Rachel Callahan

Unearthing a More Colorful Brain.

March 21, 2017March 23, 2017 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Kids: The Experience., Mystery Solved, Quirky quirky quirkiness, Synesthesia, Weird Strange and True

“1 is red – right, mom?”

This matter-of-fact question Noah asked Monday morning while doing his math (in my dirty dressing room floor as I hung up clothes) turned his school day on end. What followed was a fascinating day of me interrogating him while becoming more and more intrigued with his brain as he very factually and without hesitation answered all of my inquiries.

“Do all numbers have a color?”

“Yes!”

“0?”

“Black.”

“2?”

“Yellow. 5 is yellow too.”

“3?”

“Blue.”

“4?”

“Orange. And 6, 7, and 8 are purple, 9 is pink. 10 is obviously red and black.”

Now it made so much sense why, after deciding to use colored pencils for math a couple weeks ago, he had started to want to do more math each day.

“What about letters? Do they have colors?”

“Obviously. A is red. B is blue and pink. C is yellow and D is brown. E is orange and F is blue and purple.”

“Days of the week? Do they have colors?”

“Yup. Yesterday was a yellow day and the day before that was a red day. Wednesday is probably a brown day. Brown or beige.”

“So what about Saturdays?”

“What did I just say that they were?? Red, Mom!!”

I had just discovered that my six-year-old had grapheme-color synesthesia. AND I WAS TOTALLY GEEKING OUT.

Grapheme-color synesthesia: When an individual’s perception of numerals and letters is associated with the experience of colors. Like all forms of synesthesia, Grapheme-color synesthesia is involuntary, consistent, and memorable.

I’d heard about synesthesia in all its forms in my psych classes in college (a fascination that I pursued in my electives), and had more recently listened to a podcast about a woman with Mirror-Touch Synesthesia – a very real and terrifying condition that caused her to physically feel everything that she saw anyone else physically experience. Hug, punch, shivers, itches – whatever.

Synesthesia is a phenomenon where two or more senses are triggered by each other in an involuntary way. Color Synesthesia is the most common, and approximately 1% of the population experiences it. A theory is that it is associated from first memories of learning the letters – kids latch onto the colors of their refrigerator magnets, or the letters in their alphabet book. But this was disproven when they discovered synesthetes who couldn’t possibly have had those early life associations. I can’t help but wonder if there is still some connection there, and if more kids have synesthesia now that they learn their letters with blazingly colorful learning apps.

There are many more bizarre synesthesias, such as where you experience tastes when certain words or sounds are spoken, where smells have a color, when time has a spatial place around you, and where letters and other things are personified as little personalities. Often, people who are synesthetes will experience more than one type, so we had other fun conversations yesterday as well, such as,

“What color is the smell of chicken fingers?”

“What?? Mom! That’s disgusting!!”

“Where is Wednesday? Is it to the left or right of you?”

“I have NO idea.”

I found an online test for synesthetes and started Noah on it. It asks you to pick a color from the whole spectrum for each letter and number, randomized and multiple times, to see if you’re consistent with your answers. It was a bit long for a six-year-old’s attention span, however, so we haven’t finished it yet. But it was delightful to listen to his dialogue as he tried to pinpoint the colors.

“No…it’s a little lighter than that…more of a lavender. Mom, how do I get this to be lighter?”

“It’s more of a green-yellow. No, not that green. Not that one either.”

“9 is definitely pink. Not green. Help me get off the green!”

What fascinated me most was his complete consistency. When he got to B on the test, he asked “B is blue and pink. How do I do that on here? Should I just pick one or the other?”

All day long I randomly asked him the color of numbers and letters and he’d shoot back, with complete accuracy, what he’d told me before. I kept a running note in my phone because there was no way I could possibly remember his answers from one ask to the next.

While he was taking the test, Ali walked in and asked what he was doing. I explained to her that Noah saw letters and numbers in color.

“Oh! I do too. 1 is blue, 2 is lime green – “

“WRONG!” Noah didn’t even look up from his test to inform his sister that she was categorically incorrect about the properties of numbers.

Ali wasn’t so convinced that letters had a color, but she did think days of the week had color.

