Rachel Callahan

On Going Over to the Dark Side.

November 30, 2015August 30, 2016 Rachel Callahan Fun With Roadkill, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

Disclaimer: This post contains pictures of roadkill. Not nasty bloody roadkill (I only linked to that one) – just fresh, vanilla roadkill. If you think you might be offended and feel the need to berate me tirelessly in the comments, please click here to read this post instead – it’s the Luna Lovegood to this Lord Voldemort of posts. But. If you want to know exactly how dark my humor can go, then feel free to continue reading. But. If you then feel the need to berate me tirelessly in the comments after reading, I will simply reply with a shrug and an “I tried to stop you…”A little over a month ago, Chris and I took our friends Zack and Tanya to a football game with us. But before they arrived to our tailgating spot, we had to clear out a dead squirrel from their parking space.

No big deal. Chris took that squirrel and threw it in the bushes. As one does. Because hospitality.

But not before someone (not me nor Chris, for the record) took a picture of it served on an Alabama plate. As one does. Because Roll Tide.

Later as we were hanging out with Zack and Tanya, Chris started laughing as he was looking at his phone.

“What?”, I asked.

“Oh, you remember that picture earlier? Someone posted it on Facebook.”

“Oooh – let me see.”

“Are you sure you can handle it? It’s kinda gross…”

It’s like he doesn’t even know me.

“Of course I CAN HANDLE IT. I tried to watch my own C-Section while it was happening, remember?”

He handed me his phone. I looked at the picture. I giggled.

Tanya asked what was so funny. I reached out my arm to hand her Chris’ phone, but Chris’ protective instincts kicked in. His protective instincts are apparently the only instinct stronger than his carefully-guard-his-electronics instinct, because he swatted his own phone out of my hand and into my plate of tailgating food.

He immediately regretted this decision as he stared forlornly at his iPhone swimming in my mashed potatoes. He picked it up and started wiping it off while fussing at me for trying to show our guest something so distasteful, as I laughed at him for his attempt to protect Tanya’s ladylikeness.

Because Tanya is pretty much the least ladylike lady (or possibly human in general) that I know.

She just ran a 100 mile race. She’s from New Jersey (blatant stereotyping here.) She blogs about things like Diva Cups (something of which I actually also have a blog post about but I’ve always been too ladylike to post) and pee color (warning: she also blogs in much spicier language than I do.) There is NOTHING about Tanya that wails “protect me dear sir, I might get the vapors from the sight of your dead squirrel on a plate!”

But most importantly, Tanya has actually written a blog post about how hilarious she finds staged dead animals, such as this classic SnapChat:

….And to think that Chris Mashed Potatoed his own phone to protect her innocence.

Tanya went on to cry-laugh as she told Chris countless dead animal stories, and later made us watch this YouTube video, explaining that if Chris hadn’t so unceremoniously discarded her parking spot squirrel in the bushes, she could have made her very own Dead Squirrel YouTube.

(We like having weird friends. Don’t you?)

Chris, mystified by this discovery of a new genre of humor that he had previously been unaware of its existence, slowly reasoned it out.

“So…..dead animals are….funny….and dead animal humor is…..a thing….I see…..so instead of….not letting Tanya see a dead squirrel on a plate….next time I see a dead squirrel…..I need to stage it…..like maybe give it some liquor bottles or something….is that how this works?”

Tanya promised that she would love him forever if he did just that.

(Which is really saying something since Tanya had previously proposed to Chris during an early morning Birmingham Track Club run because he put Peanut Butter M&Ms in the water stop cooler.)

(And then he ate those M&Ms out of her hand.)

(Maybe we’re as weird as our friends.)

Anyway. Since The Great Mashed Potatoing, and the fact that Tanya and I have been making fun of him ever since, Chris has felt a strong desire to show his ability to grasp this darker side of humor, and has kept his eye out for appropriate roadkill waiting to be staged.

Fast forward a month, to Saturday.

I went out on my very first run after the accident, basking in the beautiful fall air and the ability to finally move my legs at a quick pace again after 31 days of brutal recovery.

A couple of miles into my run, I saw him. The ideal squirrel.

He wasn’t bloody and nasty like the Alabama Plate squirrel, he was right on a sidewalk that runners pass continuously, and he definitely looked passed out.

I texted Chris, who was at home with our children.

I mean I GUESS I see why Chris wouldn’t want to take the children out of the house for the sole purpose of staging a boozy squirrel. I guess. But I thought it was rather uncommitted of him.

So, after my run and a stop at Starbucks, I drove around the block and, for the first time in my life, entered a liquor store by myself. I walked into the ABC Store and slowly turned in circles, trying to figure out where they kept the squirrel-sized bottles of hooch.

I must have looked suspicious, because the cashier said rather guardedly, “Can I help you find something?”

“I was trying to find some sort of mini…maybe a Jack Daniels mini?”

My lack of specificity did not help my oddness.

“All of the minis are back here behind the counter. What would you like?”

I scanned all of the bottles, looking for the one from which a squirrel would most likely pass out.

“Those. Jack Daniels. I’ll take one. No, make that two.”

She rang me up and gave me my paper sack, eyeing me skeptically as I slunk out the door with my four dollars worth of Squirrel Sauce.

I parked across the street and down the block from my new friend, breathed a sigh of relief that there didn’t seem to be a lot of running traffic at the moment, and quickly trotted up the sidewalk, paper bag in hand.

I sat down next to Sloppy the Squirrel and once again checked for approaching runners.

I opened up the first Squirrel-Sized-Fifth and dumped it into the pine straw. I carefully tucked it up next to him, then halfway dumped out the next bottle and leaned it on top.

I giggled.

Because I’m a terrible human.

And then I took my pictures.

I left him there, just so, as a treat for any dark-sided runners that might happen by.

And then I stole all of Tanya’s love from Chris and texted her the picture.

