Rachel Callahan

You Might…

November 16, 2009 Rachel Callahan Parent of the Year, Toddlers: The Experience

You might… eat out too much if you have the following conversation with your child…

(Me, tasting Ali’s sucker): “Mmmm…it tastes like apple.”

Ali: “Yes, it tastes like an Applebee.”

You might… be boosting your kid’s ego too often if you have the following conversation with your child…

Me, during Hurricane Ida’s leftover rain: “It’s wet out there.”

Ali: “It IS wet out there. You’re so smart!!!”

You might…be using too many terms of endearment with your child when she asks you, “Can you take my boots off, Princess?”

You might…need to watch out for your child’s future video game consumption when, after slicing fruits with a samurai sword on the Wii, she announces excitedly, “I’m ready to slice people now!!!” You might also want to keep all knives out of reach.

You might…need to work on your toddler’s egocentricity if, when you are asking your husband if he is okay, and she pipes up and says, “I’m NOT okay! I’m sick! I’m very sick! See my sick face?”

You might…need to finally clarify anatomical issues when your daughter repeatedly rubs your chest like two genies are going to pop out while continuously and suspiciously questioning you, “Are there babies in there?? There ARE babies in there. Are you sure there aren’t babies in there???”

You might… be a bad wife if you enjoy a it bit too much when your husband gets a little turned around on the way to someone’s house, then, upon arrival, says “let’s not mention that when we go inside”, and then as soon as the hosts answer the door, your toddler immediately informs them, “Daddy missed.”

You might…have just heard no truer words when your toddler tells you “We can talk right now, but we’ll be quiet in just a minute. In 20 years.”

Farm Production, Southern Style.

November 14, 2009 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Toddlers: The Experience

We visited some friends at their farm today. Ali got to see many things…

Including being shocked that “fishing” didn’t at all mean what she thought it meant:
It was a bit of a jolt, but fascinating nonetheless…

She enjoyed climbing all of the different fences to see the animals…

Including the Llamas digging deeply into each other’s personal space…

And the cows practicing for an AT&T Mobility commercial…

Of course, the approach of the Llamas took away all of the allure of climbing the fence, but she was willing to watch MOMMY pet the Llama…
And then she got to go for a ride in the nicest “go-cart” ever, fully enclosed and air conditioned:
In her journeys with Daddy, she experienced the vast amounts of cows,

The donkeys,

(Apparently also wanting in on that “More Bars in More Places” campaign):
And SUPPOSEDLY, she actually petted a Llama, but there was a suspicious lack of proof of her sudden increased braveness with Daddy over Mommy.

Hmm.

At any rate, the farm was beautiful, with all sorts of gorgeous creatures,

And especially talented in it’s creative output, as Chris left with these:

If only there were more SEC Championship Ticket Producing Cows in the world. . .

Ugly Ducks.

November 13, 2009 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . .

Ali and I have been taking trips to the park lately to feed the geese. And, because we’re nice (and we’re afraid of what they’d do to us if we didn’t), we’ve also fed the overly pushy and extraordinarily frightening Ugly Ducks.

…of whom I mentioned one day on Twitter and Facebook, and no one seemed to know what I was talking about (except for my one Zoologist friend).

So, let me introduce you to quite possibly the ugliest creature that God has ever made:

I’ve heard that this is what happens when Geese and Ducks decide to inter-marry, but I don’t know if that’s true… but they are covered in bulbous red and slimy warts, are unattractively spotty, waddle like a lady 12 months pregnant, and make the most disgusting belchous quacks you’ve ever heard.

But, after all, they need to eat too.

The first day we went was a spur of the moment decision after gymnastics, so instead of taking our old bread, we actually paid about 20 times the retail price for THEIR cat food to feed THEIR geese:

I know. It’s Stupid Tax.

But it made for some happy geese, ugly ducks, and a toddler:

When we first got there, Ali was thrilled and pointing at the Uglies:

But I quickly warned her (thanks to my previous Mommy Mistakes) that if she did that, they WOULD bite her finger.

So then., I got about 567 shots of her doing this:

I didn’t have to tell her twice.

She much preferred feeding the pretty white ducks who were safely out of biting range to the ugly ducks who were harassing her:

And I can’t say I blame her.

But she did dole out some of her princess goodness on the uglies, as well:

Then, after a few laps of “Balance Beam Walking”,

It was time to bid the ducks, geese, and uglies goodbye.

