Rachel Callahan

Qixels are for Mommies.

January 16, 2017January 15, 2017 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Parent of the Year

There are certain things we buy our children for Christmas only because we love them. With dread and self-loathing, we purchase those sets that we know will lose two pieces on the first day and never work again, those million-tiny-parts that we are quite confident will be scattered throughout our house in 23 minutes flat, and those toys we KNOW they won’t play with but they’re just sure they neeeeed.

But every now and then, we buy something for our kids out of love for ourselves. Something we know we will enjoy as much – and sometimes more even – than they will.

Thus was the case this year.

Noah had a very thorough list of things he wanted for Christmas, but I bought him something I wanted. And not one set of that something, but four. Because I wanted it that badly.

Qixels.

Qixels are the modern version of perler beads (except you use water instead of the oven to fuse them together) and the “boy” version of Beados or Aquabeads, which Ali has been enjoying for quite some time. But Beados roll away, the templates are boring, and I personally do not find them satisfying to work with. Qixels are sturdy, square plastic blocks that fit onto a frame and you create objects, usually with a template underneath, that end up looking like they’d fit perfectly into the Minecraft universe.

The minute I beheld Qixels for the first time I knew this is what had been missing from my life. It reminded me of my childhood beading days long gone – I was beyond into the beading scene in my wild junior high days. So much so that my parents would drive out of their way on family vacation when I knew there was a bead shop nearby.

(I don’t know how I knew this. There was no internet. How did one attain such knowledge back then?)

Qixels offer that same delightful pleasure of multi-colored creation, but are a much quicker experience, which is needed in my time-conscious state of adulthood. And as a bonus, I knew my son would enjoy them, so how could it be bad to buy something that we could do together?

The kids do Lego with Daddy (I suck at Lego), they do Minecraft with each other (I cannot get into Minecraft), but there’s nothing that Noah and I do together. But Qixels could provide.

And…you could say it totally did.

This collection doesn’t even count the Qixel village he’s already given away in Sunday School.

(If your kid is in Noah’s class and came home with a cute little monster, chances are, I made it.)

I was immediately and unapologetically hooked.

I found the most efficient ways to sort my Qixels and get them onto the frames. I found the exact amount of water that should be spritzed to make sure all the Qixels permanently stuck together, but still minimize dry time. I even began branching out on the templates, adding my own touches, like the awesomely funky purple belt and shoes on this cop,

Creating commissioned Items for Noah, like a ninja,

making twists on blank templates, like this tacky LSU fan,

(I didn’t set out to make a tacky LSU fan – the blocks decided that),

And, my Sistine Chapel, taking a picture of a race car off a box,

and slowly and methodically using it to help me create Lightning McQueen.

I am not artistic in the least but in that moment I felt like the love child of Michelangelo and Pixar.

I wasn’t the only one being creative, though. Noah created an army of “Old Men” – this same character over and over, a delightfully jolly big-eared fellow.

I lined the old men up in front of our creations and began thinking of them as pawns. Ooooh – a Qixel chess set. We could totally make that happen.

Only later did I realize that Noah was making a tiny army of Jeff Sessionses.

Chris took note of our obsession and bought Noah a tackle box in which to keep our his Qixels. The delight of the organization of our craft scored Chris many kisses. From me.

But the thing about Qixels is, you always need more. When you’re creating tacky football fans and tiny Attorney Generals at our pace, they quickly deplete. And since I might have been creating at a slightly quicker clip than Noah, I might have also felt guilty about my over-Qixel usage (at his insistence and glee, but still…), so I also might have began to buy refill sets at an alarming pace. (Thankfully, they’re fairly inexpensive.) My Google search history is full of things like “bulk qixels” and my eBay and Amazon searches are full of attempts to get Qixels at a discount price. Noah basked in the benefits of his mother’s obsession, excitedly cheering when I’d open another refill pack.

This past Tuesday was when I knew it had gone too far.

Noah heard me open the door to get a package off the porch. Or rather, Noah heard me open the door and, from his position upstairs, assumed I was getting a package off the porch.

“Mom! Is that more Qixel Refills?”

“NO…Why would you think that??”

(But it totally was. And I hid them before he came downstairs.)

Guys, I might need a detox.

What a Homeschool Mom’s Therapy Looks Like.

It was the first day back to school after the holidays.

Not only after the holidays, which included two 3.5 day weekends with Daddy at home, but also after a “snow” weekend, full of frolic and laziness.

There was no way this would go well.

And indeed it did not. No one was prepared for academic pursuits, and the dunking of all three of us back into the books was traumatic, to say the least. By 8:54am, everyone had cried. Including nearly almost myself.

My amount of thankfulness I experienced when Not-Crazy-Renee texted me is indescribable.

She was on her way out of our neighborhood to fly out of town. Yet she had the kindness, thoughtfulness, and compassion to think of me in the midst of her travel flurry.

