Rachel Callahan

On Petit Le Mans.

October 27, 2015October 26, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, The Blissfulness of Life

We’ve been traveling quite a bit this fall – a bunch of random trips all somehow congregated and decided unanimously to happen at once to make our lives extra chaotic. I’ve hardly had time to process these trips, let alone blog about them, so this week will be a bit of Callahan Travelogue. Some of you may like visiting other lands via the internet, and some of you may find it intensely boring and/or highly obnoxious. Whichever person you are, I understand.

At the beginning of October, we took our third annual trip to see Petit Le Mans at Road Atlanta. My Dad is a tech inspector for the IMSA series of races, and the closest they come to us is Atlanta. Noah is destined to be my father’s automobile apprentice, so I always take him to the races to stoke the fires of his future car genius.

The first year, Noah and I met a friend and her son there. The second year, Noah and I went with my sister-in-law and cousin Eli. Although I’ve enjoyed the Mommy/Son dates immensely, this year was the first year that Petit Le Mans didn’t coincide with a home football game, so we were able to take Chris along. He also had a work meeting in Atlanta on Friday, so we just extended our trip one day on the front side to accommodate.

(Ali, who finds races about as thrilling as being surprised by a pile of dog poop on your bedroom floor, opted to stay in town with my Mom.)

We started off the trip by eating a hotel breakfast with Chris,

Then while he was at his meeting, Noah and I walked a quarter of a mile for Second Breakfast at Starbucks. Because until you’ve had a chocolate cake pop and iced coffee, can you really call it breakfast? We thought not.

Along the way, we got to pass the “Batwing Building” that Chris spent many hours detailing its intricate roof veil, and where many years ago, Chris and I had one of our grandest adventures lying our way out onto – and then getting locked out onto – the roof. Everyone should get locked out onto a skyscraper roof once in their lives.

Because we’d gotten to our hotel late the night before and Noah was in no mood to settle down as he was sleeping in the same room as us, he took the opportunity to get a very rare car nap on the way to the races. Proving once and for all that there is no need to let go of an iPad for a nap.

This was our first time to arrive early enough to go by the racetrack on Friday during qualifying, so there were many more opportunities for up close looks at cars,

Racing stickers to be applied to jackets,

(Some of which I didn’t bother reading before applying),

Helmets to be found and applied,

And miniature drivers to be created.

Also, there were trailers to fix,

Car loading to be supervised,

Victories to be claimed,

And racing dreams to be realized.

(When Dad put him in there, he totally dropped him about a foot into the car. Then said “I didn’t realize how low it would be!”)

(It should be noted again that Dad is the Technical Inspector.)

We went back on Saturday for the actual race, but it pretty much rained all weekend. Those poor drivers. It was a mess.

And it was all Hurricane Joaquin’s fault.

Thanks, Joaquin.

But it was still fascinating that the show went on, and they drove those cars for nearly 9 hours before calling the race.

We did NOT, however, stay for all nine hours.

But it was still a trip of happiness and bliss – if also a bit moist.

And it was fun to bring Daddy along,

even though it will always be a Mommy/Son trip.

The Authoritative Truth Behind the Poo Emoji.

October 22, 2015October 23, 2015 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Let's Talk about The Internet, Utter Silliness

Emoji play a crucial role in my life. I have made this clear time and time again. I use them, I am opinionated about how and when they should be used, and I look forward to each and every addition to the Emoji Dictionary.

For instance, this week’s updates, as best as I can tell, include these characters. I’m still working my way through understanding all of their deeper meanings, but yes, that is a middle finger. And there does seem to be a bong. Yet we still don’t have bacon or cheese. The pain of this lacking is indescribable.

So naturally, when there are new emoji rumors and supposed statements of fact, I typically have multiple people make sure that I know about them.

Which is what happened this week, with the below viral claim. It has been making the rounds on Facebook, and much like many things that get shared repeatedly on Facebook, it is a complete fallacy.

I instinctually knew it was wrong – that is a PILE OF CRAP, I don’t care how much it looks like soft-serve ice cream and how little it looks like the contents of a toilet. I know a Poo emoji when I see one. And also, many months ago I read a long article on The History of The Poo Emoji (yes it was a fine use of my time), so I know why we have poo and how we got poo and what standards Apple upheld when it designed the iconic poo we have come to know and love.

(Although I still think we need more poo options. And I will hold to that belief until Apple asks to use my designs.)

