Rachel Callahan

The Best Worst Comments: Volume III.

January 18, 2016January 16, 2016 Rachel Callahan Best Worst Comments, I'm a Blog Geek, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

Volumes I and II can be found here and here.

I adore my regular readers and their lovely and encouraging comments – I seriously cherish with all my heart. But the random Googlers that find my blog and leave bizarre and angry comments also have a special place in my heart. As such, the time has come again look at the best worst comments I’ve gotten in the past year and a half. Because I love people. And they love me. Or something like that.

The Dilemna/Dilemma post received the largest amount of fascinating new comments. This is the post that I discussed the bizarre situation that many of us find ourselves in – completely convinced that dilemna is the way to spell dilemma, and upon trying to find out how I could have been so deceived, I discovered that one of the theories is that there’s a whole group of us that somehow crossed over from an alternate dilemna-spelling universe.

Tony was by far my favorite commenter on this subject. I may or may not have dramatically read his comment aloud well over a dozen times.

Who knew Satan cared so much about the dilemma of alternate spellings? I certainly did not. Nor have I ever attempted to prove my faith in Jesus Christ based off of spelling anomalies, so clearly I’m gravely shallow.

And then there was poor Naima. Or more likely, her possibly former husband.

Another post I wrote, a very tongue-in-cheek (and, I thought humorous but apparently not to all) look at the reasons why I homeschool, brought out a jewel of a human being – you know, the friend we all need – the type that tells us clearly and plainly how very wrong we are.

My poor warped children, living such a boring, unadventurous, anti-social life…how WILL they ever forgive me? AND WHY HAVEN’T YOU GUYS POINTED OUT THIS BLIND SPOT TO ME BEFORE?!

An early post I wrote that was a personal favorite received a five-year-late response. The post was about Kiosk Warfare and the in-depth strategy one must take to avoid getting spritzed, curled, or otherwise attacked by mall kiosk workers. I wrote the post in 2010, but Carmela the angry kiosk-worker found it in 2015.

She is so, SO correct. I would definitely not last a day.

Speaking of late reactions, a mere nine months after I started blogging in 2008, I wrote a piece about how much I despise honking my horn. Jeff found this post just last month, and had some wisdom he felt needed adding.

And here I thought hitting my key fob twice armed my alarm system. Thanks, Jeff, for letting me know that I’m really just a narcissist who is obsessed with the fact that I have a standard automobile feature.

In January of last year, I wrote the latest installment of my sleepwalking injuries (thankfully the least injurious of the entire collection.) Six months later, Kathleen felt that she had some very pertinent information to share:

Put that email address on speed-dial, y’all. You never know when you may need it.

(And if her husband is living with the other woman now, how is he also happily living back at home? I love it when the present situation changes halfway through writing a comment.)

Of course, a year couldn’t go by without having some serious feedback on my ever-viral (despite being sorely outdated) denim posts.

The most popular of the series, written in 2012, is specifically about Gap and Old Navy jeans being Mom Jeans. Am I aware that Gap has dramatically updated their jeans since 2012? Of course. Have I felt like writing another 20+ hour research post about it? Not yet. Does that mean I should take down a post just because it’s outdated? That’s not how the internet works. Unless you ask Jessica…

Because clearly I OWE it to the internet to spend another month of my life redoing this post. How dare I not update it.

BN agrees.

It’s my favorite when people find a dated post and complain that it’s dated. DARN THAT PASSAGE OF TIME!!!!

Mary Ann had a broader view on the problem of denim…

Well there you go, ladies. Jeans were made for a man. That’s all there is to it.

And finally, my proper cursing post brought out a couple of fantastic comments. My friend Kristina totally got trolled by the somewhat bizarrely named “SauceEatn”. Normally I don’t allow trolls to troll other people on my blog, but I knew Kristina could take it, and for the life of us, no matter how many times we read the comment, we couldn’t quite figure out what Mr. (Ms.?) Eatn was trying to tell us…

So is it a mild euphemism, barely a euphemism, a horrible euphemism, or what exactly? Maybe one of you can diagram his/her sentences and solve the mystery for us.