Yikes. She should be having nightmares about Ugly Ducks instead of Cinderella’s Dress – I certainly am.

I’ll Fit Myself, ThankYouVeryMuch.

November 12, 2009August 12, 2011 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Rachel's "Brilliant" Marketing Ideas, Utter Silliness

I’ve been seeing this term thrown around in a lot of the newspaper ads lately, not to mention the Southern Women’s Show… “Certified Bra Fitter”…or a different variety is “Certified Bra Specialist”.

And it makes me ponder…how DOES one become a certified in bra fitting?

I googled it to satiate my curiosity, but came up zilch – except for one bra-fitting certification school in England (Tuition is £200, by the way), but that doesn’t count, because I’m sure the certifications are different on this side of the pond.

So where DO you get trained? Is it a course at the local Community College? Or maybe the Technical College??

I can see their commercials now, where they scroll the degrees available across the screen…

Get your degree now!!! In all of our available majors…

Court Reporting
Medical Billing
Medical Assistant
Dental Hygienist
Bra Fitting Specialist

And if they DO offer that certification, are only women allowed to enroll in that course? Because you know the line of guys signing up for “Auto Mechanic” would totally change majors, if nothing else for the “lab” classes.

And, speaking of men, what if there were such a thing as a “Certified Boxer Fitter” or a “Certified Brief Fitter”?

Can you imagine the response you’d get from your husband if you said “Honey, your boxers don’t seem to be fitting right. I think it might be causing your back problems. And your posture might improve too, if you were fitted properly. I scheduled you an appointment with Derrick – He’s a Certified Boxer Specialist down at Macy’s.”

(Insert your Husband’s unprintable response here.)

“But Honey, they’re having a Boxer Fitting Event!!”

Sometimes, Practice Just Makes Unfit.

November 11, 2009 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Storytime

My brain is quite scattered today, as my poor sweet husband has had the stomach flu. He is feeling better now, but it was bad enough to make him go to the doctor for only the third time in our 8 years of marriage.

He caved and went for the express purpose to rule out the possibility of having The Flu Who Must Not Be Named.

And, thank goodness, he had no flu of any kind, so now we’re just hoping that Ali and I don’t catch his 24 hour stomach bug.

But due to the extreme rarity of Chris getting sick (which I make up for and then some, as you might have noticed), I’ve been reminiscing about the last time Chris got a stomach flu: the weekend after we found out that I was pregnant with Ali.

Of course, we were scared to death that I would get it, but I thankfully just stuck to the nausea already gifted to me by pregnancy.

But all this thinking got me going down memory lane…

As I have mentioned before, it took us a good two years to get pregnant.

Which means that I peed on approximately 367 sticks until one finally turned up positive.

Somewhere around stick #213, I pretty much believed that I would never see a positive result, so I almost quit looking at them. It became more of a hobby at that point.

I found ways to cut costs on my new stick-peeing hobby, which primarily consisted of buying my pregnancy tests by the truckload from a great internet site for less than $2 a test. But every now and then, I’d buy some on sale somewhere else – you know, just to mix it up a bit.

After all, no one wants a boring hobby.

The first week of May 2006, I wasn’t feeling well. As usual, I added up all of my symptoms, figured out how they could all point to me being pregnant, and pulled out one of the different tests that I’d bought on clearance at CVS.

As usual, it was negative. No big surprise.

However, a couple of days later, I was feeling worse and worse. I was nauseous, exhausted, and QUITE emotional. My boss made me cry at work, something I’d done maybe one other time in my 8 years at the company.

After regaining my composure in the ladies’ room and returning to his office, he had the ~~nerve~~ wisdom to say, “Maybe you’re pregnant…you should take a test tonight.”

(In his defense, he knew we’d been trying to get pregnant for the last century and a half.)

I blubbered, “I took a test on Tuesday. It was negative.”

“Take another one. You never know.”

So, since I was given an excuse to blow another test (“My boss told me to!!”), I pulled out the other test from that same clearance two-pack that night and headed to the bathroom to commence my favorite hobby.

I was looking at the instructions on the wrapper on the way, and I stopped.

I stared.

And I screamed.

“Chris!!!! Come here!!!!!”

He ran up the stairs, panicked at the urgency of my tone.

“What? What??! Are you okay?”

“Yes! Ireadthetestwrong! I took a test on Tuesday and I read it wrong!!!! I’m PREGNANT!!!”

“What?? You take those things all the time. You know how to read them. Are you sure?”