But. Although I personally denied the ice cream myth everywhere I saw it on Facebook, I don’t want you to have to take my word for it. Because that’s the problem with the internet today – people believe too many people about all the things – which is how we get these outrageous and debilitating lies in the first place.

(Chocolate ice cream. As if.)

So I consulted with a higher power for the truth behind the most beloved of emoji.

Siri her/himself.

You’re welcome, internet. Now it is your job to share this post or just the video with all of the deluded people in your life. Because our society cannot bear up under lies like this.

Footnotes:

* Yes, I have a male Siri. He’s the Australian option. I like him. I pretend he looks like Curtis Stone, because that’s what all Australian men look like. He’s great until I ask him to text something and he spells it agonisingly antagonising while belabouring his catalogue of extra letters in his dialogue .

** You too can change your Siri by going to options –> general –> Siri –> Siri Voice.

*** Yes, I said “icing” instead of “ice cream” in the video. I was also slurring my words in exhaustion. But those are mere bumps in the road of making sure that you have correct information from reliable sources on vital issues.

The Revelations of Pineseptic.

October 21, 2015October 20, 2015 Rachel Callahan Quirky quirky quirkiness, Storytime, Weird Strange and True

The 80s were the end of a fascinating pharmaceutical era. Big pharma was just starting to take over the market, with local chains being conglomerated into national chains, and medication warnings and fear of litigation ruling the inventory. In the next decade, giant convenience-store-like pharmacies would pop up on every corner, and everything would become over-labeled and carefully curated.

But the 80s. It was the last decade where there were still plenty of tiny, one shop pharmacies with ancient pharmacists wearing spectacles and sporting pocket watches while they blew their noses on handkerchiefs.

These men remembered the old days. When you gave children paregoric for stomachaches (also known as “camphorated tincture of opium”), and when mothers drank a small glass of Brandy while nursing their infant before bed to ensure they could sleep through the night (the mother and the baby), and when people drank the good version of Coca-Cola that still contained cocaine (okay maybe the pharmacists weren’t quite that old.)

These were the kind of men that carried my father’s medication of choice: Pineseptic.

Pronounced “pine-a-septic”, it was the horrifically strong smelling liquid of my childhood and came in a brown bottle that was almost certainly straight out of a 1915 apothecary. My dad was convinced that it cured anything that could happen to the surface of your skin or that hurt underneath your skin. And he wasn’t wrong.

Burn? Pineseptic.

Jammed thumb? Pineseptic.

Growing pains? Pineseptic.

Broken bone? Pineseptic.

Scraped Knee? Oh yeah – pour that pine juice into the oozing cuts.

Did it work? Absolutely. It worked immediately, every time.

Did I hate it and sometimes hide my wounds from my father? Absolutely. The smell was untenable to my tender young nose.

I didn’t realize until much later in life that Pineseptic was my dad’s made-up brand name for the product – it was actually called Astyptodyne and no one, except for my family, would ever know what Pineseptic was.

(Although only a few more would know what Astyptodyne was, either, truth be told.)

The supply of Pineseptic became harder to find, but Dad could still search the shelves and discover it, covered in dust, in ancient pharmacies. One pharmacist asked him, “I’ve got to know. What do you use this for? I just use it to clean the shelves in here – works great for that.”

As the Chief Evangelist for the product, my Dad explained to him all of the miraculous powers of Astyptodyne.

“Huh! Who would’ve ever known?”

Then, in 2002 the movie “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” came out. As my family is quite Greek, it was a big deal. I even had a Great Aunt that looked identical to the Aunt in the movie (the one with the twin still in her neck. My Aunt did not have a twin in her neck but she could read your fortune from your coffee grounds.)

But the fact that the Dad in that movie used Windex to cure everything – Oh. My. Gosh. My whole family had a fit.

Pineseptic was our Windex.

It was all so clear now.

Having a bizarre cure-all liquid was not just my Father’s quirk – it was a quirk of his Greek Heritage. He couldn’t help it. He was destined to it.

For many years, Pineseptic became impossible to find. Fortunately, all of Dad’s children, who were the most likely to burn, scrape, and jam themselves, grew up and discovered the amazing curing power of ibuprofen.

But still, my Dad pined for Pineseptic.

Then came the overabundance of products on the internet, and specifically on Amazon. And once again, the magical liquid of Astyptodyne was readily available to my father – and even in new convenient forms, like a spray bottle! And a pet version! His heart was whole once more.