I’m thinking about getting Tanya a special gift for Christmas. Do you think I should go with a framed print, a wrapped canvas, or perhaps a set of note cards? The note cards would be perfect for any occasion. Get Well Soon, Birthday Party Invitations, Happy St. Patrick’s Day…

Because anyone who can stomach being Tanya’s friend would adore receiving a handwritten note in the mail like this.

Editor’s Note: If you’re here from Mountain Brook PD investigating a littering charge, this post is entirely fictitious.

Thankfulness, Prioritized.

November 24, 2015November 23, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience.

Ali brought home a thankfulness list from church last Wednesday night and proudly presented it to me, asking me to read it in its entirety.

I suppose she thought I would be relieved and happy to come in fifth on her list of thanksgivings, and I suppose I am. It’s not like I’ve gotten to be a stellar Mom lately. And, at least I didn’t come in last, behind “other, other, other, iPad, Minecraft” like her beloved godmother Amanda did.

But my favorite, by far, was my mom’s spot on the list.

She came in second place. She is pretty awesome and all and she totally deserves at least second.

But she came in second – right behind “Grandmama’s Laszanya.”

Should you be such a good cook that your food is better than you are?

It can’t be a bad thing.

A Brief (or not) Summary of the Week.

November 22, 2015November 22, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Bit More Vulnerable Than I Usually Am, A Day in the Life, Car Accident

Disclaimer: Don’t expect this to be too amusing. Muscle relaxers make minds mushy. Narcotic pain pills make minds even mushier. And I can’t make tragedy humorous unless I have at least a day or two away from it, and I only got one day away from it and I didn’t sit around writing. But more on that later. This is just an update for those who have wondered how it’s going. I miss really writing, but alas – muscle relaxers and narcotics. So all that to say, you get what you get.

Last Sunday – As I had promised to put myself on a seven day bed rest as much as possible, I slept and laid around all day. Hurting. A lot.

That evening, Chris insisted that getting out would make me feel better (I hadn’t left the house in 48 hours), so he took me on a sunset ride. I couldn’t use my DSLR camera, but at least I could take pictures with my phone.

Only…I realized when Chris posted the picture below of me taking that picture that I broke one of the two rules I was given – don’t lift anything more than 3 pounds and don’t lift anything above your head.

Oops. I blame my husband.

Monday – I had hoped that I had been sandbagging when I said that I wasn’t going to blog for a week, and that I’d get all kinds of writing done while I was resting.

Nope.

It hurt to type, it hurt to write, it hurt to hold my phone…and hurting hurt because I don’t like not doing anything.

But, I went to physical therapy, then went to complete the process of buying a new car (more about that soon), then came home and gladly fell into the arms of my prescription drugs and had a comatose rest of day.

Tuesday – More physical therapy followed by more drugs and more non-movingness. Yeah. Like, how exciting is my life right now.

Wednesday – I had no choice. This was the day I had been dreading all week, as I lay in bed trying to find my comfortable spot. Ali had a spelling bee that morning, and I had agreed to be a guest lecturer at a class at my alma mater, UAB, about social media later that afternoon. I was to be out most of the day, it was raining, it was exactly three weeks since the accident, which also happened on a rainy Wednesday when we were going to a school event.

The children and I both experienced PTSD. Nobody really wanted to leave the house, but we had been studying for that spelling bee since school started – you can’t just flush that kind of spellinvestment.

So we weaved our way through the many car wrecks all over town and made it to the spelling bee miraculously unscathed, albeit a little stressed, where Ali had to confront her already-existing-before-the-wreck weather fears as the spelling bee faced the window where the rain was pouring and the lightning was flashing. At the biggest thunderclap she turned around and yelled “Hey Mommy can I come sit with you?”, but she settled back down and adored rocking out spelling, placing first in her age group and 4th overall (meaning that she was spelling against 8th graders and discovered that she has her mother’s competitive genes.)

We went home for a short time where I took narcotics and muscle relaxers and a very short nap, all of which are fantastic preparations for guest lecturing at the college level.

And I survived.

But not without ending the day with the worst pain yet.

Thursday – But Wednesday was not worse than Thursday. Pain got to all-time high, including pulsing down my arms for at least an hour every time I accidentally raised one hand over my head.

It’s really hard to not raise an arm over your head. Hair in your face? Too bad. Want to switch a floor lamp on? Nope. Wash your hair? That’s gonna hurt.

Plus my dysautonomia was quite severe, giving me the gift of blacking out and feeling exhausted due to having laid around for 5 days. Activity is vital to my life, and car wrecks ruin that. I was not happy.

I Whine-Texted everyone I knew. And continued to whine-text the ones who didn’t try to cheer me up or tell me it could have been worse. (If you want to be the future recipient of whine-texts, I’m applying for backup candidates.)

Then I ended the day by not falling asleep until 3am from the pain.

Friday – Fridays are apparently my marathon health days. The Friday before I spent 10 hours trying to get answers, and this Friday ended up being a seven hour journey. I started the day at physical therapy, and my PT agreed that my worsening pain after a week of near-constant rest definitely qualified as a trip back to the doctor and another ask for an MRI.

I dropped my kids at my parent’s, took a meandering route to attempt to find a doctor that was working and could see me, and ended up seeing the rudest, angriest, most awful doctor I’ve ever experienced.

(And I’ve experienced a few.)

BUT. He ordered an MRI. Very angrily. Because apparently, according to him, Obamacare has made it nearly impossible to order an MRI without all types of insurance denying it, which is why I couldn’t have one the week before – I just hadn’t had enough good, quality, long-term, debilitating pain yet to deserve to know what was causing it.

I drove straight to the MRI clinic, where they told me my insurance had not yet approved it.

I sat in the waiting room, picturing Malia Obama in the back of a dusty unused bedroom at the White House, looking at me through a crystal ball, analyzing my length of time in pain, and deciding my fate.