She started going through her list, with very specific colors, like “Tuesday is lime green and light yellow mixed together” and when she got to Friday,

“…and Friday is sunshine yellow…”

Noah piped up, appalled, “What?!? That’s Sunday!! You’re so weird.”

I had never had a more surreal conversation with my children, and I was loving every minute of it. I had turned into psychologist mom and there was no going back.

I found this picture online and showed it to him.

“What is in this picture?”

“Fives and twos.”

“How many twos are there?”

Without taking even a second to count, he said “there are six twos,” then pointed them all out. Because apparently, his brain comprehends them much bolder than my brain does.

(I did ask him if he saw them in color or in black and he looked at me like I was crazy. “They’re black, Mom!!”)

The next morning, I had the kids separately make their color charts.

This is Ali’s:

I checked it against my note, and she Ali stayed consistent with her choices, other than flip-flopping on 5 and 8 being light blue / dark blue.

And this is Noah’s. The really bold characters are due to the fact that they are supposed to be purple, and he wasn’t happy that they looked a little pink on first pass.

The only deviation he made from the day before was that he decided that 7 was actually green, not purple. Additionally, he informed me that uppercase e’s are yellow, but lowercase are orange – and he preferred lowercase. I asked if all uppercase and lowercase letters were different, but he said only e and f – uppercase f is blue and purple (he got mad at himself for forgetting to add blue to it, although he did draw the dual-colored B), but lowercase is beige.

One interesting fact that I found while researching: although each synesthete has their own color-mapping, the majority make A red and O white or black. Noah has consistently told me that A is red and O is blue or black.

I have no idea what this brain phenomenon really effects, other than my children’s minds being delightfully more colorful than my own, but I’m excited to figure out how to integrate it into their education.

As is, apparently, Noah.

So it might be worth the question – offhandedly, out of nowhere, to your kids:

“Hey – what color is the number 5?”

Report your findings immediately.

Note: an update can be found here.

A Perfectly Romantic Roadkill Date.

March 17, 2017March 17, 2017 Rachel Callahan Fun With Roadkill

We first saw him on the way to church Sunday morning.

I squeeeeed with happiness.

He was lovely. His hands were up in the air as if grasping for the light. He wasn’t gory – just looked like he’d been keeled over in shock.

I’d been keeping my eye out for a raccoon for months. I didn’t have one in my collection (I also need a rabbit but I have yet to find one of those in acceptable condition. Please report any bunnies you come across.) And on top of that, I had been needing a medium-sized animal to wear a very fantastic glittery St Patrick’s Day hat – and the deadline was fast approaching.

The first problem, however, was that he was on the side of a fairly busy road that had very, VERY little shoulder.

The second problem is that the fairly busy road in question led directly to my church. And I think you can relate – we all have people in our lives and perhaps especially in our churches that might be a bit put off to come upon us staging and photographing roadkill while they were on their way to church.

So I knew I couldn’t do it directly before or after church.

But we were to come back that evening to take the kids to their musical practice, so I could do it then.

I planned my strategy. I fretted about the shoulderless road. I considered the very real possibility that I still might be spotted by those going to evening church. The ratio of people going to evening church that might be put off by roadkill manipulation and photography is, after all, potentially higher than morning church.

“Listen. If you’re going to be a roadkill photographer, you’re just going to have to own it. You’re going to have to not care if you get spotted,” Chris tried to convince me.

“Yes….but….you don’t understand. That’s part of the challenge – of the fun. If I can prep and snap a picture without a single person – even a stranger – seeing me, I feel a thrill of accomplishment.”

“Okay…”

Before we left for church, I pulled out my St. Paddy’s Day hat from my roadkill kit. There were actually five hats in that dollar store bag. OOOOH…what if I could find five creatures this week and leave them with the luck of the Irish?? It would be as if I were sprinkling my whole city with St Patrick’s Day Cheer.

After dropping the kids off, we discussed our plan. Sunday nights are a short date night for us – an hour and a half of dinner or coffee or in general relating before the start of another busy week.

But on this particular date, that raccoon would be our first stop.

On the way to church as we approached where the raccoon had been laying, Chris said, “Now don’t be disappointed if he’s gone…it’s been all day.”

Sure enough, his roadside spot was empty.

Sigh.

“Maybe he rolled down the hill. We’ll drop the kids off and then come back and go down that driveway below the road.”