(Unlike my husband, who had seen the possum on the way to work earlier that morning, but forgot to mention it. Forgot to immediately inform his wife that there was a dead animal just down the road! Inconceivable.)

I attempted to focus on school for a bit longer, but then decided I needed an outlet. Stat.

So I grabbed some supplies, left my children home alone (for my half-mile drive up the street), and set off to find my happy place. My therapy. My mood lifter. But not before appropriately thanking Not-Crazy-Renee.

I drove slowly up the referenced road scouring the area for a good looking possum. Finally, I spotted her. She was indeed a lovely specimen.

(Except that her eyeballs already being eaten out by a greedy crow, but I could work with that.)

I turned around and parked on the hill. Why do possums always die on hills? Maybe they’re slow like semi-trailer trucks on an incline. Perhaps I should launch an investigation.

I waited for the cars to pass, realizing that I parked in just the wrong spot that forced all the passing cars to straddle my new friend. I hoped they didn’t hit her again in the process.

The area cleared out and I toted my supplies, took some shots, ran most of the supplies back to the car while another car passed, then took one prop back, and shot again.

Photo Shoot #1:

“The first day back to school will be the death of us all.”

A dead animal acting out a commentary on my immediate circumstances. Could there be anything more therapeutic?

I think not.

And then the second shot, with a book picked off my shelves specifically for her…

“Quit trying to be what you’re not.”

I went back to my teaching pursuits with a bounce in my step, happy that I had accomplished something meaningful that day.

But what I couldn’t figure out is what this model’s name is. She now joins the ranks of Buck Skywalker, Crunchy the ‘Possum, Sloppy the Squirrel, Sunset the Armadillo, and Sleepy the Chipmunk, but she herself is currently nameless. Please help.

Who. Is. This. Little Lady.

Now taking suggestions.

I swear this blog isn’t just becoming a roadkill blog. I think. I don’t know. Is it? My apologies. My writing subject matter tends to meander through many various fields of study – from denim to poop to chocolate to roadkill. Follow me on Instagram at @HappyRoadkill. I’ll begin moving my stories over there. Maybe. Unless you want them kept here? I just don’t know what the future holds. 2017 may just need a roadkill blog.

Red Legos & Hamm

January 10, 2017 Rachel Callahan Chris, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, Lego Love

Guest Post by Chief Husband and Editor Chris

It’s Championship Eve. The last holiday cometh. Tomorrow, my team, the Alabama Crimson Tide, will rematch Clemson to defend their national title and try to go 15-0 for the first time. It just so happens that most of this weekend was spent iced in at home. Everything was cancelled, travel discouraged, you know the drill. So after all the Christmas decorations came down, multiple Star Wars movies were watched, rooms rearranged and organized, my idle hands started playing with Lego.

My mantle rolled its eyes at me and smiled.

It started with some fun officially licensed gifts Rachel has given me the past few years.

Then I added some fan seating in various financial tiers.

And the fandom I know best, the tailgating.

The Wayne Enterprises skybox is for VIPs only, but its not the cheeriest place. The Dark Knight, the worried hobbit, and Mr. Attitude the Wizard enjoy their wealth and privilege, but there’s not a pom-pom in sight.

The upper deck is bit less stodgy, and a solid cross-section of Lego society.

Down in the safely guarded concourse, the crowd picks up their yummy fish.

The grouchy custodian just came from cleaning the ladies’ room. She is no fan of the hovering fans she cleans up behind.

Her coworker is having a better time taking care of the field.

Meanwhile, outside the stadium, Ma & Pa Cop are hosting a fantastic tailgate outside their RV.

And the grill masters are taking care of the hungry crowd.

The whole crowd, inside and out, players and fans, are, like me, filled with hope and expectation. The game kicks off in less than 24 hours. By the time you read this, I’ll either feel like these guys:

Or like Hamm.

Either way, I’m over here having fun. Roll Tide.

A Life of Adventure.

January 9, 2017 Rachel Callahan Kids: The Experience., The Blissfulness of Life

Yesterday, Ali turned 10 years old.

Double digits.

Officially a Tween.

(I’ve been calling her a tween since she turned 9 but she is very insistent that tween only refers to double digits that don’t end in a teen. So at least we can put that argument behind us.)

When I started this blog, she was this size:

And now she’s this size.

Over the past year, her face, her poise, and her interests have transitioned from a kid to a young lady. She has grown and matured, so far without losing her unwavering kindness and compassion for others. We’ve had many preparatory talks about what is to come in the next couple years – what she can expect and what she can keep in mind as her hormones mutiny. She says the part that scares her the most is not liking us anymore. So maybe that’s a good sign that she’ll remember it’s just the hormones making her want to hate us.

(We shall see.)

