Rachel Callahan

Attempts in Keeping Our Gully From Being Washed.

September 19, 2009 Rachel Callahan Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, Toddlers: The Experience

Today was mine and Ali’s first day in Tuscaloosa this year. And, on top of that, it was her first time EVER scheduled to have the privilege of actually going into the stadium.

And the 80% chance of rain? And the week’s worth of rain that has already turned Alabama into a state-shaped mud-wrestling pit? Why, that would never curb Chris’ Football enthusiasm. And hey – I’m always up for an adventure, so we set off in the pouring rain, optimistically thinking that it would subside.

We were excited for the day, after we got over the early hour that Chris woke us up:
Okay, not really. He was actually quite merciful on us today. I’m pretty sure that his wake-up call of 7am for an 11:20am kick-off was his most female-friendly-football-day-rise-and-shine ever.

And for that, we applauded him:

This was our first relatively long car trip since potty-training really got serious, so we had to have another first: toddler usage of gas station bathroom.

(shudder.)

There was a doorway with the “men/women” sign on it that I assumed led to a hallway with the separate bathrooms.

I assumed wrong.

I twisted the knob a couple of times, and then was greeted with a very shrill, very rude, very redneck scream to “Back Off I’m IN HERE!!!!”

A few seconds later, Miss Overalls, Steel-Toed Boots, Camo-Ballcap and chew-stuffed cheeks stepped out and glared me AND my toddler (just in case it was Ali that was the shady doorknob villain) and stomped her steel toes away.

Wow. I had no idea that trying the door more than once was such a grievous sin.

Although I was much too scared of what she would do to me if I photographed her, I did get a shot of her hubby arguing with her, also in matching overalls:
Gotta love country gas stations.

At any rate, it POURED rain our entire hour’s drive to Tuscaloosa. We weren’t sure if we would actually be going to a game, or just taking a family car-wash-ride to Tuscaloosa and back, and the latter was looking more likely by the minute.

When we got there, we of course immediately had to go find the little girl’s room AGAIN, and so Ali and I decided to hang out inside for a few minutes:

However, in just a few minutes, it mercifully quit raining, and the sun actually started peeking out, so we went back outside to reconnect with Chris:
Due to the iffy weather that could turn at any second, people in Tuscaloosa were having to make the hard decisions…

Like, “Should I wear the mismatched plastic pants and hate myself, or take the chance of getting my elephant-embroidered prep pants (that I REALLY should hate myself for) wet?”

And the poor sorority girls – oh their dilemmas. They were having to decide between the usual uniform of stilettos-that-are-responsible-for-dozens-of-broken-ankles-after-too-many-smuggled-in-flasks-in-the-stadium, or the more practical but oddly-out-of-place rainboots:

Obviously, Miss Black Dress has her priorities more in order. I hope her ankles survive.

Ali and I epitomized tailgating as we people-watched and visited with Papa (Chris’ Dad)…
And Ali was feeling oddly cuddly, so I of course took advantage of every second of it:
But due to that 11:20 kickoff, tailgating was cut short to take the LOOOONG (with a toddler) walk to the stadium.

Once we got in, Ali was completely enamored by the amount of people in the stadium – she kept pointing out how MANY people were there. She spent a lot of time silently taking it all in:

AND she never let go of her ticket, given to her by Janet, a sweet tailgating neighbor. She was quite proud of it:

We sat in our seats for the first quarter and a half, all the while Ali pleading to go down and see the Elephant. So once the game was quite in hand, we picked up and headed down to meet Big Al before taking an early exit.
Of course, after having BEGGED to see him, she was terrified for her life.

But then, after we left the game, when we asked her what her favorite part was, she lost no time in telling us that it was “meeting the elephant.”

She’s so weird. I love it.

After rescuing her from the grip of the deadly beast, we hung around near the field for a few more minutes and also got some cheerleading-watching in:

She was interested in them, but not nearly as obsessed as I ~~feared~~ thought she might be.