“Yes! I thought that a positive result was a + and a –, but on this brand of test, a positive is a – and a –!”

At this point, we’re both beaming with disbelief and shock.

We said at the same time “Take another one just to be sure.”

So I did – I managed to somehow find it within myself (and my bladder) to take several more tests.

Plus, it was just so much fun to actually PASS one of those dang tests, I figured I better enjoy it while I could.

And so, the legacy that I give Ali in all of this is, despite my experience as being one of the most pregnancy tested women in the world, I still couldn’t manage to read it correctly when correct reading was really needed.

Luckily for her, she seems to have inherited her Father’s extra-careful, anally-thorough genes.

(And yes, my boss was, and still is, QUITE proud of himself for predicting my progeny.)

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This…

November 10, 2009 Rachel Callahan Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Toddlers: The Experience

Sorry I’m late in getting this annoucement out: The winner of the Prima Princessa DVD is Michelle from 5 Little Wolfs!

Saturday night after coming home from staying with Gramamma during the LSU game, Ali woke up screaming three different times – 2am, 5am, and 6am. She wouldn’t talk, but she would shake and nod her head.

“Are you hurting?”

(Shake)

“Did you have a bad dream?”

(Nod)

“What was your bad dream about?”

(Horrified Screaming)

Wow. It must have been awful.

The next morning, I asked her about her bad dreams.

She remembered immediately. “They were about Cinderella. And her two sisters. They were tearing up her pink dress. They messed it up.”

I said, “But the Fairy Godmother came and made her an even prettier blue dress!”

“Yes, but the pink dress. It was messed up. The sisters weren’t nice.”

So let me get this straight, kiddo: You watched Snow White with no qualms, including the part where the evil Queen instructs the scary huge man to kill Snow White and put her heart in a box as proof…

But then, you watch Cinderella at Gramamma’s house, the happiest place in your world, and then scream all night about a dress being torn up?

Granted, they’re not very nice looking:

But they’re certainly less disturbing than this:
Ever since, our conversations keeps going back to, “The pink dress. It’s all messed up. The sisters – they were not nice. They tore up the dress.”

I’m starting to get it – fashion is important to Ali. The stuff that can make dreams or nightmares.

I think she might have a future on Project Runway.

But in that case, she better get over being so upset by dresses being torn apart, because the judges…

have an eery resemblance to these two.

When Tailgations Collide.

November 9, 2009December 2, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, Gameday Fashion

The LSU / Alabama game is always a study in human nature worth experiencing. ESPECIALLY before the game (and, I daresay after the game may even be more so, but we’ve never stayed to risk it.)

LSU fans are hugely supportive and tailgate-esque, nearly as much so as Alabama. So when the two come together, Tuscaloosa becomes a whole seriously crazy place.

Due to the massive and quite passionate crowds, everyone makes sure to protect their territories a little more than usual. For instance, these signs were posted all over the grounds of the Religious Student Center at which we park:
In case you can’t read that last sentence…
I never knew that God was so passionate about illegal tailgating.

At any rate, the party atmosphere is quite high when LSU comes to town, including sidewalks being completely impassable due to line-dancing crowds:
And, although there are always the troublemaking outliers, their shared obsession with tailgating seem to bring the two teams together, rather than create disturbances:
Now, I have a few friends from Louisiana, and they have told me many times that Louisianians are a very unique breed. And with that comes all sorts of fun tailgate toys that we don’t have. Like, for instance, whole pig roasters:(In fact, I was told there were actually TWO whole pigs underneath all of those smoldering coals.)

Kinda nasty, but I bet it’s tasty.

And, since LSU is SUCH a heavy tailgating team, the Alabama crazies step it up a notch to ensure their dominance.

Chris found these two fancy ladies…
But their Gentleman, uh, “Companion”, wasn’t too happy about sharing them:I guarantee you that somewhere in Alabama, there’s been a wedding occur in those outfits.

There were superheroes present for both teams:

And, as usual, some interesting fashion statements:(I love how she took this fall’s hot plaid fashion trend and stepped it up a notch with the help of her bedazzler to come up with a feyancee Alabama shirt.)

And, LSU fans have some pants that rival the complete tackiness of some of Alabama’s menswear:
But, if you just don’t know what to wear, a Mario Jumpsuit works quite well:(For the record, he’s wearing an Arkansas Razorbacks hat. I think he may have gotten lost…)

But no matter how hard you work on your team-to-outfit coordination, it may not stop you from having a serious wardrobe malfunction:
Poor thing. But she never seemed to notice

I had asked Chris before the game if he was going to be moody and angry, seeing as how I knew it would be a close game. He defended himself and said that he was never moody and angry! Maybe stressed, but NOT moody and angry.