“Okay!” Chris is so good at lifting my spirits. And if he were down there, I wouldn’t have to worry about the shoulder or being spotted by churchgoers!

We dumped the kids and drove back down the hill. Chris pulled down the steep driveway below the road. As he backed down, we both strained our eyes to see any sign.

I screamed. “There’s a tail!! Behind that bush!!”

I got out, donned a pair of rubber gloves, and grabbed a tiny hat.

I walked over to assess the situation.

It wasn’t pretty.

It was the first new friend I’d met that STANK. And also, maybe he just fell in a very unflattering pose, or maybe he’d started to swell with the processes of cellular breakdown, but he looked extremely fat – more like a victim of the game “Pin the Raccoon Tail on the Groundhog”.

That and not being able to see his face really made me doubt that he was the raccoon I’d been looking for to add to my collection.

But I tried my best. I gave him a hat, then took a few pictures.

I brought my camera over to Chris for inspection.

“But you can’t see his face….”

“I know. He’s not pretty at all, is he? I’ll try again.”

I found a stick and moved him around a bit, teaching him how to show off his angles a little better. At least you could see his little raccoon facial mask now. But he was still fat.

Chris, meanwhile, was enjoying photographing me photographing my model. See his adorable tail sticking out? If only the rest of him had been so cute.

I was disappointed.

This was not how I’d wanted to use my hat.

I later Photoshopped the crap out of this guy to make him look this good – I even used the evil skinnying tools on Photoshop to get rid of some of his decomposing bulge, as you can tell by the oval angles of his hat.

Limerick the ‘Coon
There once was an Irish raccoon
Who died on the road ‘neath the moon.
But the birds ate his eyes,
And the heat swole his thighs,
Thus the sight and the smell make you swoon.
– Chris the Husband, whose skill with the quill is undeniable.

But Chris told me to cheer up – we’d just make it a roadkill date! Stop by Starbucks for fuel, then drive around looking for new friends.

This, y’all, is why I married him.

But we had a head start. That very morning, my dear Roadkill Bestie Tanya had sent me several pics from her run with a rather attractive squirrel.

I’ve found a lot of squirrels lately, which is why I didn’t immediately run out to put a hat on hers.

(Such as Flat Stanley the Squirrel,)

(And Snickers the Squirrel.)

“Eat a Snickers.”
”Why?”
”Because you turn into an indecisive squirrel when you’re hungry.”

Squirrels are the low-hanging fruit of the roadkill staging world.

But after my Raccoon failure, I felt that her easy squirrel would be a good, redeeming next target to help me regain my confidence. So we meandered over to where we thought she’d found it and began our search. It didn’t take long, and he was in a delightful pose, looking just as if he’d had a bit too much green ale.

I present to you, Patrick the Squirrel.

There’s a Leprechaun in me head,
And I wish that I were dead
For I don’t think he’ll e’er let me be.
Oh, he tempts me with his gold,
And if I were e’er so b old,
I’d strangle him and leave him in the street.
– Old Irish Drinking Song

And, thanks to the timing of our visit, I was even able to photograph my two favorite subjects at once.

We spent the rest of our delightful date driving around, watching roadsides and byways while having fantastic and deep conversation about the best places and ways to find new friends, and judging harshly the ones we came across that were unsuitable for our journey.

We didn’t use the last three St. Patrick’s Day hats that night, but a lovely date we had.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

Two Quick Notes…

March 16, 2017March 16, 2017 Rachel Callahan Uncategorized

If you’re into basketball or not into basketball and just into making brackets or letting your kids make brackets (as we have been since our oldest was two, because we like to teach important life skills), if you’re quick (I know – I really meant to get this out earlier this week but THIS WEEK has been busy. Or something), join my bracket group here. The winner gets roadkill note cards. Or, if that scares you (and really if that scares you should you be reading my blog? Seems unsafe for your health), I will be glad to send you Picture Birmingham note cards instead. I think you have to enter before the first game, which is at 12:15 today. Told you I was last minute. But bracket challenges are always fun and full of trash talk and I couldn’t let you miss that!
If you are a local mom and have been following our Alabama History journey, I have a really exciting event coming up at the end of the month that your kids may want to come to. It’s at night so you don’t necessarily have to be homeschoolers, but it’s geared toward elementary school.
Email me for more details! graspingforobjectivity@gmail.com.