Finally, Malia approved my MRI. And they took me back to that tiny Star Trek Coffin, slid me in the tube, and provided me 15 minutes of an Introvert’s Techno Rave Dance Party – without the dancing.

That evening, my regular doctor called me with the results. The MRI showed that I have muscle spasms, pressure on my spinal cord fluid, two bulging discs in my neck, and one tear/rupture in a disc in my neck. It explained my pain, but there wasn’t really a way to easily fix it. No surgery – just more physical therapy…and perhaps a lot of time.

In one of the kindest acts anyone has ever offered me, he prescribed me steroids.

STEROIDS ARE AMAZING.

I took two that night despite the fact that I knew there was a good chance I wouldn’t sleep. I FELT HUMAN.

I watched TV with Chris, comfortably and in focus, and slept fine.

I LOVE STEROIDS.

…But I was so mad that it had taken someone almost a month to offer them to me.

Saturday – Saturday was the most awesome day that ever did exist.

I LOVE STEROIDS.

I felt energetic, I wasn’t in pain, and I felt like a normal human being.

I LOVE STEROIDS.

I even dared pick up my camera for the first time in a week and a half.

I LOVE STEROIDS.

I took a one mile walk around Aldridge Gardens.

I LOVE STEROIDS.

Then went on a 4.7 mile hike at Oak Mountain State Park with my friend Kristin and her daughter Taylor.

(Because they’d never been and she asked me for directions and I couldn’t let her get lost with her precious daughter.)

(But I made Kristin carry my camera backpack. Because I’m high-maintenance like that.)

I. LOVE. STEROIDS.

My steroid, Decadron, was my Saturday Superhero. And, as my friend Renee’s doctor-husband pointed out, Decadron even sounds like the most fierce of superhero robots that there ever was.

I went to bed Saturday night blissfully happy for having lived, for having gotten my heart rate up and helped my dysautonomia, and with hope for a brighter future of pain-free normalcy.

Sunday – Chris, being the enabling husband he is, suggested I skip church and go on another walk while I was feeling good. But, I felt like I should be a decent deacon’s wife and go to church for the first time in weeks.

But oh. I should have listened to my husband. Chairs in Sunday School and pews in Church are not made for neck support. Or for propping up one’s legs to take the pressure off of one’s neck.

I did not make it through Church. My neck and shoulder pain was back and it was angry at me. And Decadron had failed me.

I mourned deeply for Decadron only giving me 36 glorious hours and wondered if taking, say, ten Decadron, would bring me back my happiness.

(I’m never going to become a narcotics junkie, but Decadron? If it consistently gave me days like Saturday, I’d totally be strung out.)

So that’s where I am. Not exactly knowing when I’ll be out of intense and pretty constant pain, going to physical therapy three times a week, taking so many pills that Ali’s eyes widen in judgment, and still trying to homeschool my kids, be an accountant, provide my children with food and basic interaction, and not go crazy.

Don’t get hit head-on in a car accident, kids. It’s not much fun.

Doctor’s Orders.

November 14, 2015November 14, 2015 Rachel Callahan Dysautonomia, Newsflash

My neck injury from the wreck has been getting increasingly worse for the past week, including radiating pain down through my shoulders, arms, and hand. I’ve also gotten to experience fascinating symptoms such as burning skin, the superpower of being instantaneously heated from the inside out, tremors, and finger tingling.

All of this led to a 10 hour medical trek on Friday that included attempting to get an MRI to see if I need neck surgery, nearly going back to the ER, and ultimately seeing a doctor who specializes in neck and back injuries.

His diagnosis was serious ligament strains on top of the muscle damage I already knew I had, and the swelling ligaments and muscles are pushing on the nerves and creating all of my other symptoms. To deal with these things, he prescribed me a new kind of muscle relaxer and more pain pills, and told me I need to not stress or stretch my neck in any way for 2-4 weeks, and I need to take the muscle relaxers and pain pills three times a day for at least a week. No lifting, certainly still no running, and I can’t really even do my photography because my camera is so heavy.

I’m not exactly sure how I’m supposed to continue my life, drive to physical therapy, homeschool my kids, and be a mom while not moving my neck and taking narcotics and muscle relaxers for a week, and I’m going to desperately miss our outdoor adventures, but I do know that I need to clear my calendar and my stress as much as possible to somehow achieve it. My plan this upcoming week is to do nearly nothing, to lay in bed as much as possible, and to follow all prescribed treatment in the hopes that I can heal faster and that it won’t take four weeks. Because I need to be able to run – badly. On top of the neck pain and resulting arm pain, my Dysautonomia is significantly flared up from not running for the past two weeks, and I’m blacking out almost every time I stand up (my vision goes black, I get clammy and dizzy, and I have to hold onto something to keep my legs from buckling. It passes in a few seconds but it is still rather inconvenient.)

So. Although I still want to tell you all about our state park tour (which was most likely not helpful at all in my neck recovery), I need to take the week off from writing to try and focus on healing and resting and not being stressed. I will be back soon, hopefully with a happily functioning neck that doesn’t require surgery.

My neck appreciates your prayers. And chocolate.

p.s. For those of you who are local (and those who aren’t), please keep the Picture Birmingham shop in mind as you start to think about Christmas shopping. 100% of the profits go to The WellHouse to help rescue victims of human trafficking, and one of the things that has distressed me the most about these wreck injuries (and really, this entire year) is that it has kept me from being able to focus on raising money for The WellHouse through Picture Birmingham. I am trusting that God has a plan and He doesn’t need me to see it through, because since I can’t lift things, I may not be able to do any Christmas events, either. But everything is available online – prints, note cards, 2016 calendars, and canvases. I haven’t been able to add any of my newer pictures to the shop yet, but I can order any picture in any size or format (canvas, note cards, prints.) Just email me – rachel@picturebirmingham.com – and I can get any special order you need (although I might be a little slow for the next week unless you notate that you need it right away.)