I chuckled.

Then we arrived at the stadium, and his nerves hit him.

Chris: “Can I pre-apologize for being moody and angry?”

Me: “Nope! That just proves that your moodiness and angriness was pre-meditated, which makes it less acceptable!”

Chris: “No, I am not premeditating being moody and angry, I just think I might be susceptible to the temptation to be moody or angry at some point during this game.”

Me: “Still no – being aware of that just means that you have the knowledge to make the decision to work extra hard not to be moody and angry.”

I must say, he did fairly well, especially considering the stress level of the game.

Not to say that he DIDN’T have to apologize, but still.

Other people found different ways of dealing with their stress in the stadium.

For instance, there was a couple two rows in front of us – let’s call them Gropey McGropey Pants and Gropey McGropey Dress – who found that they felt MUCH better if they stood up (especially at times when everyone behind them was sitting) and thoroughly groped each other’s backsides. Repeatedly. And for tortuously extended time periods.

Imagine about ten rows of muffled laughter behind them.

And then there are always those fans who feel much better if they invade the personal space of complete strangers. I had one guy clap me on the back HARD five times in a row – and I had never seen him before in my life.

And then – another girl ran up from nowhere and slapped me three times on the butt with her shaker.

Now that I think about it, I’m wondering if I had some sort of instructional sign on my back…

At any rate, we won, Chris left happy, and I was a good wife and showed how much I love and respect my husband by dressing Ali in this for Church yesterday morning:

Of course, she was horribly embarrassed when she got to church and realized that half the congregation was wearing pretty much the same outfit.

Not that we take our football too seriously or anything down here.

Consult Your Physician Before Starting Any Blogging Routine.

November 7, 2009 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., I'm a Blog Geek, Just My Luck

Remember last weekend when I mentioned my face’s graceful run-in with my camera on the camping trip?

Well, it’s time to elaborate.

This particular camping trip is a year-long anticipated destination for the dozens of kids that attend. There are games and scavenger hunts and treasures and friends and everything a kid could want. It’s Heaven, I tell you.

In Ali’s treasure bag, there was this Parachuting Chicken, for which I have developed a sharp dislike: Stupid Chicken.

Anyway, Ali received her treasure bag, and we were going through her Utopia of Goodies together, all excitedly. She got to the Chicken and knew exactly what it was.

“Throw it up in the air, Mommy!! Throw it REEEEEEEAL high, Mommy!!”

So we walked out into the field, I pulled my arm back with all of the eight-years-of-childhood-softball-pitching power that I could muster, and I threw the chicken as high as I could.

Except that the chicken didn’t go very high at all.

Because on it’s fast and powerful upward ascent, my arm met with my camera, which happened to be in my jacket pocket.

And from there, my arm lifted my camera up into my lip, face, and nose, with all of the eight-years-of-childhood-softball-pitching power that it could muster.

It was one of those facial impacts that immediately brings tears to your eyes, not because you’re in pain (which you are), but because it just knocked every drop of liquid out of your head with the impact.

We walked away for a minute as I tried to silently compose myself. My lip felt swollen and busted, and everything hurt, but there seemed to be no spurting of blood, so I assumed that I didn’t permanently damage anything.

My lip swelling went down as my nose swelling came up. My nose was very tender and sore for the next two days.

Then, as the tenderness went away, my nose began a new trick: every time any pressure was put on it, it gave me an immediate and piercing headache.

Nice.

After two days of headaches, I started feeling a ton of pressure along with those headaches.

So, I made my second trip to the doctor in a week, only to find out that….

My nose, she is broken.

(And no, my teeth don’t look like fangs in real life.)

“There’s nothing we can do about it, but the pain should go away in four to six weeks if it heals correctly. Just don’t touch it until then. And come back in six weeks so that we can make sure it healed right.”

Have you ever tried keeping anything from touching your nose? How about for six weeks?

I never knew that my nose touched so many things a day until it was told not to.

So, the moral of this story is:

If I weren’t a blogger, I wouldn’t carry my camera with me at all times.

And if I hadn’t had my camera in my pocket, that stupid chicken would have flown high in the sky, and my nose would not currently feel like it was filled with cement and daggers.

But I do it all for you.

Blogging: it has serious health risks.