I took this picture on her ninth birthday,

And here she is the day before her tenth birthday:

Above all other things this year, Ali has had a zeal for adventure and the outdoors – something I very much appreciate. Here are the highlights from her year of exploration in loose chronological order, with a few notes mixed in…

She was up for my snowchasing adventures last January,

And she’s always excited for a hike – especially with friends.

Rock jumping…

And visiting the Ministry of Magic.

She’s the kindest big sister that ever existed, giving Noah way more patience than he deserves (or than he receives from me.)

One of my favorite photos from this year was completely set up by Ali. She told me where to stand to get the picture and how she was going to pose. I didn’t even see the face in the clouds behind her. When I asked her about it the next day (after someone else pointed it out to me), she said “Of course I saw the face. That’s why I wanted you to take the picture.

She was willing to jettison small parts of her rule-following obsession this year..

And has developed a love and fascination for all animals, and misses no opportunity to tell me how much she needs one of her very own. Except it can’t bite. Which, thankfully for me, rules out all animals.

Our Alabama History field trips have only added a love of learning to her adventurous spirit. And also a good dose of pretending to live long, long ago.

About halfway through the year, she got brave enough to go all the way across the “broken bridge” at my parent’s house. I have not personally attempted it.

Now she does it with ease and speed that might make a mother nervous, if she weren’t so excited about photographing it.

She’s still kid enough to fully enjoy dressing up, and not at all minding being the biggest kid on the block.

She’s interested in gymnastics and maybe learning yoga and possibly basketball, now that she knows she’s going to be super tall and so will not practically be able to go to the Olympics in gymnastics.

She’s always willing to pick up a new skill and work hard to improve at it – even the ancient atlatl.

I don’t know what the next year will bring, but whatever it is, I know it will include plenty of adventure.

Happy Birthday, Ali.

The Greatest Snowstorm of All Time.

January 7, 2017 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

I believed in my heart.

I waited with anticipation.

I followed the forecast, minute by minute, keeping three radar apps, a weather blog, and a constantly updating Twitter feed up on my phone.

This one – this is the one that would happen. The Winter Wonderland my kids deserved. The Winter Wonderland I deserved.

Finally, Friday evening, it started sleeting. Then giant snowflakes! Huge, fluttery snowflakes mixed in with the sleet. Then back to sleet…then it tapered off.

But I still believed.

I was awoken by my son the next morning. He believed, too.

“There’s more snow than last night! There’s lots of snow out there!”

I looked out the window with great expectations in my heart.

Indeed.

It was our very own Snowy Utopia.

I mean we might as well live in Maine, for the giant drifts of sleet in our yard.

The children excitedly donned their warmest clothes over their pajamas and ran out to bask in the glory of the multiple feet of snow surrounding our house.

It was quickly determined that this wasn’t snowman snow. Or snowball snow. So that meant it had to be snow angel snow.

Their faces shown with the thrill of existing in a 100% white-with-snow world.

We quickly pulled out our snow board, which is pulled down hills all year ‘round by an old electrical cord, but now could fly on its very own.

What a wonderful world.

Noah remembered that it was his best friend Loulie’s birthday (it was actually the day after her birthday but sometimes 6 year olds have a breakdown in communication) and quickly declared that we needed to take a walk around the corner to her house. He and I worked our way through the treacherous snow, barely averting the very real danger of falling into a drift too deeply to be rescued.

When we finally arrived, nearly frostbitten at every end, and told Loulie about the unbelievable fun we were having doing the whole Winter Wonderland scene, she decided to join us. And so we started our long trek back, wishing we had sled dogs to help us make it through.

But the bone-chilling journey was all worth it when we introduced Loulie to our 70mph sled.

This is the kind of snowstorm that thoroughly tousles one’s hair.

The speeds were so intense that Noah preferred being walked. Like a dog.

And then another neighbor saw our fun and contributed a real device to our adventures. Wow did that thing slide gracefully. With speeds that left flames in their wake and blew people’s coats up into intertubes.

I’m pretty sure we earned our Canadian citizenship today.

All of Alabama did.

Hands-On History: Tannehill

January 6, 2017 Rachel Callahan Alabama History, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I Love Birmingham

We go to Tannehill Ironworks Historic State Park fairly often. It’s not close to our end of Birmingham, but it’s a beautiful place to hike, get outdoors, explore pretty places, and to photograph. Plus, my family camped there often when I was a kid, so I have very fond memories.

I do not, however, remember studying the history of the place as a kid. Which means that we probably totally did and I just tuned it out. It’s tragic how little I remember of my education – and that includes college. Thankfully, Ali seems more interested than I ever was.

I hadn’t planned on going on a field trip this particular Monday, but a friend who knows my adoration for Fall texted me that morning and said “This is it! Leaves are blowing everywhere and it’s gorgeous outside. It’s the quintessential fall day. You need to go somewhere amazing.”

So I texted Carla Jean and my Last Minute Network O’ Adventure and we headed to Tannehill. Both Carla Jean and a set of friends dropped everything to join us – the call of fall is strong around here.