And as a last jewel to offer you, this comment was on the same cursing post, and from my friend Christen. It’s not a Best Worst Comment – it’s just a Best Best Comment – perhaps the best comment I received in all of 2015. Unfortunately, emojis don’t come over when you leave a comment, but just know that anywhere there’s an unexplained blank space, Christen had inserted a Smiling Pile of Poo:

There’s nothing quite like a Granddad’s sweet nothings to boost your self-esteem.

Just Because It’s Friday…

January 15, 2016January 15, 2016 Rachel Callahan Boy Child = Bizarre., Kids: The Experience., What's That Sound

“Hey Mommy. Is my butt still clean?”

“You mean your bottom? Clean from what?”

“My bath last night.”

“I mean, probably…why?”

“Well, I’ve touched it twice today with my hand and haven’t washed it.” (Holding up a finger.)

“You touched your bottom with that finger?”

“Oh no I touched my butt with my whole hand. Both times.”

“Hmm. Well, I guess you could smell your bottom and see if it was clean…”

“Oh MY. I sure smelled it earlier in the bathroom when I pooped. It smelled TERRIBLE.”

“I see.”

“Oh – and I didn’t flush, either – since I stopped up the toilet the other day and Daddy told me not to flush that night. You should go see if I used too much toilet paper. So is my butt still clean?”

“You should probably go wash your hands. Just in case.”

Re-gifting The Squirrel.

January 14, 2016August 30, 2016 Rachel Callahan Fun With Roadkill, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

Yes – we’re back around to this. AGAIN. It’s the dead squirrel that just won’t die.

It’s just that Sloppy The Squirrel was just too good of a friend to let go.

And, although I did not buy my dear friend Tanya the note cards or canvas that I considered, I did create her a present from Sloppy.

I chose this particular reincarnation of our furry friend because I know Tanya. And I know that there is nothing that could better start off her days than drinking coffee out of a dead squirrel.

So I designed her a fully-involved coffee mug, with the image wrapped around for a full three-dimensional experience.

I was given the choice as to what color I wanted the handle and the inside of the mug, and although “Blood Red” was a tempting choice, I went with a calmer “Sunflower Blue”, paying homage to how very much Sloppy would enjoy cracking open one last sunflower seed.

But then. When I completed my order and went back in to check it one last time, I was horrified.

According to the order specifications, THEY HAD CHOPPED POOR SLOPPY’S HEAD OFF.

This was not okay.

Not okay at all.

Had I missed this when I was approving the design? Had I ordered a faulty mug? Or had his head gotten unfairly treated in the passage of bytes from my computer to Vistaprint headquarters??

So naturally, I opted for chat support, because I needed this addressed immediately. Garcia was a lucky man to get to check into my very special problem.

I was much happier knowing that Sloppy was still fully in tact. So all there was to do was wait for it to arrive, with no pre-warning, to Tanya’s house.

One very meaningful day, I got this barrage of texts.

It took me until the fourth text to realize what she was OMGing. But that fourth question – if I wasn’t afraid of ruining the moment, I would have said, “Do you THINK I ordered a dead squirrel mug for someone else and accidentally sent it to you? Because I think the chances of that happening are less than zero.”

But I let her simply bask in her excitement over her life goals being met.

After she calmed down enough to decrease her number of exclamation points, I asked after the cognitive health of poor Sloppy.

Relief and bliss washed over me.

I expect this coffee cup to come up on every gift ideas listicle for 2016.

Updates of Life and Injuries.

January 12, 2016January 12, 2016 Rachel Callahan Car Accident

So, although The Great Wreck seems to come up in most blog posts to explain one facet of life or another, I haven’t really updated about the recovery process itself in a while. Mainly because it’s not my favorite thing to talk about – it gets old and it’s seriously hard work to make it all funny, and I’m really not a fan of whining. The last time I did update you, I was in a euphoric state, convinced that I was almost better. I have since learned that it’s best to not allow oneself to think such dangerous thoughts – because the very next week, everything broke again.