As do stupid parachuting chickens.

Stung by The Birds and The Bees.

November 6, 2009 Rachel Callahan Toddlers: The Experience

My good friend Lydia (of Mom Jeans and the Dreaded “Long Butt” fame) had her fourth baby Tuesday night (obviously she is braver than I). A few of us split up the rest of their kids, and I got the lucky draw of Radford, baby #3:

I really think he may be the cutest 16 month old in the world.

So, for two and a half days, I practiced what it would be like to have TWO kids. And you know, it’s really not so bad. I could totally handle it – if only I could pop out a 16-month-old instead of a needy, not-sleeping, screaming newborn.

Radford loves everyone and thinks that everyone loves him. Which is a correct assumption on all but one creature’s case:

(Don’t worry…no toddlers were put in harm’s way by the making of that video…Oreo is all hiss and no scratch.)

Now, being that Ali isn’t accustomed to living with a BOY, except for her Father, who is the epitome of couth and manners at all times <cough>, she’s been learning all about the male species…like what it REALLY means to not just burp, but to BELCH.

Wow, that kid is talented.

And no wonder – he eats like a MAN. He ate five Banana Nut muffins for breakfast on Thursday, and was begging for a sixth, signing “more” and “please” as fast as he could.

….which led to quite the crumbly toddler:

But when I cleaned up his mess, I realized that maybe he didn’t eat QUITE five muffins after all:

Radford also taught Ali how men sit…

(All he needs is the remote control)

And he how to be sure and make a big production of filling one’s diaper:

But I’m afraid that the MOST memorable thing that she learned from Radford was the difference between boys and girls.

Poor thing…I think she may be scarred for life.

It all started Thursday morning..Radford woke up sopping wet, so I peeled his pajamas off, wiped him off the best that I could, put a new diaper on him, and stuck him in the crib with Ali while I ran him a bath.

I came back in less than two minutes later to find him completely naked, with his already-wet-again diaper laying in the bed.

(At least he left it on long enough to pee in it.)

(Either that, or he took it off and then aimed at it.)

Ali was staying as far away from him as she could, backed up into the corner of the crib, but staring at him with a look of confusion and complete disturbedness.

She didn’t say anything about it then, but I could tell she was troubled by his nether region weirdness.

A bit later, I was changing his diaper, and Ali said, “Ew! Mommy! He POOPED in his diaper!!”, all while staring at his, well, parts.

“That’s not poop, honey.”

“Well then what DID he do in his diaper?!”

Trying to avoid this inevitable conversation, I said, “Well, he tee-teed in his diaper…”

(she keeps staring, wide-eyed)

So I finally said, “That’s his parts, baby.”

“No it’s not, it’s his tee-tee!”

“Nope, it’s his parts.”

Confused, she said, “I have parts…”

“I know, but his parts are different that yours because he’s a boy.”

“ooooh…..”

….then she walked away, her face completely reading “I just lost all of my innocence about life.”

I’m afraid she’ll never be able to look at Radford the same again.

The Holiday Shopping (Un)Guide.

November 5, 2009 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Utter Silliness

I’m sure that all of you have recently received at least one copy of this catalog:

Yes, yes. It’s overwhelming, full of millions of things costing billions of dollars, all important items that your kids Need!!! Right!!!! Now!!!!

So, I decided to help you out and make your toy buying decisions a little easier. I have pored over the book (hence the wrinkles in the cover) to categorize and suggest gifts for your individual needs.

It’s okay, no thank you notes are necessary (but, like all of the guilt-inducing tip jars at restaurants with no wait-staff that you’re wondering exactly what you’d be tipping them FOR, they’re “appreciated.”)

First of all, let’s start with the baby dolls. There are baby dolls for every specific little girl.

If you have a very political-correctness-sensitive child, then this is the baby doll for her. Toys R Us obviously paid thousands of dollars to some lawyer somewhere to come up with this description:

“Fully articulated with appropriate ethnic details” – what the heck?!

I guess they were advised not to use their first draft, “You can choose from the white baby or the baby with slanty eyes!”

Anyway. If your child is not into racial differences, but more into the things that Ali is into, such as POO, (or, if you feel like you just don’t get to change enough dirty diapers each day as it is), then the Whoopsie Doo baby is definitely the one for you:

I know that these have been around for a while, and I still can’t FATHOM what brilliant person thought that the world needed a DOLL that POOPED.