But then, when we were leaving the stadium, Ali discovered her true love practicing their upcoming halftime show:

She quite assuredly told me “When I get to be a big girl, this is what I am going to do.”
She wouldn’t leave until they did, and so when the last “flag girl” was inside the stadium, we managed to pry her away, leaving the stadium in our wake:
And as soon as we got in the car and on the road again. . .

Apparently we were QUITE in God’s favor today.

Yearbook: The Cheerleader.

September 19, 2009 Rachel Callahan Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, Toddlers: The Experience

Freshman Year, 2007:

Before you can become a cheerleader, rigorous training must be completed, such as immediate bodily response to random words being yelled out like “Touchdown!!!”:

The Freshman uniform consisted of a warm-up suit for those cool games (since Freshmen Cheerleaders aren’t quite as resilient as older ones):

And a full cheerleading dress for the actual cheering portion:

Yes, yes, first year cheering can be a bit intimidating…

But if you don’t give it your all, you’ll get “The Eye” from the coach:

Sophomore Year, 2008:

In year two, cheerleaders get upgraded from the all-cotton one-piece uniform to a more genuine, synthetic polyester blend:

But don’t get too excited. Cheerleading is still serious business.

Oh, all right. Cheerleaders are supposed to be, well, “Cheery”.
But one thing you must avoid at all costs: Cheerleader Bad Hair Days.

Premiering tomorrow: Junior Year, 2009.

Said Cheerleader must have sensed that football season was about to start (for her), because she wanted to nap with not one, but TWO elephants today, a first for sure:

The Junior Year Uniform is ready and waiting to go, this year with the upgrade of Houndstooth,
And the other perk of Junior Year, actually getting to go INTO the stadium for the first time ever.

….which hopefully will not lead to having a completely soaked and sad cheerleader on our hands.

But either way, it should be an adventure.

Your Online Ticket to a New Life!

September 18, 2009 Rachel Callahan Utter Silliness

Have you noticed how everyone and their third cousin is now attempting a career in Spam Scam Emails? It’s not just the guys in Zimbabwe anymore – I now get them on a daily basis from all over the world, including Madame Petrov in Russia, Senor Martinez in Nicaragua, and even Sir Bennett in England!!

But the more spammer scammers that come out, the sloppier the scams get. I mean, if you can’t put together an English sentence well enough to even make a three word subject line sound right, do you REALLY think people will believe your story?

And so, if your a spam scammer, that’s why you need to enroll immediately in:

That’s right! Rachel’s Scam School is the Premier Online College to educate properly in the fine art of Spam Scam!!

Classes include:

English 101 – How to sound foreign, while at the same time having good enough English for it to be believable that you are a deposed and rich Prince in exile, who happens to have internet access in the cave in which you hide.

Target Identification – How to make sure the email addresses that you pick are the innocent and kind-hearted 100 year old ladies who actually happen to have email, not the 99.9999% of the population who would never in a million years wire you money.

Believability 101 – How to make your wiring instructions, monetary amounts, and reasons for doing so sound even remotely possible.

Creative Writing: The Sob Story – How to come up with an original, believable story such as about how your family was killed in a civil war and happened to leave you billions of dollars and a kind heart, making you motivated to give it all away to the lucky recipient of the email.

The Motivation of Greed – How to best prey upon the American culture of greed and the desire to get something for nothing to wipe away all logic and reason and make them blindly send their money to you in hopes of discovering a fortune in their bank account the next day.

But wait!!!! That’s not all!!!

The best part of enrolling in Rachel’s Scam School is that you don’t even have to pay for it!!! We have investors from Uganda and Kenya that are covering the costs of YOUR education as a way to get their funds out of their war-ravaged countries and invest in honest, hard-working people like you!

All that they request is a deposit to show your earnestness in pursuing your education and starting your home business. So if you can simply wire us $10,000, we will send you the materials for your coursework AND send you a $1,000,000 grant to help you start your new business and your new life!!!!

The lessons you learn from enrolling in Rachel’s Scam School are guaranteed to stay with you for the rest of your life.

It’s ALMOST too good to be true!!!