It was just lovely. The perfect temperature for exploring without getting hot, and also never getting cold. Our little crew soaked in the majesty.

We did our usual hike, which is a 4 mile loop that goes along the river, to the furnace, through the woods, and to the water wheel, but this time, we paid careful attention to read the signs, understand its part in history, and pretend that we were a part of it (including crawling into the furnace where they made molten iron. Maybe not the best part to pretend.)

We delayed our hike to play in and around the creek because the weather was just delightful.

The wind picked up and created an intense leaf storm,

Leaving the water littered with fall.

We finally continued our hike,

Taking breaks every now and then to attempt to catch falling leaves.

My favorite hike at Tannehill is the trail from the Furnace to the Water Wheel. It’s a beautiful trail, and there’s a treat on each end. The kids took turns opening the dam to allow more water to travel in the chute to the water wheel, finding all of it great fun.

We had to use some hiking games to encourage everyone to make it this far, so I pulled out my trusty “Super Bonus Power-Up” game, where you touch trees to get power-ups, and the bigger the tree, the more energy you derive from it. It’s amazing how efficiently video game theatrics can improve real life.

Noah decided to improve on my game and add firearms to the mix – he decided that you could shoot the trees to more efficiently collect your power-ups. Then declared himself the winner of the game by 20,000 points.

His method was so convincing that he managed to recruit Carla Jean.

He made it clear to her that she wasn’t quite as good as he was, but she wasn’t bad – for a newbie and a pacifist.

The hike from the Water Wheel back to the entrance is always the most exhausting part. The last legs of journeys often are, especially on tiny legs.

So I made up one last game for everyone to survive with gusto: each person had to find a yellow, orange, red, green, and purple leaf. If you got all five, you could start swapping them out for higher quality leaves of the same color. If you found another color, you got bonus points. The game enabled everyone to get back to the parking lot – some just barely.

We dumped all our leaves in a pile and ooohed and aahed at the colors.

It really was amazing how vibrant everyone’s finds were when put all together. Sometimes late fall looks all brown, until you really start searching for it.

After the 4 mile hike, we went to the museum – for the first time ever for my kids, and for the first time in at least 25 years for me.

Tannehill was built in the early 1800s to capitalize on the brown ore found nearby. It was an ironmaking operation until 1865, when union troops burned it, right before marching to The University of Alabama and also burning it down.

The museum offers beautiful timelines of the iron industry and how it led to the founding of Birmingham (post-war),

has giant pieces of ore and other minerals to study,

And demonstrations of the giant industrial equipment used to turn the ore into iron.

The kids enjoyed all the pulleys and wheels, and maybe learned a little in the midst of all their playing.

Carla Jean’s article about Tannehill can be found here.

The Tale of Buck Skywalker.

January 2, 2017 Rachel Callahan Fun With Roadkill

Noah’s most prized gift that came out of Christmas was his very own Noah-Sized Darth Vader.

Darth wasn’t from us or from Santa, but from Tanya, who knew JUST what Noah was missing in his life.

Noah, who has been wearing a Stormtrooper costume daily since his birthday.

Noah, who told me pre-Christmas as I was putting him to bed, “Every morning when I wake up I have to fight Darth Vader for practice, because I’m just a Stormtrooper in training.”)

So clearly he needed a real Darth in his life. A Darth that is motion sensing and talks every time something moves. A Darth that has a friend mode and a foe mode. A Darth that was ready for the most adoring fan.

I mean. LOOK at that giddy grin.

LOOK at those toes curled in with excitement!

It was a match made in heaven. Or on the Death Star. Whatev.

But I didn’t go without observing that Darth could potentially be very beneficial to my own interests as well….

Which brings us to the day after Christmas.

I got a text from my ex-neighbor-still-friend Marliese.

I did not currently have a deer in my collection. My checklist currently consists of:

● Sloppy the Squirrel
● Sunset the Armadillo
● Crunchy the ‘Possum
● A Lizard
● A Bird Head (With Spine Sticking out Mortal Kombat style)
● A smashed Vole on a Tortilla chip.

So far, I hadn’t repeated any animals. And I clearly and desperately needed a deer in my collection.

And what a better time for a large animal to show up. …For such a time as this, Darth. For such. A time. As this.

It is both a terrible and wonderful gift to have friends that encourage me in my most disturbing of hobbies. It is even more terribly wonderful when they provide me tips on where I can go to fulfill my darkest dreams.

It took a couple times driving up and down Highway 119 to find our new friend. Ali was the look out for the right side, Noah the left. Ali felt very concerned about what would happen next.

“Hey Mom, if I see him, you’re not going to slam on the brakes, are you?”

“I promise. I will be very careful.”

Finally, we spotted him. As promised, I carefully pulled into the neighborhood right around the corner – the neighborhood that even possessed an empty lot at which to park – as if it was made for a roadkill photography crew to set up shop.