That is all. I hope to be back tomorrow with a real blog post. But THIS WEEK. Or something.

Hands-On Alabama History: DeSoto Caverns

March 13, 2017March 13, 2017 Rachel Callahan Alabama History, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I Love Birmingham

DeSoto Caverns was not on my all-encompassing spreadsheet of Alabama History. In fact, after studying Alabama History and reading one very detailed story about how Hernando De Soto came to Alabama with the sole purpose of stealing from and brutally slaughtering as many Native Americans as possible, I felt a bit queasy from the happy signs for “DeSoto Caverns Family Fun Park!!”

But then, I happened upon a Facebook ad for a half price “Homeschool Day”, and I was feeling especially adventurous. Three days later, I found myself enjoying a laser light show underground with two other families that I dragged down with me. So congrats, DeSoto, your Facebook Ad was successful.

But I quickly learned that DeSoto Caverns, despite its poor choice in names, should have been on my spreadsheet from the beginning. Our hour-long tour of the cave provided some extremely fantastic pieces of history.

We learned about Mr. Wright, who happened upon the cave in 1723, carved his name and date in this rock, then lay down to take a nap.

Poor guy. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t know that the cave was a sacred Indian burial ground and that they had someone to bury that very day. The Indians happened upon his happy little nap on their way down, and went ahead and killed him and left his bones beside his name. Mr. Wright had carved his own tombstone.

But on the plus side, it’s the oldest graffiti to be found in any US cave, so way to carve your way into history. Moist would be proud.

We also got to learn about how Civil War gunpowder was made in the cave, using its secrecy and noise-cancelling abilities to hide the production.

But my favorite piece of history was about The Cavern Tavern.

A 1920’s prohibition bootlegger had been using the cave to make moonshine. But he got tired of having to drag his large clay vessels up a mudslide to get out of the cave, so instead, he decided to open a secret speakeasy in the cave itself. And, well…I’ll let Ali tell the rest of the story.

That jewel is by far my favorite report from our entire study of Alabama history. If we’ve learned nothing else, it’s the all-important lesson of “Don’t go to an illegal bar in a cave with no way out except to climb up a mudslide. Especially if it’s named ‘The Bloody Bucket’.”

The caves, despite the stalagtites damaged for the long six-week tenure of The Bloody Bucket, were just magnificent.

As we toured the cave, they pointed out all of the pieces of cave that looked like something else. This was the unanimous favorite – Yoda.

After the cave, we enjoyed the “Family Fun” part of the park. They had at least a dozen attractions to pick from – Mini Golf, a gold panning, gem searching, a maze, and a few fair-like rides.

I was kind of obsessed with finding gems in the giant sandbox,

And we all enjoyed the maze. Mainly because Holland, one of the kids with us, taught us the trick to all mazes: never take your left hand off the wall and it’ll lead you out.

Totally works, guys.

Some of the rides were more kid-powered than usual, which made it highly entertaining for the grown-ups to watch as the kids worked their hardest to peddle the “go-karts” up and down small hills.

(Red faces are always a good sign of time well spent.)

Overall I was extremely pleased with the park – the cave was bigger and more educational than I expected, and the kids had a fantastic time – both in the cave and out.

But I still think they could do for a name change.

Here was Ali’s report:

DeSoto Caverns Small

Hands-On Alabama History: Helen Keller

March 10, 2017March 10, 2017 Rachel Callahan Alabama History, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore.

So I think I missed a couple things in my own Alabama education.

I missed that Helen Keller was an international superstar, and I missed that she lived until the late 1960s – she died only 13 years before I was born.

The first fact I believe I missed precisely because I’m from Alabama. Sure, we studied her – but I didn’t fully realize that all of y’all did as well – and probably half the world (there were gifts from dozens of countries on the grounds of her birthplace, the subject of this field trip. Also, Helen Keller’s statue is one of very few women in the National Statuary Hall Collection at the Capitol, hanging out with Ronald Reagan, Sam Adams, and George Washington.)

(But, just in case you too weren’t aware of how great Helen was, she was the first deaf and blind woman to go to college, wrote multiple books, had an insanely high IQ, and traveled the world promoting women’s rights and rights for the blind.)