We were discussing the miracles of Pineseptic on family vacation this year, as my brother mentioned that he had used the pet version on their dog and it was just as effective on lucky Layla as it had been for us as children.

(Incidentally it also kept Layla from chewing at her sores because what with the smell, I can only imagine THE TASTE.)

In this conversation, my brother asked my Dad if he’d ever read the origin story of Astyptodyne.

He had not. Nor had I.

I pulled up the actual Astyptodyne website as instructed by my brother, and read aloud the spectacular history of our childhood odor (all grammar and spelling left as is)…

It’s discovery in 1906 was due to an accident in a steam plant. A steam pipe burst and severely injured three workmen in a turpentine plant in Wilmington, NC. In finding their way out of the steam-filled building, one of the men fell into a pit of what is now known as ASTYPTODYNE, which was then a by-product of the Long Leaf Pine Tree and had no use. This man recovered from his burns quickly with practically no pain and little scaring. His co-workers were carried to the local hospital where they suffered for many weeks from pain and scars. Learning of this miracle, doctors and chemists throughout the Southland began a series of experiments with this oil. As a result of their findings and reports, it was found to be a natural healing oil. It was decided this was too valuable a remedy to neglect. The key to ASTYPTODYNE is that it is made with pure long-leaf pine oil which is an essential oil for healing.

The glee I felt in my heart cannot be limited to mere words. This was the most beautiful origin story Pineseptic could ever hope to have. I mean, how many medications can boast of someone accidentally falling into a vat of byproduct after being burned in a factory explosion?! It was just perfect. And, it solidified that my Dad liked Essential Oils before Essential Oils were cool. He was the original hipster before hipsters were even born.

As I meditated on the history lesson I’d learned, I felt as if it was so literarily rich that it belonged in poetry. An Irish blessing, perhaps.

May the road rise up to meet you,

May the wind always be at your back,

May you fall into a vat of undiscovered miracle oil if you’re ever caught on fire.

The 2015 Trendiness Index.

October 19, 2015October 20, 2015 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Utter Silliness

Grab a calculator (okay let’s be real – pull up the calculator on your iPhone.) Be prepared to add up your trendiness.

+100 if you CrossFit. It’s more than an exercise group – it’s a religion.
+10 if you’re also Paleo.
+20 if you actually IronTribe – because everyone knows they’re the only one that interpret the holy scriptures of WOD correctly.
+25 if you’ve recruited your spouse to CrossFit.
+200 if you have your children or your dog doing CrossFit.

+65 if you self-identify as a hipster.
+10 if you live in a coffee shop. Like, literally live there and they either haven’t noticed or don’t care because you buy enough dirty chai to pay for rent.
+15 if you wear glasses that once belonged to Woody Allen.
+20 if you wear flannel that once belonged to Tim Allen.
+25 if you have a naturally unpleasant odor that you don’t even have to work for.
+30 if you sleep on a pillow you bought at the Thrift Store – pillowcase and all.

+60 if you use Essential Oils to heal your family of all their ails.
+10 if you’re an Oil Sword Drill master and can correctly name the oil treatment for any ailment in less than 5 seconds.
+20 if you can work a mention or hashtag about oils into any Instagram or Facebook caption.
+250 if your oil MLM of choice had to create a new echelon of achievement to describe you. (“I’m so thrilled to announce that I am now a Double Black Diamond Platinum Tiara Bonanza Lamborghini Director! Thank you Jesus for my oils!”)

+55 if you’re a downtown dweller. The suburbs are out and urbanity is in, people.
+20 if you live in a historical loft.
+25 if your historical loft boasts of original asbestos.
+30 if your historical loft contains vintage dead bodies of former squatters.
+100 if you can convincingly act like you’ve never heard of it when a large suburb of your city is mentioned.

+50 if you’re adopting or have adopted.
+10 if you’re adopting or have adopted internationally.
+50 if this is your second adoption.
+75 if you’ve adopted from multiple countries.
+1,000 if you’re adopting while pregnant with naturally-conceived triplets.

+50 if you derive the majority of your caffeine intake from iced coffee.
+10 if you Instagram a picture of your coffee order every time – even if it’s the same. Every time.
+15 if your Instagram largely consists of coffee memes.
+20 if you celebrate “Fall Cups Day” and “Winter Cups Day.”
+50 if you have considered getting a separate cell phone for your Starbucks account so you don’t have to hand the drive-thru barista your good phone to scan.