For the H1N1 conscious child, then definitely buy her Baby Ah-Choo:

Yes, she even comes with her own thermometer. I wonder where you stick it? I know where Ali would think it went…

The final two doll choices are for those more “alternatively minded” parents.

If you want your child to understand what dolls look like when they are tripping on LSD, then these “Explorer Girls” are for you:

Seriously. Quit staring at me. You’re freaking me out.

Or, if you want to skip the stuffing and just give your child SKELETON DOLLS, then there’s a choice for you as well! Introducing, Skelanimals!

Tell me THAT wouldn’t scare you in the middle of the night in a dark hallway…

Okay, so we’ve covered the doll buying guide. Let’s move on to the gift to give the child that you really want to contract brain disease. There are a couple of great toys on the market for that this year:

You have the classic “Use the Force” motif, where the kid is hooked up to electrodes that use their brainwaves to move things,

Or, the game from that Star Trek episode that sucked everyone in and made them robots, again hooking your kid’s brain up to the game:Thank goodness that Wesley Crusher had the guts to save the day and rescue everyone from that mind-crushing game.

(Yes, I might be a recovering Trekkie. What of it?)

Okay. So I know what you’re wondering. Are there any gifts out there that can prepare my child to use websites such as E-Harmony and Match.com?

Why yes! I’m glad you asked! You need to buy them Facechipz: “Collectible friendship tokens with unique online codes that kids trade to create an online community!!!”

It’s E-Harmony Junior! They’ll be ready for the online dating world by fourth grade!

Another gift that goes perfectly with their Match.comChipz is this one:
…because it’s always good to foster secrecy and drama in girls, starting at age six. That way, you’ll be set up for the tween stage to be ALL that it can be!

Now, let’s move on to boy toys for a bit. I know after seeing those scary Explorer girl dolls, you’re hoping there’s some druggie boy stuff out there this year too.

Well don’t worry – no need to be disappointed! Because whoever came up with this toy/movie name HAD to have been high: …because Revenge of the Bumblebee would have been too boring on it’s own.

Every year, the first question that parents ask is, “What toy can I get my kid this year that will annoy me all year long with it’s stupid, recorded, repeated phrases?”

Well, I’m here to deliver. If you’re wanting to be on the edge of insanity all year by a talking toy, then I definitely recommend Wisecracking Spider-Man:…because “Who’s your favorite webslinger” is SUCH a funny wisecrack.

For those who are more interested in your children hiding in the back of the closet because they’re so scared of their toys, then Screature is definitely for you:

“uses sensors to sense and attack PREY”?!?!?! Notice that prey is not included. So guess what Screature is going to think his prey is?

Uh-huh.

“Turn Christmas morning at YOUR house into the horrors of Jurassic Park!!!”

But don’t worry. You can get a toy that will serve two functions: it will allow your family to fight Screature off, AND teach your children how to be terrorists, all for just $39.99!!

Be sure to buy one the companion DVDs, Al-Qaeda in America, Using Militia to Change Your Country, or The Ethical Use of Bombing and Attacks to accompany their training tool.

If you’re a bit more of a Pacifist and want to simply make sure that your child buys into the hyper-branding of American culture, then I definitely recommend The Home Depot Power Tools Workshop:

Perfect for instilling manly values AND brand awareness, starting at age three!

Speaking of three-year-olds, they can be a bit explosive. So if you are feeling the need to contain them, then buy them a cage, cleverly disguised as a trampoline:

Now. If your greatest desire is for your children to grow up and be featured on such shows as “The Real Housewives of (your town)” or “Entourage”, then you DEFINITELY must get them one of these:

But don’t worry – you don’t have to sacrifice your environmentalist ethics or compromise their green education to do so: They made sure to specify that these aren’t just normal Escalades, they are HYBRID Escalades!

You were so blinded by the pricetag that you didn’t notice the Hybrid part, eh?

Well, if that’s not enough to spend on your precious, then you can double it and get them a toy that can most definitely propel them farther and faster than any five year old should travel:

Yeah. Wow.

And finally, the MOST useless thing in the catalog – the only thing that I can’t think of ANYONE who could profit from (except maybe the kid who deserves switches and ashes in their stocking):

Let me get this straight: You’re selling Barn Animals and accessories, but the barn animals and farm equipment (i.e. accessories) are sold separately and, therefore, not included?

So. . . .I’m paying for what, exactly?

Well, that’s the Holiday Buying Guide – my hope is that ALL of you have been able to finish your Christmas list by the end of this post!