And as for the second fact – she was born in 1880, y’all. That was like an entirely different existence. How could she have been still alive when my Mom learned about her in school? And do our parents remember when she died like one of those moments where you’re all like “I remember where I was when…”?

So many questions that I pondered on our field trip last week.

We drove two hours northwest with our friends Christen, Luke, Aubrey, and Levi to visit Helen Keller’s birthplace, Ivy Green, in Tuscumbia, Alabama. Tuscumbia is a small town in Northwest Alabama that is neighbors with Florence, Muscle Shoals, and Sheffield. I don’t remember going there before, as Northwest Alabama is vastly unexplored by me, despite its unbelievable beauty.

We traveled with some friends, which is highly recommended – two hour car trips with kids entertained by their friends is significantly better than two hour car trips with bored and lonely children.

Ivy Green was remarkably tiny looking on the outside, but had lovely grounds (10 acres of the original 640 that her grandparents built upon.) The surrounding neighborhood is full of far grander houses that resemble perfectly outfitted Victorian dollhouses.

The tour of the house is guided, pointing out photos of Helen and her family, along with tidbits from Helen’s life.

These were her actual dresses, again blowing my mind that she was still alive when my parents were kids. Or maybe my parents are just older than I realize.

Each room was cordoned off to prevent tiny hands from ruining artifacts – something that greatly decreases the amount of Mommy Anxiety wasted on a field trip.

Our tour guide told delightful stories about her family, her upbringing, and the house.

Upstairs held three very low-ceilinged rooms, and this one was the one shared by Helen and Anne Sullivan, her lifelong friend and teacher.

They also had one room open as a museum, including a replica of Helen’s statue at the capitol.

The house was built in 1820, so to prevent fires, the kitchen was actually in a shed out back.

The grounds included all sorts of unique and curious finds that helped the kids run off their two-hour-car-ride bundle of energy.

And of course, the grounds tour included the pump at which Helen and Anne were able to first communicate.

The kids learned a little, bonded a lot, and got to see another part of our state.

Before we left, we visited Tuscumbia’s stunning Spring Park, where we enjoyed a playground and gorgeous waterfall,

Water wheels and a pond,

And a very impressive fountain that made the kids scream every time it reached its highest point.

And of course, we moms enjoyed the long miles of Alabama backroad and its ever-present curiosities, including one very special town, which may become a primary entry into my personal dictionary.

Alabama is awesome, y’all.

Here’s Ali’s report:

Helen Keller Small

Charting New Territory.

March 7, 2017March 6, 2017 Rachel Callahan Utter Silliness

In the world of baby-having, things have changed a lot since I partook – largely due to social media. And, much like all that’s changed in the world of wedding-having, I am not sad that I missed it. Any of it.

I’m not sad that Pinterest Pressure was an unknown substance 16 years ago, and I’m not sad that Gender Reveal Parties were as yet uninvented 7 and 11 years ago.

Back in my wedding day, you had a three-ring binder where you tore out pictures from actual paper Wedding Magazines to get ideas to show your florist and baker – in real life.

(I still have mine somewhere if any youngsters want to see a relic of the olden days.)

Back in my baby-having days, you bought a book to tell you What To Expect When You’re Expecting.

But now…they have charts and comparisons and infographics and everyone including your 7th grade gym teacher gets to know exactly when your baby is the size of an avocado.

And that’s what we’re here to talk about today. The whole “Size of My Baby” chart.

It’s always fruit.

Why is it always fruit?

We need something new in our size comparisons to en utero humans. Mainly because fruit comes in a variety of sizes. I’ve seen a grape the size of a plum and an apple the size of a clementine. I’ve seen a watermelon the size of a canteloupe and I so rarely see an actual butternut squash that how exactly is that supposed to help me know the size of your baby?

And also. When you get to the 36 week mark, it seems like there’s a better comparison to “size of my baby” than keeping on the whole fruit track.

So I made a more…creative chart.

Perhaps this is influenced by my rampant binge watching of Parks and Rec and identifying way too much with April Ludgate.

And perhaps I’m a bit….non-traditional when it comes to life.

After all, my children know just what to look for in order to determine whether roadkill is photogenic or not.

