

(Don’t ask me who he is. I have no idea.)

My screen time added up to about one fifth of a second. Surely that will earn me my Screen Actor’s Guild membership.

Later, I went back and scoured the second carnival scene and managed to find myself again, this time on my second assignment of walking through the carnival with my Granddad.

Although my screen time was longer, it only featured my backside.

(I don’t know who the woman was, but she was most definitely NOT my Grandmother.)

And then we were seen again from the Police’s point of view when they’re coming into the scene, still backsides only:

Luckily, my Grandfather was a very recognizable figure – I’m not sure I would have even been convinced that I was a girl, much less me in these shots.

Since I know you’re dying to see my amazing acting skills, here’s the first excerpt. Watch very carefully over Verne’s shoulder as the brown arm retracts, and whatever you do, DON’T BLINK.

I know. I’m amazing. I’m expecting a call any day now from James Cameron asking me to star in the Avatar sequel.