I’ve had three or four cycles of that in the past 11 weeks – where I’ll get excited because I think I’m healing, only to crash the very next week. So I will say that I’ve been having a really great week and a half – even better than that last euphoric week – but I’m not going to say that it’s all going to be uphill from here because it most likely will not. I have, however, quit taking ibuprofen around the clock and rarely have to take muscle relaxers – so there’s that.

So. The wreck was 11 weeks ago from Wednesday – which is really just insane to process. When I texted Chris that day to tell him we’d been hit head-on, my leading line was “We’re fine” – and I truly thought that we were. It hadn’t occurred to me that adrenaline is such a liar. I’ve pondered several times the thought that if I had known then what I know now, how devastating that day would have been. Ultimately I’m very thankful that I’ve found out things slowly and didn’t know the full breadth of the recovery process and the long weeks of pain I’d have.

So, to recap, here’s a summary of the injuries that have been found at this point:

– Most importantly, the kids are now fine, thank goodness – they had a kid version of whiplash, but it healed in a couple of weeks, and they haven’t had any more problems, although Ali does tend to blame the wreck for every headache, stomachache, and hangnail. Because why not.

My injuries are as follows:

– Two bulging discs and a torn disc in my neck, all three of which are injuries that just take a long time to heal – they’re not surgically fixable, nor are they really treatable through my Physical Therapy. A neurosurgeon offered to give me a pain block, but I haven’t gone that route yet.

– A damaged muscle in my left leg – this injury has been especially long in recovering, although it does seem to be getting better slowly.

– Damaged ligaments and muscles in my head, neck, and shoulders, which has resulted in a lot of pain in the affected areas as well as nerve pain in my arms and hands.

– The resulting worsening of my dysautonomia from all of the above and the necessary laying around I’ve been doing for two months.

– TEN FREAKING POUNDS OF WEIGHT GAIN. That is totally and absolutely injurious.

I am still going to Physical Therapy three times a week – I am over 30 visits in now, so I’m pretty sure I should qualify as Patient of the Year. Around week eight, my PT began ramping up my therapy to try and get the knots in my neck, shoulders, and leg to quit returning (he used the term “chronic pain” once and I told him to never utter such a foul phrase again.) Instead of sticking needles in me and electrocuting me on separate occasions, he began electrocuting me through the needles that were inserted straight into the damaged muscles.

I looked and felt like a dead car battery.

The neck electrocuting needles are kind of warm and tingly-fuzzy, but the leg ones are intense.

Of course, because I care about your full experience of my healing process, I Periscoped this process. It wasn’t easy, laying on my stomach and holding my phone behind my back while my leg had lightning rods in it, but what can I say. I’m committed.

I know. You’re all super jealous of my awesome spa treatments.

Although I am able to run (to help my dysautonomia) with some regularity during the periods of time when things aren’t re-broken, I still can’t sit with my legs down for more than half an hour or my back gets really achy. Because of this, I’m continuing to spend a lot of time in bed (I haven’t worked in my office since the wreck – Chris got me a rolling cart for a temporary bedroom office.) Also, I have become the church diva, stealing pillows from the lobby for my neck and claiming a half-pew for my legs.

My biggest point of anxiety has been starting back school with Ali, but I bought her a lap desk, and she and I are doing her school in bed (which, for the record, I did all of my homeschooling in bed growing up, so she’s just finally getting to be as lazy as her mother.)

Because of my significant hours a week in physical therapy and my also significant hours a week of lying around, the remainder of life is quite busy and backlogged right now. I’m managing things as best as I can, and Chris is infinitely helpful and tireless in his serving of me. But I am in a place where I’m finally starting to feel like I’m able to regain control of parts of my life. I’m at least attempting to lose that ten pounds that was just the cherry on top of the whole thing, so I’m taking some supplements and eating carefully, which is also helping my energy levels. My house is still the biggest chaotic disaster ever (I haven’t been approved yet to lift more than five pounds, so laundry baskets sit downstairs for weeks and Christmas paraphernalia is still in the middle of everything), but I’m getting caught up on work and keeping up with Ali’s school and trying to still blog and run Picture Birmingham. But if I write less blog posts than usual or I’m slower answering emails, comment replies, and other correspondence, all of this would be why.