And perhaps, just perhaps, there are a lot of pregnant ladies out there right now that are not feeling nearly perky enough to tell you excitedly that their baby is currently the size of a starfruit.

So I created a new chart.

Feel free to use this to help your pregnant friends along. And if you need me to make stickers for their weekly photographs, you just let me know. Because I am here to serve.

Death By Leggings.

March 2, 2017 Rachel Callahan Denim Drama, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice

Leggings make me feel dead inside.

Yet I still have exactly 8 pairs.

It’s true – even the sequins don’t make them better.

As I sit back and ruminate on where I went wrong in life, I must surmise that I fell into this slippery slope because of running. Running leggings are amazing. Compressing in all the right spots and freeing in the rest. They are so fantastic that they make all other waistbands feel downright oppressive, and I never feel less jiggly and as if I actually have a firm body than when I’m wearing running leggings. This, along with the fashion world changing to a leggings-based environment, created this heinous situation in my life. This vacuous space in my fashion story. This embarrassment to myself, and one day when they look back on pictures, this embarrassment to my children.

But leggings leggings are not running leggings. Maybe some are, but none of the brands I’ve tried out compare. They compress my lumps and bumps with the efficiency of a stretched out two-sizes-too-big pair of non-control-top pantyhose. And when I pull them up over my twice-c-sectioned belly, I immediately feel like all my everything is put on display, and I look like the identical twin sister to a bag of Idaho potatoes. When I turn around and see the sheer length of my backside – from waist to upper knee – I shudder with horror and feel like I’ve turned away from everything I believe in.

I quickly pull on an oversized, long, solid colored, shapeless top. And sigh.

How did I find myself here?

What happened to my bold prints and the snappiest of denim? What happened to structure and slimming lines and flattering stitching?

I peek in my closet where many of those things still exist, albeit with dust perched atop the hangers.

But oh, the effort. Compared to my up-and-done leggings and boring flowy tops, the waistbands and belts and camisoles and buttons feel. So. Exhausting.

Then I moan with horror.

Is this what it means to let go of myself?

To forget what it’s like to care about fashion?

HAVE I GIVEN UP MY IDENTITY??

Then I look around and see women everywhere, young and old, having reproduced and not, doing the same thing.

And I let a relieved breath go.

It’s not just me.

Maybe this year’s fashion is the fault of the cesspool of bubbling pus that was 2016 for America. The national situation was such that it left us no energy for zippers and spanx.

It’s not the first time this has happened, after all. There were the giant sweaters and stirrups* in the early 90s (I had a light brown baby poo colored sweater that could’ve comfortably fit my dad. I wore it everywhere, proudly.)

*confession: I miss stirrups. That band on the bottom of my foot felt downright pleasurable. But I shudder to think of their effect on my now belly.

So, fashion is obviously cyclical.

In a few years we’ll all be back to structured shirts (that haven’t had their shoulders mysteriously removed), bootcut jeans (shaped ever so slightly different and given some new clever name like ‘gram jeans or something), and maybe even heels.

So I say we go ahead and usher in the next fashion cycle.

Rebel.

Throw away those leggings (stop! no! Not the running ones! Just the soul-sucking ones.), pull out our lonely denim, suck ourselves into those foreign and bizarrely restrictive waistbands, and

Bring.

Fashion.

Back.

In just a few minutes.

Because these leggings are so comfortable…..

Love Me With Your Whole Emoji.

February 28, 2017February 27, 2017 Rachel Callahan This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Utter Silliness

Of my 1,171 Facebook friends, approximately 1,500 of them currently sell something that involves a product, a downline, and a requirement of a plethora of Facebook posts.

My Facebook feed covers them all. Multiple times over. I will never be without the ability to buy Matilda Jane or Advocare or Avon or Young Living or It Works or Premier Jewelry or Jamberry or Pampered Chef or Plexus or Rodan & Fields or Scentsy or Thirty One Gifts or Tupperware or Usborne or Younique or BeachBody or doTerra or Isagenix or Juice Plus or Mary Kay.

Ah, what a world we live in.