The Birds and the Cows

September 17, 2009 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck, Toddlers: The Experience

I’ve been avoiding the question for about nine months now. But I can’t keep putting her off.

It’d be better if she heard it from me, her mother, than learning about it from some random kid on the playground.

Or worse, the weird old guy lurking in the dairy aisle.

I know that she thinks it’s disgusting, but it’s time that she understands what a beautiful thing it really is.

Yes, it’s time for “the talk.”

I don’t think I can keep my cover any longer, using her original assumption that brown milk is just some nasty, good-for-you, organicey, vitaminey milk that Mommy drinks because she’s old.

It’s time she knew the truth: It’s ….. Chocolate.

I ran out of her milk and juice last week. It was breakfast time and I knew she wouldn’t drink water. In a moment of weakness, I pulled out the brown milk.

Ali gasped. “I have to drink Mommy’s BROWN milk?!?”

She took about two sips and wouldn’t drink anymore.

Much like us adults cringe at the thought of what liver and chitlins* and tongue actually IS and so therefore don’t like to eat it, brown milk (to Ali) has an air of nasty ickiness that wasn’t won over by the indisputable taste.

Since she didn’t notice it’s striking similarity to chocolate due to her misconception of it, my continued deception could have been possible, had it not been for a serious oversight on my part. I made the mistake of tweeting the first part of the story without finishing it.

Daddy came home and said excitedly, “Did you get to try something NEW and YUMMY today?!?!?!? Did you drink Mommy’s BROWN MILK?!?!?”

This, people, is why full and complete marital communication is VITAL to parenting.

Thanks to my partial communication, she’s now quite interested in my brown milk, and very desirous of trying it again.

And so, after nine months, I believe the deception is over.

I don’t think I’m going to be able to hide any longer that brown milk is really the “C” word.

* For those of you who aren’t from the South and are wondering what chitlins are, believe me, you DON’T want to know.

I’m Not Really a Fan of Apples, But I Know I’m Going to Love the Big One.

September 16, 2009 Rachel Callahan I'm a Blog Geek, New York Ninja Trip, Newsflash

Augh! I forgot to randomly pick and announce the winner of The Artist Within yesterday!! And the winner is…Lianne! Congrats!

So I’ve been sitting on some exciting news for a few weeks because I just haven’t really known how to bring it up without sounding – you know – like I think I’m a “somebody” blogger. So I don’t know any other way to say this than: I am NOT anywhere close to being an anybody AT ALL, nor do I think I am or pretend to be or think I will be anytime in the near future.

There. Now that we’ve cleared that up, a week from today, I will be flying to New York City!

I was invited to a Food Network Event with a couple dozen other bloggers, at which we will get to meet Food Network Star Robin Miller as she cooks us gourmet food for the debut/press release of a new cookware product, the Ninja!

(It will be kind of like being at a middle of the night infomercial, except that I am the person in the audience that gets to actually eat the food!!!)

Seriously, though, the Ninja looks like an awesome new product that will make the creation of some of my favorite products much easier – including smoothies, chicken salad (of which I am a connoisseur but have never attempted to make myself), and tzatziki sauce. I can’t wait to see it demonstrated and try it out for myself!

Of course I’ll be taking all of you along on the adventure with me, and since I’ve never been to New York City, I’m SURE that there will be adventure!

(Hopefully I won’t walk blocks and blocks only to find myself at the wrong building again, though. We’ll just leave those type of adventures in Chicago.)

I just hope that at no time in the next week do THEY realize that I’m not a “somebody” blogger and rescind my invitation!

Shhh…don’t tell them.

Blogger Integrity Information: Although my travel and accommodation is being provided by the host company for this trip, they are not paying me for or requesting that I blog about their product. All opinions that I have shared or will share in the future are my own opinions.

Memories are Like Scars…In a Good Way, Of Course.