THANK YOU!

The One Thing You Must Have To Road Trip With Children.

November 11, 2015November 11, 2015 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Uncategorized

I have discovered the one and only true Holy Grail of Kid-Included Road Trips.

Without this, you will surely meet your doom, as your children will find you keeled over from over-questioning, exhaustion, and lack of alone time. And they won’t dial 911 because they have no idea how to use a phone without FaceTime.

So you’ll die.

Do not disregard what I am about to say.

DO NOT I SAY.

Here it is. Are you ready for the most fantastic nugget of wisdom that I’ve ever shared with you?

If you dare road trip with children, you absolutely must take with you someone who thinks your children are more delightful than you think they are.

For me, that is my mother. For you, it might be someone different. But identify that person in your life, or find a person to be that person in your life, or for all I care hire that person – you just need that person. That person that will laugh at their jokes on the hundredth telling, that will think they’re adorable when you’re so tired you just pray they would spontaneously fall asleep, and who will, with no begrudgingness expressed or implied, gladly take your children on a walk when you sprint in the other direction with your camera.

(Under the ruse that you must hurry to catch the sunset but really you’re just trying to take one single breath without having to answer another “Hey Mommy when will we…” question.)

This invaluable asset became most important to me today after Noah ended up in my bed at 1am (from his air mattress on the floor because I DO NOT sleep with children), then pile-drove into my back with various sharp angles all night, then woke me up at 5:45am, then cried when I took him on a walk so that he didn’t wake up his sister or grandmother, then came back to bed with me and kicked me as I dozed between stabbing pains to the ribs, and then later complained to whoever would listen, “Mommy WOKE ME UP at like 4am and made me take a walk.”

And then later, when on our actual hike, I ended up carrying him up the hills. Which was really peachy for my still-recovering neck, back, and shoulders.

Forgive the lack of makeup. I sweated it all off. It’s probably caked in his lazy hair.

AND THEN I GOT TO SEE HIM SLEEP PEACEFULLY WHILE I FERRIED HIM AROUND.

(After which he insisted he didn’t sleep. At all. And when his sister asked, “Then do you remember when we put on the Home soundtrack?” He said, “Well of course. Why wouldn’t I?”)

This all might have been what led me to say to him at the end of the day, “I love you and I appreciate your hug but I really just want you to leave me alone.”

Because I’m a stellar Mom like that.

But Gramamma. She willingly accepted all his hugs, all his jokes, took over for me at bedtime because she could see in my eyes that I was done, and was the ever-important adult conversation companion that one needs when in the presence of children 24/7.

She taught them about plants, helped collect fallen leaves, found butterflies, and explored joyously with them.

But also, the entertainment-education factor.

As I was walking out the door to go pick up my Mom for our road trip, I texted her and said, “Be sure and bring anything you can think of that would help Ali with her nature journal while we’re on the trip.”

She never answered, so I didn’t even know if she’d read my message. Until we unpacked. And she had this.

And then she got out the state park lodge’s iron and ironing board and did this:

(Who even knew what an iron was for?? Now I have something I can do with that awkward triangular thing that sits in the top of my closet!)

And then she sat with Ali as they cut, journaled, and documented all she had taught her during our hikes.

Okay nevermind. The one rule that you must follow if you choose to road trip with kids is, take MY Mom.

We’re actually all having a lovely road trip of State Parks (thanks in full to my mother) – follow my pictures real-time here, and see them all compiled later here, but here’s one from each State Park ( that we’ve traveled to so far) that I haven’t gotten to share yet:

Joe Wheeler State Park:

Guntersville Lake State Park:

Desoto State Park:

And also forgive any typos (but INFORM ME IMMEDIATELY), as I’m writing this at 12:31am. After being woken many hours ago at 5:45am. But no need to rehash that.

Fall is Calling.

November 9, 2015November 8, 2015 Rachel Callahan Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I'm a Glutton for Adventure

The time has come for my annual trek north.

North(ish), anyway.

It took longer than usual this year, but Alabama is finally experiencing some crisp temperatures. Which I know is a completely relative term, what is considered crisp and all, but for us, the temperatures have finally dipped into the 50’s – maybe with a few 40’s mixed in.

But this year, instead of begging Chris to take me to a relaxing bed and breakfast in the north Alabama mountains, the kids are old enough for me to take them on my grand adventure and turn it into a school week. We’re leaving Chris at home to work and taking my Mom along for her company and voluminous nature knowledge that will surely make this count as an educational field trip.

(For some reason I never learned much from my mother’s vast stores of nature knowledge, but Ali has soaked it up. So much so that when Gramamma isn’t around, Ali educates me.)

(“If you have any questions about trees or plants, Mom, just ask me.”)

(I may or may not be fit as a homeschool mom.)

But anyway. Our field trip. We have decided to do a north Alabama tour of our beautiful Alabama State Parks.

Lake Lurleen State Park – Chris and I took a quick pre-road-trip hike on their beautiful trails Friday.

With the children’s love of hiking and my love of nature photography and hiking, we have become increasingly passionate about our state park system over the last few years. Our state is blessed with a particularly beautiful and diverse park system, and there are far too many parks that I haven’t visited yet. I may have missed the peak of fall colors (I originally planned this trip last week but delayed it because of my wreck injuries, which are actually worse than they were last week, but I cannot ignore the call of the north(ish) even if my neck would rather stay home), but I am positive we will find adventure with or without fall colors.

Oak Mountain State Park – the one that is largely responsible for giving me fall fever.

Our plan is to visit six out of 17 state parks in the next three days: Joe Wheeler, Monte Sano, Cathedral Caverns, Guntersville, DeSoto, and Cheaha State Parks. If you would like to follow along in our adventures, I hope to blog while we’re out, but I will definitely be sharing real-time on Instagram and Twitter, I’ll put a couple on Facebook and Facebook, and we will possibly live stream on Periscope.