I grabbed my camera, and I gave the children their marching orders.

Darth’s motion sensing dialogue was in full-on manic mode as the children lugged him along the busy highway.

“Your destiny lies with me.”

“Join me and together we can rule the galaxy.”

“Your skills are complete. Impressive. Most impressive.”

“You have learned much, young one.”

“Your destiny lies with me.”

“Join me and together we can rule the galaxy.”

“Your skills are complete. Impressive. Most impressive.”

“You have learned much, young one.”

“Your destiny lies with me.”

“Join me and together we can rule the galaxy.”

“Your skills are complete. Impressive. Most impressive.”

“You have learned much, young one.”

“Your destiny – your destiny – your destiny – your destiny – your deh your deh your deh your destiny lies with me.”

We reached the deer and did a general inspection of the scene. Marliese was right – he was perfect indeed. And he was a he – the tiny antlers that looked more like devil horns gave it away. We took a minute to be sad for him, then began the wait.

Thankful for the generous shoulder and some nice shrubbery for the children to play in (and me to partially hide Darth while I hoped for the amount of passerby to lighten), we waited and watched.

(Because I’m a wuss. I don’t want to be seen taking a picture of roadkill. Maybe I was scarred by the whole Crunchy incident.)

While I worked up my courage, the children slathered me with their usual onslaught of questions.

“Why are his eyes open?”

“He doesn’t look dead. What killed him? Where’s he hurt?”

“Can we get sick just from being near him?”

Finally, just to escape the Inquisition of Children, I braced myself and ran Darth to his prey. I placed him where I wanted him, I knelt in my photographer’s position, and started snapping.

I got all the angles. You never know which one is the one you want to end up with – even the Dark Lord of the Sith can have bad angles.

I ended up with two shots that meant the most to me, and quickly named the deer.

Buck Skywalker.

Ali was DONE carrying His Majesty, and left it up to Noah to gracefully escort Darth back to the car.

We shoved him in the trunk and quickly left the scene, forgetting that it might have been a great idea to switch off his motion sensor before leaving. All the way home we were gently, yet repeatedly, wooed to The Dark Side.

“Your destiny – your destiny – your destiny – your destiny – your deh your deh your deh your destiny lies with me.”

Oh Darth, if only you knew.

p.s. Yes, note cards are already printed and available.

p.p.s. That night, still basking in the glow of the christening of Buck Skywalker, I decided it was finally time to create an Instagram account for my Dark Side. And so, @happyroadkill was born. It won’t get updated nearly as often as my main Instagram account, but when it does, I promise it will be worth it.

p.p.s. All of this occurred approximately 24 hours before the passing of Carrie Fisher. From what I know about her personality, I hope she would find it all amusing.

What are You Wearing, New Year’s Eve?

December 30, 2016December 29, 2016 Rachel Callahan Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, HauteLook, Weird Strange and True

New Year’s Eve is a fashion must, especially when you’re a mom who has no plans because her husband is attending a College Football Playoff Game.

You better look good for those kids covered in Christmas Candy Dust, ya know?

(For the record I could have absolutely flaunted my fashion fantasticness at said College Football Playoff Game, but I politely turned down the offer. My willingness to go to football while having a complete lack of interest does have a price ceiling, and certain seats are just too expensive for my butt to rest while I stare listlessly at my phone begging the end of the fourth quarter to arrive. Instead, my Dad will come over and watch the game “with me” while I stare listlessly at my phone and the children run magical circles of melted-chocolate-powered-energy around both of us.)

So, fashion. As usual, I turned to HauteLook to dress me for this momentous occasion.

And, as usual, I found what I was looking for – and a whole lot more. So I brought a few things for you to wear, as well.

Perhaps you’re looking for the perfect spot to wear on New Year’s Eve.

No, not the perfect spot to wear something – the perfect spot to wear.

If you don’t have time to order, this is a great craft to let those kids you have help you with. Just find a completely sheer shirt that you used to have use for in some prior exciting life,

Then get your kids to cut out a giant circle out of white construction paper, use a bit of glue, and BOOM!! Fashion.

Alternately, this is a great costume for a Dr. Seuss party.

I will not eat it in a pot,
I will not eat it in a spot.

And then, change into this outfit and…

I will not eat it in suspendered culottes.

But really, nothing says “I’m partying hard on New Year’s Eve” like the back of your pants resembling the front of a 1991 seriously Long Butted pair of dress pants.

Would you rather distract everyone waiting for the ball to drop with your own balls? Then this next shirt’ll do it. Especially if you bling it up a little with your daughter’s craft set and make every one of these pom-poms a tiny spinning disco ball.

Okay, okay I get it. You’re not all staying at home with young children for New Year’s. (Chris promises to be back well in time to kiss me at midnight, so Alabama better not go into overtime.) If you want to be a little fancier than I plan on being, I assume this is what all the young people are wearing these days.