+45 if you believe live tweeting is your civic duty.
+5 if you live tweet award shows and/or pageants.
+15 if you live tweet sporting events and/or political debates.
+25 if you live tweet funerals and/or arguments with your spouse.

+40 if you have an iPhone.
+10 if you have an iPad.
+15 if you have a MacBook Pro.
+25 if you beg your friends to get an iPhone so their texts won’t be green.
+40 if you have a nickname for non-iPhone friends who ruin texting groups. (i.e. “Kayla is so The Green Ruiner of my friends group.”)
+1,500 if you have a MacBook Pro but take an old PC to Starbucks just to be different.

+40 if you have religiously strong ethical principals about local economy.
+10 if you eat/buy local.
+20 if you only eat at restaurants within walking distance of your home.
+650 if you subsist only on micro-greens (weeds) grown in your front yard and insects harvested from inside your home.

+40 if you’re a homeschooler.
+35 if you attend Classical Conversations. Because we all know it’s The Homeschool Cult.
+10 if you homeschooled before it was cool.
+20 if you’re a second-generation homeschooler.
+15 if you started your own co-op like a bomb.
+140 if your high schooler is earning dual credits for high school and college.
+1,000 if your junior higher is earning dual credits for high school and college.

+35 if you’re a Trader Joe’s superfan.
+10 if your Instagrams of your Trader Joe’s purchases actually show at least one item that doesn’t have “Pumpkin” in the title.
+30 if you have driven 2+ states to get to a Trader Joe’s.
+20 if you have considered working at Trader Joe’s for better access to high demand inventory.

+30 if you have or have had a Tinder account.
+20 if you met your spouse on Tinder.
+200 if you met your ex-spouse on Tinder.

+30 if you’re a runner.
+10 if you’re a trail runner.
+15 if you’re an ultra runner.
+25 if you’re an ultra trail runner.
+30 if you’re a barefoot runner.
+35 if you’re a barefoot ultra trail runner.
+200 if you’re female and you can run in those tiny tight short thingies and actually look good doing it.

+25 if you have special dietary needs.
+10 if you’re gluten free.
+15 if you’re dairy free.
+20 if you’re vegan.
+25 if you eat meats, milk and cheese but not eggs because when you sit and think about what eggs are it makes you gag a little.
+250 if you subsist entirely on a juice cleanse.

+15 if you consider yourself a Photographer.
+10 if you use actual film.
+15 if you use a polaroid.
+20 if you don’t believe in Instagram.
+10 if you frequently post photos of the sunset.
+20 if you tag meteorologist celebrities in your photos of the sunset.

+10 if you eat out of a food truck at least once a week.
+30 if you buy a daily artisan popsicle from a cart.
+50 if you love food truck culture so much that you’ve considered starting one.
+500 if you sell fake marijuana popsicles in New York City while sporting Alabama license plates.

+5 if you’re a music aficionado.
+10 if you only listen to Spotify.
+15 if you reach your max cell phone data by the 5th of the month solely due Spotify.
+35 if you send small checks to your favorite artists each month out of guilt over their miniscule streaming royalties.
+300 if you installed a record player in your Prius.

Miscellaneous Additions:
+10 if you’re a YouTube celebrity (+20 if no one in your real life knows it.)
+15 if your favorite season is fall.
+20 if you’re not on Facebook on principle.
+30 if you’re still personally researching Adnan Syed’s innocence.
+40 if you’ve posted a photo of yourself riding a hybrid rental bicycle.

Miscellaneous Deductions
-10 if you eat at Ruby Tuesday or Applebee’s.
-20 if you’ve ever left Facebook on principle, only to return a week later, head hanging in shame.
-15 if you regularly Instagram your food. That’s so 2013.
-10 if you take selfies with duck lips. That’s so 2012.
-10 if you still drink Pumpkin Spiced anything. That’s so 2011.
-20 if you’re a blogger. That’s so 2010.

Additions from ideas from Readers:
+30 if you had a baby via natural labor.
+10 if you had that baby at home.
+20 if you had that baby in a kiddie pool.
+300 if you had a non-medicated emergency c-section at home in that kiddie pool.

+20 if you adopt a dog.
+10 if the dog is a rescue.
+10 if the rescue dog is a mutt.
+20 if you have sad pre-resue pictures of your dog.
+25 if you hashtag that the dog is a rescue on every picture.
+30 if you use the term “furbaby.”
+20 if your dog has their own hashtag.