I certainly hope to create a special collection of photos for Picture Birmingham from this road trip and the other state parks we’ve visited, and should have a special edition note card set just in time for Christmas presents.

So if you enjoy fall colors,

sunsets,

And every lake reflection I can find,

Then follow along! And who knows – I may even let Ali educate you a little.

On Labor, Collision, and Candy.

November 6, 2015November 6, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Storytime

This won’t make a bit of sense without first reading Part One and Part Two of this soap opera.

And then there was Friday.

I knew it would be a whirlwind day, what with both of the children having doctor’s appointments in the morning and me having one that afternoon. So Ali and I hurried through her school, and then I took the kids to see their Pediatrician to get all of their various aches and bumps from the wreck thoroughly examined. She made sure Ali didn’t have any signs of concussion from her window impact, and tickled the children to hiccups during all of the sore muscle checks. Ultimately, it is just going to take time for them to heal.

Their necks have been the slowest to recover, as they are still sore when turned over a week later. But thankfully, children tend to be more elastic than adults.

As we were leaving their doctor, I got a text from my neighbor Renee (remember? The one that was supposed to go into labor any minute and I was her on-call first responder?)

She was pretty sure she might be in labor, and was at Target down the street. We sped to Target and met her at the internal Starbucks. She had called the nurse, who told her to “wait and see.”

Every pregnant lady’s favorite phrase.

I asked her if she wanted to go on a walk with us. Do lunges. Find a trampoline. Go skydiving. ANYTHING to turn “wait and see” into “come on in.”

She, however, was in the middle of an insane maternity nesting obsession and turned all of my ideas down. She was appalled that Target did not carry spray paint because she needed it to finish her FALL CRAFT and her FALL CRAFT must be completed before the baby came so where did I think the closest place was that she could get spray paint for her FALL CRAFT?!

(Emphasis not mine. She might have screamed “Fall Craft” by the end of the rant.)

Um. Renee. You’re most likely in the early stages of labor. I think you can forget about the fall craft.

NO!!! THE FALL CRAFT MUST BE COMPLETED.

So I sent her on her way to Hobby Lobby where she would most likely be the cause of an intercom call saying “Clean-Up on the Spray Paint aisle – Bring a mop and the Wet Vac – we’ve got amniotic fluid!”

But I figured it probably wouldn’t be the first time – most likely many labor imminent mothers frantically buy all the things from that store. I mean they probably even have an intercom code for it.

“Code Spawn on the Spray Paint Aisle!”

or,

“We’ve got a Mother Puddle in Paint Products!”

and then followed up with,

“Call 911 and order a Gestation Taxi!”

While I gleefully imagined the pandemonium that Renee was creating at Hobby Lobby, I drove Ali and Noah out to Chris’ office (we’ve discovered that they’re shockingly self-entertained in an empty office that they assume is their personal workspace) so that I could go to my doctor’s appointment in peace and be unencumbered for any impending Hobby Lobby –> Hospital deliveries.

I anxiously awaited an emergency text as my doctor checked out all of my aches and lumps, especially the ones surfacing after my ER visit. Then we discussed what I’d need to do to get all my parts back in working order. After careful experimentation and discovering that my neck probably wouldn’t get better on its own and, more disturbingly, a particular leg muscle injury would 100% prevent me from running without severe pain and hurting myself worse (which is crucial to keeping my Dysautonomia under control), that plan turned into three visits a week to my Physical Therapist for the foreseeable future.

I left my doctor and checked in with Chris, who had just left work with kids in tow. We agreed to meet at home, transfer to one vehicle, and go get some dinner.

After we detoured to the sunset, of course.

But alas. While we were on our way to dinner, Renee texted me again.

“I think this may be happening.”

“Okay. Do you want us to get our dinner to go?”

“Might be a good idea.”

We arrived at Moe’s, but Moe’s is one of those places that is great if there’s no line but worse than the DMV if there is a line. So after giving it five minutes and no one moving forward, I decided we should leave.

Renee’s husband was home from work, so my preassigned task in that scenario was to spend the night at their house with her two kids, Jonas and Loulie, and also my kids. (Incidentally, this is a different neighbor than the one that I may or may not have killed her chicken, in case you’re wondering why she would trust me with her children.) Chris dropped me off at Renee’s house, then went home to pack me and the kids a bag (or 20 because he’s an overpacker), and then to take the kids to dinner attempt number two.

I ate Pizza at their house, while Renee’s husband and I analytically studied her for certain and uncertain signs of real labor – which I am sure was wholly appreciated by the one about to pass a child from her body.

It finally became apparent that she was definitely in enough pain to go the hospital, and I, being the insensitive friend I am, cheered at her condition.

I slept fitfully that night, checking my phone for updates and hoping I wouldn’t have any especially freakish sleepwalking escapades in their house. The new baby made his appearance a little after midnight, so I cheered again about not being wrong regarding the state of her labor.

The next morning, Ali practiced her babysitting skills, and adored every minute of it.

Jonas would only eat if Ali fed him, as he decided that she is the best human being on the planet,

and his big sister might agree.

But we couldn’t just play all day.

These were serious times.

And I needed to prepare Jonas for what was to come.

I explained to him that his seemingly unfairly short days of being the baby were over.

He was now…a Middle Child.

Then I explained to him what being a middle child entailed, and his hair stood on end.

Loulie, however, was thrilled to hear that her status remained unchanged.

We stayed at their house until about noon on Saturday, when we passed the baton to a nanny.

At which time Chris immediately got to work finishing up our decorations for our annual Trunk and Treat. And rainproofing it, because storms for Halloween night were guaranteed.