September 15, 2009 Rachel Callahan Storytime

Being that I have a 2 1/2 year old, I often think about first memories. Mainly because Ali should be storing hers away any day now, whether it’s making flowers out of meat with Mommy and Daddy, learning to Pommel Horse on the toilet, or watching Mommy bravely catch a spider the size of a small dog and move it to a new home (which, by the way, a new and different huge spider moved right into that spot days later. Apparently, it’s a hot market).

Of course, knowing Ali, it will probably be one of her few and far between injuries. Like the fact that she fell out of the chair in my dressing room OVER A YEAR AGO and still refuses to sit in it, referencing it as “the chair I fell out of”. Yeesh.

But whatever it is, it should be soon, and I can’t wait to find out what “sticks”.

I never really knew what my first memory was until I had a quirky professor in college who was obsessed with them. One of my Psychology professors? No – umm, an Economics Professor. He offered ten extra points if we would simply write out our first memory and give it to him.

A bit freaky, I know. He said he collected them. I wonder if he made memory art out of them somewhat akin to Toenail Art.

But being the unbelievably super anal-retentive geeky student that I was (just call me Hermione), I of course spent the semester trying to analyze exactly what WAS my earliest memory so that I could properly complete the extra assignment.

And I’m pretty sure I figured it out: Disney World.

Or, more accurately, our trip TO Disney World. I’ve only been once, and I was 3 years old, so it is easy to separate these memories and put a date on them. I don’t remember a whole lot about the trip – just snippets…

We rode in the back of the car with the seats folded down…laid out on our sleeping bags. Something that has sadly gone by the wayside for some random reason like safety or something.
Me and JC were both given priceless treasures just for the trip – our own Walkmen. Tape players, of course. I now have an inkling that those were more for Mom and Dad’s sake than ours. But we cherished them anyway.
Smurf Crayons.
VERY vague memories of Disney World, but hardly at all. Maybe a Dumbo ride. That’s all I got. (moral of this point: If you want them to remember it, wait until your kids are older than three to take them to Disney World.)

But the MOST vivid memory I have of the whole trip left it’s mark on me – literally.

We were staying with my Aunt and Uncle who lived on the beach (as best as I remember). We were walking down a cement walkway to the beach, and I tripped and fell, and somehow managed to cut a perfectly round, perfectly dime-sized hole on top of my left hand. As memory serves me (24 years old as it is), it was spurting blood everywhere. I might have lost a quart or gallon or so.

Of course, being three years old, this was traumatic.

And, my Aunt had no band-aids.

Of course, being three years old, that made it all the more traumatic. And I’m sure that I proceeded to make it more traumatic for anyone within earshot.

In fact, for YEARS I thought that was why I was left with a scar on the back of my hand – the lack of immediate application of a band-aid, preferably with some sort of cartoon character on it (which speeds healing, of course).

I have since reconciled and bandaged over this issue with my Aunt. So much so that she approved of me exposing our bloody past to all of you.

(I crack myself up.)

The truth is, I THANK my Aunt for my first memory, because it’s the very LACK of band-aid that made the memory stay with me. If she’d given me a band-aid that day, I’d have no first memory at all except for a vague visual of a big plastic Dumbo.

I still have a very faint scar, perfectly round and dime-sized, and I like it. I like keeping my memories close by.

So…what was YOUR first memory? You know, for my own freaky little collection. I’ll even give you ten bonus points.

(My professor would be so proud.)

Kind of Like a Slideshow…Or A Pretty Pink Princess Photographical Parade.

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

Ali was invited to a Fairy Princess Birthday party on Saturday. The honored Princess was Abby, who was turning four. Ali was thrilled at the prospect of a party full of princesses, so we prepared the present in princess fashion and set off for Princess Paradise:

We were immediately rushed upstairs to the Princess Preparation Palace before we got attacked by the Pirates. The birthday girl and Head Honcho Princess herself shut and locked the door and then took over and immediately stripped Ali down and replaced her peasant clothes with rightful (though not exactly perfectly fitting) attire for a princess:

Speaking of Abby, her hair was magically done just as a birthday Princesses’ hair should be:

I’ve GOT to get my Mom to give me French-Braiding lessons. Although I might do better to find a teacher who doesn’t have to use all ten of their toes, both sides of their mouth and their chin create said look.