I am not, however, appreciative of them making the off-brand version of “Rihanna” out of my name.

Need to imply a pop star’s name without actually using it?
Just stick a Rach on it!

I know that cold shoulder shirts are all the rage this year – either to hate or to love, depending on your personal beliefs.

But how do we feel about cold armpit shirts?

It’s not really an issue I was ready to face as a human being. How about you?

Thanks to the cold shoulder craze, we have all sorts of body parts that are jealously wanting to get a bit chilly. Let’s do a quick bullet list.

We have the Cold Clavicle Sweatshirt, perfect for moms who want their sweats and their sexy at the same time…

The Cold shoulder / arm / midriff and…

back shirt. How DO these women wear a bra?

The cold “Let’s Put a Tassle on it” shirt,

The cold “Please Don’t Choke Me” shirt,

(In case you wanted to understand how it was connected…I cannot imagine how constrictive this shirt feels.)

The Cold Curtain Shirt,

The cold shoulder AND forearm sweater,

The “Stripes O’ Cold” Dress,

The Cold Hearted shirt,

And, my favorite cold product of all time,

The Cold Lower Thigh Denim Dress.

It’s as if someone said, “This dress is covering too much. Like nearly every inch of her. We need more skin.”

And in response, one of the designers, strung out on a bad cocktail of crack cocaine and French Fashion Education, said “I know JUST the skin to show!”

Okay. Let’s get back to New Year’s Eve.

If you happen to be celebrating New Year’s Eve 1988, may I suggest this beauty.

It makes me miss my Colors of Benetton Barbie something fierce.

And this one..I don’t even understand where and when and how and who…but it’s 68% off, y’all!!

You are looking at Seven Hundred and Forty Five Dollars and Three Cents of free Shop Top!

My favorite part of this outfit, though, was the clearly photoshopped Thigh Gap. No human in the world’s body curves to make a perfect teaspoon.

And on that note, Happy New Year.

May you not spend your 2017 trying to attain a teaspoon crack.

Hands-On Alabama: Archives and History Museum

December 27, 2016December 26, 2016 Rachel Callahan Alabama History, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore.

One of the dozens of benefits of Carla Jean joining us on our project (aside from her fabulous research, entertainment of and by my children, having another adult along for long car trips, and her spectacular articulation of our journeys) is that people have read her articles and emailed her, inviting us to places we didn’t even know existed.

In that manner, we found this unbelievable jewel in our state.

This, y’all, is THE ultimate museum of Alabama History that we didn’t even know existed – and it’s free. The Department of Archives and History in Montgomery is an amazing asset of our state, for both children and adults. They have a research room where you can study family genealogy (including “runners” who will go to the basement and pull ancient archival information for you),

underground archives with fascinating ancient record books,

and a gorgeous chronological museum of Alabama History.

My friend Christen and her two oldest kids, Luke and Aubrey joined us for our journey.

It took the kids five seconds to see the activity sheet in the lobby, and set to work.

Ali brought her camera along, and was fascinated by the ornate ceilings. The fanciness of the surroundings certainly made them feel special – and quite proper.

We visited to the museum first. We were at the point of studying Statehood, and museum guide Wesley Garmon gave us an excellent tour of that specific area. Carla Jean did an excellent job of recording what we learned – click here for her article.

We also saw the only medallions known to still be in existence that signified the Treaty of 1790 between George Washington and the Creek Indians:

As mentioned in a previous Alabama History post, this treaty promised the Creek Indians not to take any more of their land. The very next exhibit showed a map and timeline of the Indian Removal that occurred just a few decades later.

The kids learned about the chief early industry of Alabama, cotton,

As well as seeing artifacts illustrating what their life might have looked like if they were a child in the 1800s.

(Ali made me crop the Smallpox arm out of this picture in her report – she was not a fan. I mean seriously. As if cross-stitching for fun wasn’t bad enough…how about cross-stitching with an arm eaten away with smallpox. Be grateful for your iPads and vaccinations, kiddos.)

The museum was vast, but we only covered the early history of Alabama on our first visit.

On our way out of the museum, the kids got to see the state bible – the bible that every governor of Alabama has been sworn in with.

We then went to the interactive room – they have themed Discovery Buckets with hands-on items and activities to teach about Alabama History (similar learning backpacks are also available for loan through the mail for only $10), as well as many activity sheets, genealogical booklets to make, and many more exciting finds.

The girl’s favorite area was Grandma’s Attic, which was a hands-on area with a closet of old clothes, old toys, and a typewriter – all to play with.

Our guided tour moved to the basement where the archives are kept. The kids were in awe of the rows of history.

Keri, an archival specialist, took over our tour. She had already laid out for us the first map of Alabama AND the first constitution of the state.

Written in 1819, the scroll is held together by wax seals and silk ribbons, and hand-written at a level of neatness that I will aspire to for the rest of my life.