I took the opportunity to take a muscle relaxer and lay in bed for a couple of hours – I hadn’t been home since Friday morning and, being the responsible human being that I attempt to emulate, I had not taken any pain pills or muscle relaxers while in charge of other people’s children.

So I relished my medicated and immobile short afternoon.

And then it was time to go give candy to thousands of eager children. Because Halloween doesn’t brake for wrecks.

Our theme this year was dictated by a certain young man who had superhero aspirations,

And his sister, who didn’t mind joining that plan,

And his parents, who were way too busy with things like pneumonia and wrecks and ER visits and everything else that October brought to properly plan costumes, and were satisfied to simply be “Bam” and “Pow.”

…The irony of which did not escape the notice of those who knew what our week had included.

Epilogue: I’m still attending physical therapy and will be for a while, Jonas is adapting to being the middle child but asks for Ali when he doesn’t get what he wants, and most importantly, Renee did indeed finish her Fall Craft RIGHT before leaving for the hospital.

What Happens After a Collision.

November 4, 2015November 3, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Just My Luck, Storytime

Continued from this post…

Our ambulance arrived at the hospital and Chris was waiting for us. As they opened the doors, I was so relieved to hear his voice, although I couldn’t move my head to actually see him. The children arrived a moment later, Noah bubbling over with joy and reports of ambulance bliss. The policeman who rode with them came over to me and said “They never stopped talking a single second.”

I think he needed a doughnut and coffee break after that ride. And I should’ve bought the first round.

Chris took the kids to the waiting room while the paramedics wheeled me into Birmingham’s brand new hospital, Grandview Medical Center, and although I had been anxious to see it, I was quite immobilized.

The ceilings looked grand, though.

Then came the line of admitting nurses, vital checking nurses, and physician’s assistants. Each one asked me my pain level, what had happened, and if I could be pregnant.

The Physician’s Assistant dialed up the intensity by following up with, “Why? Why don’t you think you could be pregnant?”

“Because my husband has had a vasectomy.”

Her eyes narrowed, “But you still have all your parts, right?”

I answered expressionlessly. “Yes.”

I guess my lack of guilt and defensive protests convinced her that I was NOT, after all, at risk of pregnancy, and she let it go.

Chris and the kids came back for a few minutes until Noah’s hugs got too violent, then he took them back to the waiting room.

I asked the nurse if I could pee. I had drank most of my iced coffee, after all, and it had been a while since I’d seen a bathroom.

No I may not. I am immobilized for a reason. When all scans are done, then I may pee.

An hour went by and I told a nurse I REALLY needed to pee. She said no, but did expedite my scans.

They took CT scans and multiple X-Rays while I was focusing on keeping my bladder from bursting inside of me. I secretly hoped its burgeoning state would mess up all their scans.

They wheeled me back to my room and again I asked to pee.

“Not until your scans are read by the doctor and we know it’s safe to let you get up.”

This. This is the pain and suffering for which I would need to be reimbursed.

My information board showed that it would be at least an hour and a half before my scans would be processed. Chris was back in my room by then (my Dad had come and picked up the kids), and I told him I was GOING to go pee. If I didn’t, the injuries I would sustain would be significantly worse.

He held up his hands and said “I will take no part in this.”

I heaved myself up in bed, with great pain, in anticipation of sneaking into the hallway to the bathroom next door.

Which is when a nurse walked by and beat me to it.

Chris laughed. “Did you just get snaked?!”

I waited, dangerously close to bladder implosion, for her to hurry up.

She left, so I leaned out of the doorway and turned my whole body left and right (immobilization makes stealthiness terribly difficult), and when I was sure the coast was clear, I tip-toed into the bathroom and let out a giant moan of relief. Then I casually walked back to my bed and waited another hour and a half, thankful that I had taken things into my own hands.

The doctor came in and said that nothing was broken, the nurse gave Chris a ream of paperwork that included a couple prescriptions and instructions for treating whiplash, and they sent us on our way.

Chris came and picked me up at the ER entrance, and as I walked out, I saw this. Ah, the view was grand, after all. I stopped to take in the moment (and a few pictures.)

Then I got honked at by an ambulance and slithered into Chris’ car.

He took me home and put me on the sofa while he handled all the things – getting my prescriptions, going to look at the car and talk to the towing company, and later, going to pick up the kids from my parents at church, along with a collection of balloons from my Grandmother’s Birthday party – the one that I had so rudely missed.

Although I could barely lift my head to see it, I did appreciate his attempts at celebration.

Meanwhile, my pain increased in both quantity of locations and intensity, and I began to realize that maybe I was hurt more than I first thought. The same happened with the kids, although their adrenaline lasted significantly longer than mine. According to my parents, Ali did nothing but run up and down the church hallways manically while yelling about how much energy she had. (Kid Adrenaline *may* be chemically identical to cocaine.) But as Chris drove them home that night, Ali cried softly in the back seat and told him that she never wanted to go down that road again.

Both kids started having head, neck, and shoulder blade pain, along with a nice lump on Ali’s forehead from presumably hitting the window, and Noah’s chest hurt where the seatbelt caught him.

On Thursday, Chris’ mom came over for the morning so that I could take pain pills, muscle relaxers, and stay in bed. This turned out to be quite a blessing, as my pain level had continued to increase. The kids, although sore and not able to turn their heads all the way, seemed in better spirits than the night before. But I was perfectly content to not leave my bed.

I asked a friend to pick up the wreck report for me so that I could start the tedious process of filing a claim on the other driver’s insurance. By the time I was able to call, though, the claims manager had gone home for the day. So I asked to speak to anyone who could help me, because I needed to get a rental car.

I got a most unhelpful representative who informed me that until the claims processor determined that the wreck was truly their client’s fault, he couldn’t help me with my rental car needs. I told him it was stated on the wreck report that both the police officer AND the driver confirmed that the collision was her fault. There was really no question about it.