There were many princesses creating a room full of giggling and squealing girls. Mia made sure to acquire a proper steed for a princess to ride on,

And AJ was a Ballerina Princess.
Yes, it was a room full of princesses of every kind.

And David.

Poor David. He gets Brave Daddy of the Year Award.

After all Princesses Properly Prepared, they hurried downstairs to make Magic (albeit messy) Princess Wands:

At which point they proceeded to smoke the wands in a very Princess-Like Fashion:
Some Princesses found the Wands too confining, and so went straight for the good stuff:

And then, what really goes better with Chocolate-Covered-Princesses than to play in the sand for a bit?

A good gritty outer coating with warm and sticky insides…nice.

After everyone was properly dipped and battered, it was time to head to the Piñata. The excited children were called forth and lined up,
And then we all turned and watched with horror in as several huge branches from a tree randomly started cracking, breaking, and falling onto the cars in slow motion:

After all, what’s a party without vehicular damage?

As the brave men faced the danger of more falling branches and went to survey the damage,

The children all waited with impatience and the women looked on with concern.

Finally, after all affected cars were surveyed and moved, the endless line of princesses (and a few princes) formed:

The birthday girl took the first turn – four swings per person, no blindfold. This thing should break in no time.

Her Princess Groupies looked on:

Unfortunately, it was quickly learned that Princesses have a tendency to swing like girls:

And although the older princesses had slightly better posture,

Nothing was going to be breaking any time soon.

(It is a Law of the Universe that Piñatas always last longer than adults would prefer and much shorter than kids would choose.)

So, on round two, Greg went to find the Big Guns. Ali was the first to get to try out the Aluminum bat:

However, a girlish swing does not fix by virtue of a bigger bat.

Luckily, some of the other Princesses got a bit more into it, using their eyebrows, tongues,

and even closing their eyes for added strength.
But ultimately, it took a Pirate to finally bust it open.

(I bet you thought we were just imagining the Pirates after us earlier, didn’t you?)

After the Pirates and Princesses gathered their future sugar comas,

We decided that they most definitely needed cake to maximize their blood to sugar ratio.
And so, after Chocolate Wands, Piñata Candy and Cupcakes, our brood of Princesses sat, covered from head to Princess Dress in Chocolate, sucking on their candy, completely zoned out to the world around them:

And THAT is the true sign of Princess Party Perfection.

Thomas and the Big, Big, Problem

September 12, 2009 Rachel Callahan Utter Silliness

Ali is still in love with Thomas.

And call us immature, but Chris and I can’t help but get the giggles when we are reading or watching it with her and Thomas’ whistle comes up.

I know, I know, the writers are British, and across the pond, cookies are biscuits and bathrooms are loos. But seriously – how many times can you use the word “toot” and not expect us to laugh?

“Thomas tooted with joy!!!”

“Thomas tooted and he tooted and he tooted some more, but he just couldn’t work up any steam.”

“Thomas saw Percy coming around the bend, so he worked up all of his energy and tooted as loudly as he could at him to warn him of the danger ahead!”

Obviously, Thomas has an issue with flatulence.

But Thomas has been around a while now and is getting old, and sometimes, those sorts of problems turn into much bigger ones.

We were over at my parent’s house, and they had a Thomas book I’ve never seen before. When Mom read this next page, I had to stop the story-telling and ask if she had just made that up. I seriously could not believe my eyes when I saw this one:

Oh, Thomas. Lucky for you, the Knapford Station Gift Shop sells Tank-Engine-Sized Depends.

Maybe they could help you with that problem at the ~~crap~~ scrap yard?

The Family Band.

September 11, 2009 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Toddlers: The Experience

Since mine and Chris’ relationship originated from our shared love of music, one of our goals this year was to get our guitars back and out play more often with Ali. And so, we had a good old fashioned family singalong a couple of nights ago.