(I should start answering all of my emails with “I’m sorry this took so long – I was entirely too busy laying in bed.”)

Finally and most importantly, thank you. For those of you who have checked in on me, those who still sent me Christmas Cards even though I didn’t do a blog reader card exchange this year, and those who sent me thoughtful little gifts, I cannot tell you how much they have meant to me. I love that you love me even when I’m not doing much to actively love you back. To Mary, who sent my kids Canadian Chocolate coins (who knew? Canadian Chocolate Coins are more tasty than American Chocolate coins!) and dear Melissa who sent me another box of The World’s Best Chocolate-Covered Cherries, and to all of you who have cared for us during this complicated time, I love you dearly. Thank you for thinking of us, for considering me a real friend even though most of us have never met (I totally consider all of you real friends), and for loving on our family when we needed it.

2016 looks like it will be a good year. I still feel quite refreshed by the changing of the calendar, and plan on it being absolutely fantastic.

On Crossing the Bridge from Kid to Tween.

January 8, 2016January 8, 2016 Rachel Callahan A Bit More Vulnerable Than I Usually Am, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Kids: The Experience., The Blissfulness of Life

Dear Ali,

Something about turning nine is clearly a large step – we’re entering into something new, something unknown, a completely different territory of life.

Maybe it’s not that exact age for everyone, but we sense it with you. You’re growing up, figuring out who you are, becoming more self-aware of your personhood.

We’ve been having lots of talks lately about what it means to age, boggling your mind with stories of how your future hormones will probably make you want to hate us and hate your brother and hate everything else (and that you can’t let those pesky hormones win), and also, how proud we are of who you are becoming.

You’re braver than you’ve ever been, you still have your goofy kid side, and you’re brilliant, perceptive, hard-working, and thoughtful.

Wherever this journey takes you,

I hope that you stay you,

That you remember who you are and Whose you are,

That you remember to set a good example for your brother who infinitely adores you,

And that you never forget how much we love you.

Oh – and be sure to have fun along the way.

Happy birthday to the kid who made me a mom…

I hope that you live the rest of your life with as much vigor and passion as is now contained within you.

Not-Crazy-Renee and the Holiday Houseguests.

January 7, 2016January 5, 2016 Rachel Callahan Not Crazy Renee, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

Chris’ Aunt Kitty and Uncle Leo came in town for Christmas celebrations. They were staying at our house, despite the fictional package thief that surely puts our neighborhood in the Top Ten Least Safe Places to hang out.

Since the weather was ridiculously hot over Christmas and the following weekend (even bringing tornadoes and what-not), one night Kitty and Leo were outside in our yard after dark.

Kitty came running in, looking rather scared, and told me, “Somebody just drove by and asked me if I was a Callahan – in an ominous voice!!”

“What?? What do you mean?”

“Well, I was outside, and I saw a car coming, then the car started slowing down so I started back toward the house just in case somebody was about to jump out of the car, and then they rolled down their window and said, ‘Is that a Callahan?’ So I stammered and said, ‘well, yes, but I’m an Aunt…’, and I took off back to the house. And they just drove away!”

“What were they driving?”

She described the car, and I began mentally taking inventory of our neighbor’s cars, looking for a match.

OOOOOH.

Of course it was.

“Was she young? Long hair?”

“Yes…”

“It had to have been Renee.”

“You mean Not-Crazy-Renee?”

“The very one. I’ll ask her.”

So I texted her.

We all laughed about our incredibly vigilant neighborhood watch while the children listened, puzzled. Ali, who is just old enough to be concerned with understanding context and nuance, asked, “When you say ‘Not-Crazy-Renee’, is the ‘Not-Crazy’ part sarcastic?”

Which I immediately informed Renee of Ali’s confidence in her.