“I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter what the police or the driver say. The claims processor has to determine if she was legally at fault before we can help you with anything.”

…Because he was there at the wreck and all, officiating like a sideline ref? Or was he in the replay booth?

“Fine. I’ll get the rental car myself and y’all can reimburse me when you decide it was her fault.”

“I really wouldn’t recommend that at all, ma’am, as I cannot guarantee that we would reimburse you for any expenses.”

I let out a bit of indignation in my voice as I stated my syllables very pointedly. “I have to take my children to the DOCTOR tomorrow morning to get their injuries from the WRECK checked out. If we cannot go to the DOCTOR because you won’t let us get a rental car, then we may have further PROBLEMS.”

He changed his tone and said, “Let me see what I can do.”

He came back several minutes later. “I’m sorry. I really can’t do anything. But I see here that it looks like it will be determined to be her fault, although I certainly cannot guarantee it. You can get a rental car on your own and we should be able to reimburse you for it.”

Thanks, dude.

But at least he didn’t refuse to let me pee.

More to come from our epic saga of a week…and apologies to all who prefer short and succinct stories.

The Road Is Always Greener on the Other Side.

November 2, 2015November 2, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Storytime

It’s actually not, people. Staying on your side of the road is the greenest thing you can do. Because cars getting crushed and heaps of paperwork being made from Police, Paramedics, ER Docs, and Insurance companies is not green at all. And that’s without even mentioning all the plastic used in my lovely neck brace.

See that smug look? I look good in a neck brace and I know it.

(My ambulance selfies, however, did not fully show that. Angles, people. Watch your angles when taking selfies in the back of a careening ambulance while all your body parts are strapped down.)

Speaking of ambulances, they are the least comfortable, least safe feeling, least smooth rides since covered wagons. I commented as much to the paramedic in the back with us (us being me and the lady who hit me, apparently being guinea pigs in some sort of new Uber Ride-Sharing For Ambulances program), and the paramedic told me that our ride was actually much smoother than most.

So yeah. Don’t ride around in an ambulance, people.

(Although the irony of them strapping me down to immobilize my perhaps-broken neck and then knocking me to and fro and up and down was pretty entertaining.)

But I digress.

Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

It was Wednesday morning, and the kids and I had a very busy day ahead. We had a Symphony field trip at 11, my Grandmother’s 89th birthday party at 12, and Awanas at 6. On top of that, my neighbor was imminently any-minute-now please-God-make-this-happen having a baby, and I was her designated driver and/or child watcher. So I had informed her of my schedule, and was planning on being The Most Evil Symphony-Goer and leaving my phone on for baby-having emergencies.

We also dropped by CVS on the way to pick up a couple of prescriptions. As we left, we were driving down Summit Parkway and I was uncertain which way I should go. Should I take the interstate to Vestavia, or should I go up Shades Crest?

I was in the left turn lane to get on the interstate, but the light was red. And that light takes forever. So I changed my mind and crossed to the right lane to take Shades Crest.

It’s funny, the little decisions in life. I thought that at most, taking the alternate route would have a five minute impact on my day…

I turned left onto Shades Crest Road. I drove by Vestavia Baptist Church and started around a curve.

Which is when I knew my day was about to be much more impacted by my route decision.

There was an SUV coming around the curve in the other direction, at least halfway in my lane, and going extremely fast without any sign of swerving back into her lane.

We were on a two lane road. The sidewalk had a high curb. There was nowhere to go. I knew she was going to hit me as soon as I saw her, so I just slammed on the brakes and braced for impact. (A rather unfortunate subconscious decision.)

During the two seconds of knowing I was about to have a head-on collision and actually colliding, it’s fascinating what goes through one’s brain.

I never wondered if the kids and I would be okay.

My thoughts were as follows:

We’re not going to make it to the symphony. And there was another mom looking for an extra ticket last night! I guess it’s too late to give her ours. I hate our seats won’t get used. Oh – and we’re not going to make it to Mammaw’s birthday party either! Oh gosh everyone’s going to be talking about me having a wreck and I’m going to totally Me-Monster her birthday party without even being there. Oh no what if Renee goes into labor? I better let her know I won’t be able to help her for a couple hours. I guess I should start shopping for a new car, too.

And then there was the crash.

It was significant, but neither the kids or I remember anything much about that particular second. We don’t remember our bodies hitting anything, although all of us ended up with various impact bruises and knots. We don’t remember how loud it was, although I assume it was. My memory picks up at being covered in iced coffee and that my airbag, deployed, was filling the car with a powdery haze that looked very much like smoke. The kids were both screaming and crying, and Ali was panickingly wailing “The car’s on fire! We have to get out! It’s on FIRE!!!!”

I tried to open my driver’s door, but it was completely jammed. My side got hit the worst, and my door would not be opening. I yelled over their crying for Ali to open the back door on the other side of the car. Just about that time, a guy from a yard crew at the house next door opened my front passenger door. The kids climbed out of their door, still crying, and the lawn guy helped me crawl out the front.

At that point, I distinctly remember thinking, This dress is too short for all this maneuvering. I most certainly just flashed the lawn guy. Good thing I’m wearing tights.

We all worked our way out of the car, and I picked up Noah and hugged Ali close to me as both of them cried. In the moment, I wasn’t hurting anywhere, so I didn’t even think to ask them if they were hurt – I was just worried about their emotional state. Until the lawn guy asked them if they were okay.

They said they were. (Their problems would come later. Kid adrenaline is a magical thing that we need to figure out how to bottle and sell as an essential oil.)

At the scene of the wreck, I never saw the impacted side of my car, but assumed that it was pretty bad.

It wasn’t until much later in the day that I saw this picture:

We sat on the retaining wall, which was wet with rain, and tried to figure out what came next. I saw other people on the phone so decided I wouldn’t call 911. The car that had hit me had its entire front panel shaved off, had left its wheel in front of our car, and was sitting perpendicular to our car about 20 feet behind it. It appeared that all of its airbags deployed, and there was a woman sitting in the front seat crying, being pushed on in every direction by airbags.