This was the moment I was glad I’d left Noah with my mom that day. Just the thought of him sneezing or tripping or grabbing the constitution made my heart skip a beat.

We spent way too long (and too much) in the gift shop, then headed outside to find our favorite Alabama items on the map in front of the building.

The day was a perfect way to introduce the kids to Alabama voices that shaped the state, as well as let them realize that they, too, are important Alabama Voices.

There was so much to see at this brilliant new discovery that, when we arrived at the Civil War section of our studies, we returned for another visit.

This time, a textile specialist, Ryan, took us to the Textiles storage to show us their collection of Confederate Flags, the third largest in the nation (or the world, if you want to get technical – as far as we know, no one in Switzerland is collecting flags from the Confederate States of America.)

This is where we learned that the Confederate Flags were far from uniform.

For instance, this was the first Confederate Flag, but they decided that it looked too similar to their enemy’s flag.

And this was an example of the very intricate Confederate Flags that the women would make for soldiers to carry – there was a bit of womanly competition over who could make the best.

(That’s a cotton plant, and the Latin, loosely translated, says “get your grubby hands off our cotton.”)

Later, Wesley took us back to the museum to the Civil War section, and explained how soldiers lived, ate, and documented their existence.

Their meals would often consist of Hardtack, which looked like a fillingless Pop Tart made out of petrified cork board and often had meal worms in it. But since there weren’t any better options, nor did the corner gas station sell overpriced legitimate Pop Tarts, they ate it anyway.

We were again amazed at the beauty and thoroughness of the museum, and enjoyed walking chronologically through the history of the state.

Since there weren’t going to be any 200 year old constitutions brought out this time around, I did bring Noah, who was very excited to see Grandma’s Attic for himself. The kid is a bit of a fashionista, so he immediately found himself a uniform, and wore it quite well, if I may say so.

(Carla Jean didn’t mind our revisiting Grandma’s Attic, either.)

Noah was also very excited about the gift shop, and he and his friend Levi chose Confederate hats, while Luke decided to go Union. There was quite the animosity between our soldiers from then on out.

A blog reader, Ashley, had offered to take us through the “Secret Tunnel” that connects the Capitol and State House, and also contains statues of famous Alabama soldiers.

The kids were impressed, and despite the size of our group and preponderance of male children (yes I’m sexist), no statues were harmed in our visit. (You’re welcome, Ashley.)

On the way home from Montgomery, we stopped off in Marbury, Alabama to visit the Confederate Memorial Park and Grounds. Situated on the grounds of the only Confederate Soldier’s Home, it told the fascinating story of the veterans of the Civil War from the losing side. Only Union Soldiers received a pension from the government, and so there was very little to help those many southern soldiers that were permanently scarred from the war. The museum told touching stories such as of three soldiers, all missing their left legs, who would hobble arm in arm through the compound with giant smiles on their faces.

The museum didn’t allow photos, but I did manage to snag this very early version of an Essential Oil.

I mean, I might even buy Mystic Oil of Joy if it were available now.

After the last soldier died, the compound became a place to care for Civil War widows. After the last widow died in the 1930s, they tore down most of the structures and used the supplies to build schools. There were a few structures left and a lot of foundations with informational signs, so we explored and learned.

Noah found this to be the perfect place to put his new Confederate hat to good use.

There were several trails on the property that led to fascinating finds, like the Spring House and the still-functioning water reservoir house.

After Noah managed to literally get stuck on a sign (and I took a few minutes to laugh at him and take photographs),

We ended our long day’s journey and headed home, with a much great understanding of the devastating impact of the Civil War, but also of the love and care that was given in this tiny, unknown Alabama town.

Here are Ali’s reports:

First Visit:

alabama-archives-smaller

Second Visit and Confederate Memorial:

archives-civil-war-visit-small

Hate-Fueled, Lovingly Crafted Christmas Cards.

December 23, 2016December 23, 2016 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Fun With Roadkill, I Play at Photography, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Rachel's "Brilliant" Marketing Ideas

A couple of weeks ago I got served some sponsored posts that made me very angry.

It was an illogical anger – holiday-induced-insanity even – but it happened.

The first one occurred on Instagram.

First let me say that I do not follow Melissa Joan Hart. I do not follow any celebrities (with the exception of The Big Bang Theory Cast because they’re funny and I do not really know why I follow them but I do.) The fact that I was getting sponsored posts not from brands but from celebrities really irritated me. At first I didn’t know why it angered me so intensely, until I got the second one – this time on Facebook.

I don’t follow Melissa Joan Hart at all but I don’t follow Tori Spelling even harder.

Getting two in a row, from different social platforms, really helped clarify what I hated about these ads. Even more helpful was discussing them with Not-Crazy-Renee. Being each other’s Spirit Animal often enables us to articulate the whats and whys behind what the other one is currently hating, even when it’s petty and ludicrous.