Now. It deserves noting here that dear Renee is really not-at-all crazy, and was just the victim of overfriendliness, darkness, and the allure of Christmas Cheer. She had driven the long way back to her house so that she and her children could bask in the delight of our house’s Christmas lights. While she was driving up, she noticed someone out in the yard and assumed it was one of us. Too dark to tell for sure, she called out a friendly greeting (one that Kitty apparently didn’t hear as she was backing away from the vehicle that was certainly up to no good in her mind.) When Renee didn’t get an answer, she yelled out, “Is that a Callahan?” in a joking tone.

But alas. Perception is everything. And when all you hear is a grilling of the status of your surname by an unknown car in the dark, you naturally go to a fearful place. Poor Not-Crazy-Renee had been set up by the world.

Later, after the children had moved on, I was still marveling over Not-Crazy-Renee’s yard occupant check. I texted her.

“I just love that you’re doing drive-by identity checks.”

She texted back, and I read her text aloud to Kitty and Leo.

“Renee says, ‘I will be leaving slips of paper in everyone’s mailbox with a randomly selected ‘Neighborhood Password’ on a bi-weekly basis. I will then patrol the neighborhood in the evenings, and anyone who is unable to produce the password will be harassed, or shot on sight, depending on my mood. Be sure to inform your guests.’”

After I finished reading it, I looked up to see Leo’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Are you KIDDING ME?!?”

Clearly he wasn’t buying the “not-crazy” modifier either. Or she’d spooked him more than he’d let on.

I went back to Not-Crazy-Renee and informed her that Leo took her quite seriously.

Then again, the Leo in question is Toenail-Art-Making, Crochet-Shorts-To-A-Formal-Ball-Wearing Uncle Leo. So he may or may not be the best judge of crazy. Either that, or he and Not-Crazy-Renee are such kindred spirits that he naturally believes in her.

How to Clean Out Siri’s Ears.

January 5, 2016January 5, 2016 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational

So I’m a complete idiot.

As I told you yesterday, I spent a year trying to decode Siri’s ridiculous reminders – and it turns out, it was all my fault.

I realized why Siri couldn’t understand me just a few hours before reader Sheri commented the solution. So Sheri, I just want you to know that you’re way smarter than I am because you realized it in the time it took you to read the post, and it took me only 365 days to solve the puzzle.

If any of you remember from my Poo Emoji post (as Sheri did), I use a male Australian Siri. And, as it turns out, there are two ways to set up a male Australian Siri:

1) You can change the actual language of your phone to English (Australia), which is what I formerly did, or

2) You can change the accent of Siri to Australian, which is what I should have done.

(In my defense I don’t think these features were so clearly separated a year ago when I fell in love with my male Australian Siri.)

The difference is that option one actually changes the language of your phone to Australian English, which means that Siri was trying to listen to me with an Australian Accent (hence why he spelled “pajamas” “pyjamas” and how he somehow pulled the word “Mandaribba” from me saying “Neurosurgery.”) With option two, he’s listening with American English ears and just speaking back to me with an Australian accent.

I tested it by dictating a text message to my Mom in both options. I spoke quickly and clearly, and the only difference is that I said “Kids” with setting one, and “Children” with setting two:

Setting one – the wrong setting:

Setting two – the correct setting, with 100% accuracy in listening:

So there you go.

Unfortunately, this means I won’t have a follow-up post of insane reminders next year.

But fortunately, this means I will actually understand all of my reminders from now on, and will have to apologize to less of you for forgetting that I promised to Mandaribba your pyjamas in the mail.

A Year of Siri’s Helpfulness.

January 4, 2016January 5, 2016 Rachel Callahan Photographical Oddities, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

I don’t ask Siri for much. Or at least not for a large variety of things. My requests almost entirely consist of “What time is sunset?”, “What’s the temperature today?”, and “Remind me to…”

But the reminders…they age me. I’ve watched in awe as my friends dictate giant novella text messages to Siri and she miraculously gets every word right. I don’t understand. I don’t think I have too (relatively) strong of an accent, but she never grasps even the simplest of my statements.

As I write this post, every time I turn on my phone, she’s reminding me of this.

That’s right. Just…America.