Picture of her car taken later at the wrecker lot.

I texted Chris. He was in the middle of texting me about work stuff.

The sidewalk was flooded with people. Neighbors, the lawn guys, the guy that was driving behind me that had almost hit me, and all were coming by to tell me what they saw (“We heard someone going so fast that we all turned around to see what was going on – then we saw that car hit you!”). Someone brought shivering Ali a jacket, and then went to one of the houses and found an umbrella for the three of us to share. Everyone asked if we were okay. I told them all yes, we were perfectly fine.

Until very suddenly, my neck started hurting. Then my shoulders. And my back.

Adrenaline is a spiffy pain reliever – until it’s not.

As I rubbed my neck, the parade showed up.

Four police cars, two fire trucks, two paramedic trucks, a “fire car” according to Noah, and not long after, two ambulances. They were all surrounding the other car, so I assumed she must be hurt worse than us.

Then a steady stream of first responders walked over to us and asked if we were okay. The kids had finally calmed down and told everyone that they were fine and weren’t hurt. I told them my neck was hurting, but I thought I was okay. One of the people told me that I probably wasn’t – he thought he was fine after a wreck but had three vertebrae broken.

The paramedics, one by one, suggested that I go to the hospital. I finally agreed, but I told the paramedic, “My husband is on his way. I don’t want to leave until he gets here to take the kids.”

He agreed.

I called Chris to see where he was and tell him the update. As we were talking, the paramedics came back with an immobilization board and neck brace and told me they needed to strap me down right away. I hung up with Chris and they laid me back and covered me with straps. The kids, who were being quite mature, began to worry about me as they watched this process. I assured them that I was fine, it was fine, and Daddy was going to come get them before I left.

The paramedics loaded me into the ambulance on the left side. I looked over and the lady that hit me was on the right side.

The paramedics began taking all my vital signs and asking me questions, and then they said it.

“We’re going to have to go ahead and go. Your husband can get your kids when he gets here.”

Ali and Noah were sitting on the retaining wall with policemen. This paramedic was asking me to leave my kids, who had just been in their first wreck, literally on the curb.

I had been unusually calm the entire time, and somehow didn’t lose my calmness in that moment. I said, “I am not leaving without my kids.”

“Well, we need to go. Where is your husband?”

I pulled up Find My Friends and held it up, showing them his little blue dot. He was still a few miles away.

“He’s not going to be able to get up here anyway with the traffic. The kids are in good hands. It’s okay. We’ve got to go.” He started closing the door to the ambulance.

“NO. I will not leave my kids here. …It would really freak them out.”

(I was the one freaked out and they were the ones being mature but I assumed (correctly) that their potential emotional breakdown would persuade the paramedics more than mine.)

One of the other Paramedics said, “Give me your husband’s number. We’ll figure it out.”

A minute later he came back in. “Okay. We’re going to transport your kids in the other ambulance to the hospital. Your husband will meet us there.”

That seemed better for some reason, so I agreed.

Then came the extremely lurchy ride to the hospital. I stared at the ceiling and willed myself not to shake from side to side.

The lady next to me said, “Ma’am. I am SO sorry. It was totally my fault.” It was the first and last exchange she and I had, and I felt so bad for her and tried to share some comfort by awkwardly saying, “It will be okay. The kids are okay and that’s what matters.”

The rest of the ride included sirens punctuated by painful bumps and paramedic’s questions. The only thing that would have made the shared ride more uncomfortable is if, after apologizing, she had said, “And by the way, I love your blog.”

But she did not.

More of the story soon.

In Memoriam.

October 29, 2015October 29, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life

THE SPACE TOASTER, FLEXI – Age 5, of Birmingham, passed away October 28, 2015. Funeral will be at The Assembly of Towing Impound Lot at noon on Friday. Flexi will be remembered fondly by her friends and family. She had a heart for others and ultimately made the journey to the other side while sacrificing herself for the passengers inside when they had an unfortunate meeting with someone coming the other direction who decided Flexi’s lane looked more fun.

(It was fun. Until they got in it. But two’s a crowd.)

Flexi will be buried with her most prized possessions – an impressive collection of vintage Chick-Fil-A Waffle Fries, lost squinkies, sticks and rocks and leaves that little passengers thought looked “really cool”, an inexplicably misplaced shoe or two, sticky juice splatters on the rear windows, giant drifts of invisible-to-children garbage in the back seat (The kind so impossible to see that it cannot be found when children are reminded every time they return home, “Pick up all your trash as you get out of the car!”), and a brand new coating of iced coffee that gave her interior a fresh pick-me-up smell as it coated the car in caramel goodness at the point of impact.

Flexi will also be missed for her fascinating and eclectic mix of music on her hard drive, including the previous owner’s R&B and the current owner’s Alanis Morissette, Watermark, R.E.M., and Veggie Tales Singalong albums. Flexi lived a full life, seeing countless numbers of stunning sunsets, chuckling at the same conversations being held daily (“Mommy! Can you pick up my toy? I dropped it.” “No, son. I’m driving.”), and taking the owners on wild snow hunts, fall foliage hunts, and epic camping trips.

Flexi was especially talented at the technical aspects of driving, including a navigation system that could be trusted anywhere except in downtown Atlanta (“They change their roads too often – that was NOT a one-way road two years ago!”, Flexi used to defend), a voice command system that never quite got the hang of understanding her owner’s southern accent, and eternally helpful traffic reports on the go.

Flexi’s family is hoping to adopt a close relative of Flexi to pay homage to her dedication over the years.

The family would now appreciate it if you would all hum “In the Arms of an Angel” in unison as a show of mourning for the recently departed Flexi The Space Toaster.

Full story to come soon.