Of those 1,500 retail shops in the strip mall that is my Facebook feed, approximately 1,800 have, in the past year, posted a status asking people to let them know, via emoji, how they feel about their business. The options given to describe said business include some variation of the following:

But, oddly, they never ever offer the heartbreak emoji. Or the new and fantastic black heart emoji. I’m sure it’s just a simple oversight, but I feel like there needs to be an option out there for everyone and every opinion (because if 2017 isn’t about EVERY OPINION, what IS it about??), so I decided to write my own.

I don’t have my own business that involves a downline, sales levels named after precious stones (But if I did, I would be Double Purple Sapphire Diamond Titanium Level, y’all!!), or wildly fantastic motivational trips to Fiji, but I do occasionally mention my side project, Picture Birmingham, so that’s what I shall write my status for.

So. Let’s try this.

I CANNOT WAIT to see what emoji you choose in response!!

Desperado.

February 24, 2017February 23, 2017 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Kids: The Experience.

I live for spelling bees.

I only participated in one when I was a kid, but I remember relishing the thrill of competition. I’m also a fairly good speller (except for the word dilemma) and would greatly appreciate it if my children would join me in that vital pursuit.

Last year was Ali’s first round of spelling bees. We have a school spelling bee (just our homeschool cover school), and then the Birmingham District Homeschooling spelling bee. In Ali’s first ever spelling bee as a third grader (spelling bees are for 1-8th grade – so clearly I forgot what I lived for two years in a row), she placed 1st in her grade and 4th in the school and was elated at her achievement, even though she was one spot away from a cash prize. She decided she wanted to work even harder for the district bee, truly hoping to grab a cash prize. But alas, the district spelling bee’s Round One started in words past where we’d studied, and so she was out on round one, along with over half the kids that participated.

As soon as the spelling sheets came out for this school year, we began studying. We made it through all 450 words a few times through before the first bee, challenging my pronunciation abilities and forcing me to use the audio feature of dictionary.com to learn words such as a posteriori, recherche, netsuke (pronounced netskee), and more. And then there were the long words that were a delight to say, such as prestidigitation and supererogation. We loosely knew them all, but alas – Ali was self-admittedly too confident as a mature 4th grader, and spelled out of the school spelling bee at 5th place.

We trudged through the holidays, spelling and re-spelling reveille and sanctum sanctorum, in preparation for the district bee. I wasn’t super confident in her readiness for the harder spelling bee, but I encouraged her to go slow, picture the word in her head, and GO SLOW. The district bee was important, after all. The winners of that bee progressed toward Nationals.

The top three winners of the district bee get to go to the “Homeschool County” bee – there are 67 counties in Alabama, but homeschoolers don’t get to compete in their county bee – they all get thrown into the same pot called Homeschool County, then winners of the 67 real counties and the one imaginary Homeschool County compete against each other in the State Bee. I enjoy imagining what Homeschool County is like, and often find myself daydreaming about it…the stores lining the streets would include Denim Jumpers R Us and Minivan Superstore, the “playgrounds” would just be circular seating arrangements of children reciting the U.S. constitution in Latin, and all food inside county boundaries would be required to be gluten free and devoid of any devilish red dye.

(But I digress.)

My heart began beating heavily as soon as we entered the room for the district bee. My hands were shaking. I decided I needed to busy them so as to not take on more nervousness on behalf of my daughter. So I took her picture.

She unwittingly chose the only long skirt she had – it was SO Homeschool County of her. The sequins on her shirt, however, would definitely get her thrown into Homeschool County Jail. Where she could keep me company during my incarceration for having purple hair.

According to the seating arrangement, Ali was the third to last speller, and since I couldn’t take pictures of her to busy myself, I decided I’d write down every word used, match them against our study sheets, and see if all the words did indeed come from the 450 we tried our best to memorize. There had also been extra sheets of challenge words – some we’d briefly gone over – but 450 words is really an undertaking. Who has time to look at a dozen more sheets?

I began writing with each student, and then texting updates to Chris and a couple other friends waiting with bated breath (or wishing I’d quit texting them.) I created a system – dots on the left meant the student got the word wrong and was therefore out. I put Ali’s word in a square, and dots on the right meant the word had a homonym and therefore had its definition read with the word (during the last spelling bee, we the spectators had played “Who can figure out what the homonym is?” – a game that is harder than you might imagine.)

Thankfully, the moderator started with much easier words this year. As soon as the first word was read, Ali looked back at me and smiled. There would be no Round One elimination for her this year.