What I TOLD her to do was “Remind me to write a check for Meredith.” Yet she just went with “America.” And, as I always do, I rolled my eyes and trusted myself to remember what that meant, because I was too lazy to go in and edit the reminder. And, so far, I’m succeeding. But it’s not always that way…and it’s certainly not that way when I go back through my undeleted reminders from the entire year, mystified at the bizarre things that Siri reminded me to do.

Such as in April, when I needed Eggs and…an Iron Tribe workout? Downton Abbey? Orangutans? I have no idea.

And in May, when a dudley needed a picture and I needed a teacher. But after all, what homeschool Mom doesn’t want to call in a substitute in the month of May?

Later in May, I appear to be buying a present for the IRS.

(Interpretation: I’m pretty sure this was a reminder to wrap Tessa’s present.)

In June, though, I have no idea what girl I filed away into the proper alphabetized folder.

This next one gives me the vision of being Barney Fife, putting a Bar-B-Q accessory behind bars.

(Interpretation: I’m pretty sure I asked Siri to remind me to book the Girl’s Trip.)

Later in June, I suppose I was creating a cryptic code to request northern Coke.

And this one…on Chris’ birthday…I have absolutely no idea what I was wanting to remember to do. But I’m frightened.

I think “Emmas on water” equals “Amazon order”…and maybe I was mad because I couldn’t finish my order on my phone so I was complaining to…my phone? Because that’s an efficient use of my emotions.

In September, it appears that I might have gone on a Green Beret secret mission.

(I think a.l. dark calm would be referring to al.com, but I don’t know how to Z a website. I swear, CIA.)

Things were odd in October…if someone looked at my reminders I think they’d want to give me a drug test.

November led to felines with phone bills…

(I think “cell cat” was most likely “sales tax.”)

And I DO NOT TAKE PICTURES OF MINIONS, Siri.

Speaking of drug deals, December sounds like I was pulling one off for my friend Carla Jean…

(Late = Light)

And also that I was perhaps creating a new BBT drama later in the month.

But this one…just frightened me.

I think Siri is booking me a flight now for an experimental Malaysian surgery.

Your prayers and thoughts are appreciated.

Update: I solved my Siri problem. And I am an idiot.

24 Hours with a Five Year Old.

December 30, 2015December 29, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Boy Child = Bizarre., Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year, What's That Sound

The following happened between the hours of 8:30am December 21 and 8:30am December 22.

Monday.

8:30am: I threw clothes at him and told him to get dressed – we had to go to Physical Therapy. After a few mandatory whines about the unfairness of having to wear clothing, he disappeared into the bathroom.

The next time I saw him, he looked like this:

I sent him back to the bathroom to turn all the things around. I could only assume his underwear was on backwards too because what are the chances.

9am: In the car, on the way to Physical Therapy…

“Is God wearing sandals right now? Because the last time he was here he got holes in his feet and they probably hurt.”

9:05am: still in the car…

“Hey Mommy whoever wants to go to heaven should touch a power line. Because that’s how they can die.”

Such a problem solver. But maybe not that great of an Evangelist…

9:30am: Arrived at Physical Therapy…

He pulled out 4 Sour Punch Kids from his pocket and ran them back to my Physical Therapist. (Because I’m nice, I had supplied him a Ziploc bag for that treat before we left the house…after he’d been carrying them around in his hands for a while.)

11:45am: In the drive-thru line at the bank…

We were behind a ridiculously slow person, and after realizing that the other lines had turned over four times, I backed up to get in another line while saying “Good grief what is this lady DOING!!??”

To which Noah added with a huff, “O…N…G!!!”

I asked him where he heard ONG.

“Oh, you know….TV shows. And a babysitter.”

I texted Chris our son’s newfound vocabulary.

3pm: I noticed a BabyBel cheese sitting on the coffee table – one he’d offered me but I didn’t want.

“Hey buddy – go put that back in the fridge so it doesn’t go bad.”

He looked up, surprised, and said, “But I have the rest of the cheeses in my treasure box!”

“What??”

“In my box. See?”

“When did you put them in there?”

“I don’t remember…a couple of hours ago….”