Although this video is a little longer than I normally publish, I’m sure you’ll find it useful. In this Vlog (“Video Blog”, for those of you who think I just typoed the word “blog”), you will learn valuable musical skills, such as:

How useful feet can be when playing the guitar.
It’s hard to clap when you are strumming the guitar.
Or holding the camera.
“If you’re happy and you know it, say Axiomatically Bombastic!!” IS a legitimate verse to “Happy and You Know it”. At least it is to a two year old.

(If you’re wondering how that phrase made it into her vocab, you can read about it here)
There’s nothing wrong with swapping the roles of the hands right in the middle of a song.
You must be very careful not to stifle your own music.

Obviously, with the originality and caliber of our song choice and the sheer talent of Ali’s guitar playing, we’ll be traveling with The Taubls in no time.

Sold As Is: No Returns or Exchanges on This Post.

September 10, 2009 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck

IHateMyTeeth. IHateMyTeeth. IHateMyTeeth. IHateMyTeeth.

How old do I have to be to trade all of my teeth in for some fakes? Although my Grandmother used to thoroughly freak me out (and make me a bit jealous of her mysterious talents) when she would pop her teeth in and out to impress us grandkids, this stuff never looked so good as it does now:

So. I had ANOTHER root canal yesterday. That would make five.

I’m pretty sure I’ve broken the Guinness Book of World Records for number of fillings and root canals for a twenty-seven year old.

And yes, my dentist called it a rooty-tooty. Again. Which compels me to communicate:

Dear Dr. G:

You’re a great dentist, and I really like you (although I’m not really impressed with how you sell yourself to women by promoting your, um, “attractiveness” on huge billboards and mall advertisements.)

BUT making a root canal sound like candy does NOT make it fun and tasty like candy. It just makes me wish I were eating candy rather than being shot in the ROOF OF MY MOUTH and my cheek, drilled, stuffed, cauterized, filled, and in general tortured by you.

(Then again, maybe my desire to eat candy is where all of these problems originated from anyway.)

And now that I think about it, your whole torture chamber motif kinda takes away from the whole attractiveness thing that you’re going for on all your fancy-shmancy signage. Just sayin’.

Sincerely,

Your Fully Rootified and Tootified Patient, Rachel

I feel better now.

Besides the rooty-tooty fun itself, other things that made this dental visit “shpeshul” included:

X-Ray tech comes in to take an x-ray.

“Upper left side, correct?”

“Yup.”

Then she proceeds to x-ray my upper RIGHT side. By the time I realize what she is doing, she has my mouth crammed full of x-ray-cut-your-mouth-open-if-you-move-“but-oh-can-you-please-bite-down-a-bit-harder?”-sharp-and-cruel-objects.

She takes said incorrect x-ray, and then I timidly say (worried that she had just used some new backwards x-ray –technology and I was going to look like that obnoxious know-it-all yet WRONG patient), ‘”Umm, wasn’t that the wrong side?”

”No – you said left, right?”

”Yeah…but that was my right side…”

”No it wasn’t..that was your………….OHMYGOODNESS!!! I haven’t done that in two years!! I’m so sorry!!!”

She then commences my second dose of x-ray-cut-your-mouth-open-if-you-move-“but-oh-can-you-please-bite-down-a-bit-harder?”-sharp-and-cruel-object torture.

After my lovely rooty-tooty was all fresh n’ fruity, my dentist gave me my prescriptions, including pain meds. I told him that I couldn’t take them without puking, and would he mind prescribing me some Phenergan to go with?

“Sure, but what CAN you take without it? I’ll just prescribe you that instead!”

“Uh, nothing. It all makes me puke. I promise.”

“Ooookay…”

But apparently, his usual Phenergan brand name was discontinued, so he went behind the reception area to look up a new one.

A minute later, he calls out happily, “Hey, would you like that in a suppository?”

”Um, NO.”

(Dentist-ey giggles ensue from the back room)

It’s good to know that between his rooty-tooty vocabulary and his potty-ish sense of humor, my Dentist is beating the odds of his profession’s rate of depression.

And that just makes me feel rooty-tooty.