So let’s bullet journal the reasons my heart was overflowing with holiday hate.

● I have enough angst and guilt over my short-lived season of family photo Christmas card making (was it 2012 and 2013? Or maybe 2011-2013?) that I do not need celebrities I don’t even like showing up in my feed to humble brag about theirs and remind me that I don’t have it together enough to make that happen.

● Really, Tori? You’re unveiling your holiday card? As though there is a crowd gathered around you with bated breath, just dying to see your Christmas card? Oh wait – I guess since you sponsored the post, that answers the question. You’re going to force us to attend your unveiling whether we want to or not.

● The name of the company that is underwriting these ads – Simply to Impress. Yes, that’s the holiday spirit we’re all trying to get back to. That’s why we send Christmas cards. That’s the Reason for the Season.

● The leather-couch-outside thing is so 2013, Tori. Everyone knows that leather couches do not belong in the grass, especially when accompanied by perfectly coiffed humans in formal wear. And if you’re going to do the leather couch thing, at least do it in a large field, the place where leather couches seem to be indigenous (at least that’s what cultural anthropologists will think when they study their excavated collection of 2013 Christmas cards.)

● And Melissa – it’s super obnoxiously cute that your friends and family know you’re actually Melissa Wilkerson and not Melissa Joan Hart. It’s a good way to show that you’re totally a real person, and not a celebrity bot living a perfect life and sending out Christmas cards simply to impress.

● Tori, how embarrassing was it for you to have to go into your Facebook and BUY a sponsored ad? Isn’t the point of being a B-List celebrity that you have the world’s attention? I mean sure, Simply To Impress reimbursed you for your social media sell-outedness, but tell me – was it worth it? Did that little paycheck really make an even more lavish-on-the-leather-couch-outside lifestyle that much more attainable?

● I love how you both sound exactly alike in your accompanying flowery descriptions. I wonder which lucky intern got to write the copy for both of your posts. (“All you have to do, Tori, is copy my email, hit CTRL-C, and then go to Facebook and hit CTRL-V.”) (“Hey Tori, can you go in and edit your post and take my email address off the very beginning of it? That’d be great.”)

● Who, exactly, are you trying to reach? Are their people out there that will go buy the identical Christmas Card design so they can tell their friends “Oh yes, I have the same Christmas Cards as Tori McDermott. That’s Tori Spelling, for those of you who don’t know her legal name. #SimplyToImpress”

I spent a week hating on these posts in the darkest, least Holiday-Spiritest parts of my soul, then another week hating on myself for not winning at Christmas enough to send out my own Christmas cards. Also because I really LOVE to address Christmas cards all fancy-like. It’s a favorite holiday tradition.

And then, in a flurry of inspiration and dark-mindedness and manic preparation and fancy writing, I decided that I would, indeed, send out a small batch of Christmas cards.

I took my list from the previous years and pared it down a good bit, then asked my blog readers if they would like a Christmas-Ish card. Because really, these Christmas Cards had to be wanted – they best arrived anticipated, not out of the blue and unexpectedly.

I hurriedly ordered a new batch of my favorite creation of 2016 and then ran over to Hobby Lobby and bought decorative stickers.

Then, attempting to make each of the cards unique, Noah and I set out on a holiday deco-fest, while Ali preferred to watch in wonder.

Sloppy the Squirrel and Crunchy the ‘Possum were redeemed, one by one, into a beautiful celebration of the holiday season.

Because nothing says Jolly like a ‘Possum and her oils.

I have never in my life had so much fun with Christmas Cards, giggling as I created each one – especially when I realized that Crunchy was able to hold a small gift.

My envelopes were just fancy enough to hopefully hide the unexpected turn of events that would be found within,

And I knew that my goal was to add some levity amongst all the cards that my friends and blog readers would be receiving this season.

Lest you miss the gravity of the moment, this is a story of redemption. Because just as Crunchy and Sloppy had been redeemed for the holidays, so had Melissa and Tori, along with my Happy Holiday Heart. Because yes, I despised them and their obnoxious sponsored posts, but ultimately they drove me to the cheeriest Christmas card making of my life.

So thank you, Melissa.

And thank you, Tori.

And even thank you, Simply to Impress.

I am certain that this outcome was your exact intention.

Editor’s Note: If you didn’t receive a card from me this year, I apologize. I sent out a much smaller batch than usual due to the labor-intensity, the limited number of cards on hand, and not wanting to cause any queasiness in those who hadn’t been slowly immunized to my sick sense of humor. If you would like to receive a card, albeit late, email or message me your mailing address. Maybe Crunchy and Sloppy can be repurposed for New Year’s, Valentine’s or Easter. If you would like your own set of non-holidayed Roadkill Note Cards to send out to your friends and family, they can be purchased here – with 100% of the profits being donated to The WellHouse.