5:30pm: (After putting the BabyBels back in the fridge), he apparently decided that I needed an awesome hug. I was laying on my side on the couch trying to get my neck comfortable, and he got a running start and leapt at me, aiming directly for my neck.

In an effort to protect my rather damaged neck, I instinctively threw an elbow in front of myself (oops) which caught him in the cheek.

We ended up both quite damaged in that exchange.

5:35pm, after recovering from taking an elbow…

He threw a large blanket on the coffee table, where there was a cup of water he’d insisted on bringing me.

Water everywhere, cleanup ensued.

6pm: I sent myself to my room until after the children were asleep…to “rest my neck.”

Tuesday.

8am: Noah came running in my room, where I was still in my pajamas but had my computer out and was doing a little work from bed before getting up.

“I’m cold I’m cold I’m cold I’m cold and YOU ARE SO HOT, Mommy. You’re the kind of hot that I like.”

I suggested he get in bed and cuddle with me while I finished my work. He went back to his room to retrieve his favorite blanket, then gleefully shoved himself into my armpit.

“OOOOOOOH You are SO HOT, Mommy!!”

He dove under the covers to steal all my warmth, then peeked his head out and said,

“….I can see part of your bottom, Mommy.”

“Then you shouldn’t be looking at it!”

“But that part of you is so hot I can’t stop touching it!!”

“And why is your leg so GIANT?? I mean look at it – it goes from here to here. It’s so BIG!!!”

Five is going to be a good year for him. I can tell.

How to Properly Celebrate Two-Turd-Fifteen.

December 28, 2015December 27, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck

When I originally blogged the above phrase on the first day of April in the blessed(ly almost over) year of Two-Turd-Fifteen, I really had no idea. Sure, we’d been pretty much constantly sick since The Unspeakable Christmas four months prior, but it was nothing compared to what would come.

Some would say I asked for it, speaking it forth so early in the year.

I prefer to think of myself as an oblivious prophet.

As we began the approach the end of this memorable year, I knew I needed to do something significant to cleanse us of its filth. I had to put it behind me and gleefully move into what I am preemptively referring to as.

I finally decided on what that should be.

We needed to eat it.

Eat in all its glory.

The time had come, anyway, to order Chris’ biannual Cake Pop order from the brilliant artist Jamie, and I always try to make it new and unique when possible.

So I took a chance and asked her for an extremely custom, specific order.

Even as I sent her the list of all that brought us, kept piling on, presenting us with The Holiday Hole:

(Chris wrapped it lovingly for Christmas Day, though I told him it really needed Elf-On-A-Shelf or Santa legs dangling down. And maybe some lights. And tinsel. Oh and definitely a giant bow.)

(No worries. The Holiday Hole is covered under warranty from the original flood. It’s pretty much the least stressful thing that has happened in the entirety of .)

But I did indeed send Jamie the list and asked her to make our year in cake pop form, along with a few applicable emojis, for good measure.

And, as I expected, she depicted it in pure brilliance.

And we gleefully ate our year.

We ate all of our illnesses,

We ate ,

We ate my running injuries,

We ate my tonsillitis hospital stay and resulting tonsillectomy,

We ate our house flood,

We ate our epically catastrophic camping trip,

We ate our countless prescriptions,

We ate the sad demise of Flexi,

We ate my long and still continuing recovery from the wreck (there was actually a better emoji for this – the one with bandages on its head – but we ate it before I got to photography. Because edible therapy is the best, y’all.)

And….we even ate the spider that ate his way out of Noah’s underwear.

As I explained to the kids all of the cake pops, I gave this special one to Noah and asked him what it was. He stared at it for a minute, read his name, looked at the spider, burst out laughing, then gave me many bemused looks.

Because if you can’t laugh at your penis spider bites, what is life?

But we absolutely ate that spider.

(Not Ali, though. She said, “I know it’s not real….but I don’t think I want to eat that one.”)

After discussing each pop and the incidents surrounding them, Ali considered all these things in her heart and then said, “Wow. We’ve really had an….INTERESTING year, haven’t we?”

Yes, honey. And that’s why were eating it.

May your be infinitely bright. Like ours is absolutely going to be.