+30 if you have attempted a Whole30 diet.
+50 if you actually finished it, with 100% integrity.
+10 if your stomach was never the same again. In very unpleasant ways.

Understanding Your Score:

0 – 100: You’re so untrendy that you’re actually the trendiest. You’re most likely a hipster who is totally into things that aren’t at all cool now but will be what everyone is talking about next week.

105 – 200: You’re actually just untrendy. You have a flip phone and may not have even heard of social media yet. You’re that mom that says to her teenage daughter, “I just discovered the coolest new flavor – have you ever tried anything that was Pumpkin Spice??”

205 – 300: You’re mildly trendy. You are that person that starts doing things a year or two after everyone else, but you always get around to it. You’re still enjoying Facebook and see no need in checking out Snapchat, and your iPhone 4S is still working just fine, thankyouverymuch.

305 – 400: You’re trendy, but you keep your own personal style. You like Starbucks, but you don’t feel the need to talk about it. You listen to Taylor Swift, but you resent her for it.

405 – 500: You are seriously trendy. You shop at Anthropologie, never leave home without smelling like an oil, and ‘gram your life away.

505 – 600: You trend like Miley twerks. Frantically and a bit awkward to watch, but surprisingly well-done.

605+: You are so trendy that it’s trendy to be you. In fact, you may not be human – you may be a walking trend. Get tested immediately.

Report your score below for crucial research purposes.

It Happened One Thursday.

October 15, 2015October 15, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

The date was October 1, and we were trying to get out of town.

Not right away, which was good as I hadn’t packed for anyone. But in the afternoon, leaving town was the plan.

Ali was going to my Mom’s for the weekend, and Chris, Noah and I were going to Atlanta for the annual trek to “Pop’s Race.”

But things had to be done first.

School, for one.

Errands.

Packing for people to go in separate directions.

So we began with school. It was early – I felt confident that I could accomplish all that the day needed. There were hours ahead of me! I had this.

After school, we drove to Target to get necessaries for our journeys. Ali needed to pick out a birthday present for her best friend, as she would be attending her spend-the-night birthday party while we were gone. And I needed things – because who doesn’t need things at Target?

No one. That’s who.

I’d grabbed half the things when my calendar on my phone beeped naggingly.

I didn’t remember having plans.

Then again, I didn’t remember the last time I’d checked my calendar, either.

I looked at the reminder. Children’s Theatre! We had a field trip starting in half an hour and I had completely forgotten about it. We’d missed the last play due to a nasty cold virus we’d passed around our family for two weeks – I could not stomach flushing another $21 of theatre investment.

So I sped up.

“Mommy! Why are you walking so fast?”

“We can’t keep up with you!!”

I grabbed a gift bag for the present, ran through the book aisle looking for the set Ali wanted to get her friend to no avail, sprinted to the checkout, and paid. No present – I would worry about that teensy detail later.

Miraculously, the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru line next door hadn’t cranked up to its usual lunchtime frenzy yet, so I got the kids some chicken and sped downtown to adequately provide my children culture and sophistication.

Somehow, we made it to the play, The Reluctant Dragon, with 15 minutes to spare. Most likely because I key in every calendar entry 30 minutes early to plan on the fact that I will not look at my calendar, but whatever.

That 15 minutes gave my children ample time to be impatient, antsy, and far too wiggly for the theatre.

And then, right as the play began, Noah began to cough. Except not a cough – it was the juicy tuberculosis-meets-croup cough he’d had on and off for a month, in fact the very same cough that prevented us from attending the last Children’s Theatre play.

He did not sound uncontagious in the least.

And we were sitting on the second row.

I am positive that he coughed right on The Reluctant Dragon himself at some point, which might (rightfully) make him reluctant to act in children’s plays in the future.

On one side, I had friends. I whispered apologetically that he wasn’t contagious – he just couldn’t shake the cough.

On Noah’s other side, far out of my whisper-reach, were strangers. And the child closest to Noah was leaning on his mother to get as far away from Noah’s nasty lungs as possible.

The cough continued, without stopping, and becoming more urgent, throughout the entire play. The entire play which I did not watch but instead spent strategizing and restrategizing how I could get him out of the theatre without disturbing other people, but to no avail. We were solidly locked in. And there were no intermissions or breaks in the action during which it would be acceptable for me to cross in front of someone.

Could I jump over the row of chairs in front of me, which were all empty, to escape that way?

I was wearing a sundress. There was zero possible way to accomplish that awkward escape without showing my underthings to The Reluctant Dragon.