The rounds kept going and Ali continued to spell correctly.

Round 7 was the frightening round – the one where the moderators took a minute to discuss amongst themselves, then shuffle papers – I knew they were going off-script. We had finished with the word list and were headed into uncharted territories.

With each new unstudied word, I just knew Ali would be out.

But then she spelled tortilla and popularity. My heart burst with spelling pride.

There were only five students left by round 9, and Ali was giving then word “Hogan”, except that it was pronounced “hog-on”, and I didn’t even know how to spell it. Surely this would be the end. Ali paused, having no idea what a Hogan was (nor did I), and wisely asked for a definition.

“a Navajo Indian dwelling constructed of earth and branches and covered with mud or sod. It can also be pronounced ‘hogan.’”

Oh, this was the breakthrough Ali needed. Would she opt for guessing “hogan” or “hogon”?

She went with Hogan. And was right.

She made it through round 10, miraculously spelling acronym.

The field was now down to 4 – it started at 29 spellers. This was crazy. She was on a roll.

Then she was given the word Desperado.

She’d never heard it before, and after a moment of thinking, she spelled it desperoto.

She was out, officially 4th place, just two rounds before the bee was over.

She and I were both shocked and excited that she’d made it so far, and not at all disappointed that we didn’t get to visit the magical land of Homeschool County as the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place finishers did. We quickly decided that 4th place was “The first place of No More Studying”, and celebrated by car-dancing to Spotify on the way home – something that’s surely not allowed in Homeschool County.

And, for what it’s worth, when it comes to Desperado, Ali and I unanimously concur that Rihanna does it best.

The Best New Crafting Bling: Fimo Slices.

February 20, 2017February 21, 2017 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Stuff I like

It’s been way too long since I’ve made a craft project worthy of sharing. Today’s is brought to you by purchasing the wrong product, because sometimes you discover something fabulous by screwing up. Such was the case with Fimo barrels.

I loved making Fimo beads when I was a kid – the rolling into a barrel, then slicing to show the amazing detail. I was never great at it, but it was fun anyway. When I saw that you could very inexpensively order pre-made super detailed barrels, I was thrilled.

I ordered this set and this set, and they should last us for many craft projects.

I did not realize, however, that the barrels were already baked, making them more of a hard rubber than the soft clay I was used to working with for beading.

In retrospect I should have assumed so – they were advertised as nail décor – something I would NOT be using them for. (Any mother knows that supergluing something adorable to our fingernails would be a practice in maddening futility.) But alas. I had excitedly ordered them, then when I found out what they were, promptly put them in a junk drawer for over a year – which is, apparently, the amount of time it takes for me to have a eureka moment as to how to utilize something.

That realization was that we could use them for a 100 Days of School craft.

Using an X-acto knife, I carefully sliced 100 slivers for each of the kids (and 100 for myself – because if we’re gonna craft, I should get to craft too.)

(Aren’t they gorgeous? It made me happy just seeing them all.)

I drew us each a tree with a metallic sharpie on scrapbook paper I had left over from previous craft forays (these were from a frames project from YEARS ago. I have trouble purging craft products.)

Then I gave the kids some glue and told them to have fun.

I have to say. The finished product, though useless except to lay around the house for the next year and a half until I finally throw it out, was VERY satisfying.

And the kids loved all the different shapes – there were Angry Birds, flags, playing cards, emoji, and a animals. The random variety kept them endlessly entertained and plugged into our crafting project.

A couple of weeks later, it was about to be my Mom’s birthday. She is a Master Gardener, so I thought it would be fun to use the barrels in the shape of flowers to make her garden birthday cards.

I pulled out my scrapbook paper again, and also my Washi Tape (from my gift wrap hack that I’ve gloriously used for the past three years.)

I sliced the kids one of each of the flowers, along with other things that would belong in a garden.

I then drew them stems, handed them glue, and told them to go to town.

The finished product further convinced me: Fimo barrels should be in everyone’s craft drawer, not sadly languishing in a junk drawer.

Of course, as delightful as the outsides were, I’m pretty sure Gramamma preferred the freestyling insides.

But let’s be honest – crafting before sentimentality. Those Fimo flowers are THE BOMB.