(Who, incidentally, had a very disturbing underthing problem of his own going on, as his costume was clearly designed for those not sitting on the second row.)

As I tried to not stare at the Dragon’s leggings-as-pants barely made PG-13 by a shimmering thongish covering of dragon scales, I willed the play to end so I could get my child out of this harrowing cough situation.

After approximately 2,357 coughs, they took their bows.

But then there was Q&A with the audience. And again zero ways for me to escape (gracefully.)

Noah sounded at this point as if he was certainly dying of a medieval plague that might have wiped out even the most reluctant of dragons.

Finally finally FINALLY, the questions ended. I pushed my children down the aisle and up the stairs, smushing them into the crowds of parents and children leaving the theatre, attempting to get out before anything worse occurred.

Except that I failed.

Because at that moment, as we were on the carpeted stairs amidst hoards of people, Noah’s cough reached the apex of its theatrical act.

And he phlegm-vomited a pile of ooze right on the stairs.

I panicked.

In half a second my mind went through all the contents of my purse. Did I have anything to clean this up??

I did not.

Except for maybe a feminine product but mopping up a pile of phlegm with a tampon did not seem like it would abate my humiliation one tiny bit.

Meanwhile, the hoards were pressing into us from every side – we had to move or risk theatre trampling.

I apologized in general to all of the people that had been pressing into my little brood at that moment and…I walked up those steps.

The guilt of leaving a pile of phlegm on the stairs beat my brow all day. THIS is the way I repay the arts? THIS is the kind of person I am?

Oh, the horror.

A truly good person would have tamponed that little mess right off the floor.

But I stuffed my humiliation and remembered that I had to get my family out of town. I raced to the bookstore for that present. As Ali browsed, I fretted. I had not planned on the oh-so-pleasurable theater outing when I thought I had plenty of time, and I still had 100% of our packing to accomplish. Ali took her time picking out books, then decided at the last minute that she’d rather get her friend a Lego set – something we could have easily grabbed during our Target sprint.

But no matter.

We drove home, Noah having zero traces of a cough OF COURSE, and I packed in a frenzy. I now only had an hour until Chris was to be home and we were to leave.

As I was packing the very last thing (I hoped), my neighbor and her two kids stopped by. Then my other neighbors saw that we were having a party and they walked over. And I found myself, a mere half hour before it was time to leave town, with a playdate at my house for six kids and three adults.

Because why not? I mean my son had only just phlegmed all over The Arts.

Chris drove up, the neighbors scattered, and we left.

And I managed to relax my shoulders sometime around the state line.

Fall Fever: Spooky Encounters.

October 13, 2015October 10, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

For the prequel to this post, click here.

After school on Tuesday, we set out on another hike – this time to a place that I went constantly as a kid but had never taken my own kids – Tannehill Ironworks State Park. They were in love from the start.

They ran in and out all of the inlets of the old Ironworks buildings,

Creating all sorts of fun games and imaginations.

The paths were wide and flat, which made Noah very happy. There were also many benches along the way for snack breaks, which made him even happier. And on one of those benches, I found a small, hairy caterpillar – which absolutely thrilled Ali.

“Her name is Luna Junior!!! Mom! Look her up and see what kind of caterpillar she is and what I need to put in the cage with her!”

(Because of course she’d packed the large caterpillar cage this time to prevent the need for temporary housing and therefore the risk of premature cocooning.)

I Googled and informed Ali.

Luna Junior was a Fall Webworm, would eat any of over a hundred varieties of leaves, and I couldn’t find any care information about her because she was considered a pest. In fact, the only information on the internet about Luna Junior was how to kill her, not keep her.

Ali was shocked. “What? How hard could it be to kill her that we need that many instructions? She’s tiny! It’s not like you’d need an ax or anything.”

Kid logic is the best.

We hiked from the Ironworks to the beautiful old mill.

Or at least that was the plan, until we were all three so busy looking at the ground right in front of us to find friends for Luna Junior that we almost stepped on this guy.

Despite my fascination with snakes, I totally screamed in surprise. He was stretched across 3/4 of the path, he definitely had a rattle, and I had been within 6 inches of stepping on him.

So I did the logical thing. I moved the children to a safe distance and I set about Papparazzi-ing the creature.

He was just gorgeous – his body was triangular and his stripes were lovely. He was a complete gentleman and never moved, rattled, or hissed.

After recovering from the initial shock, Ali said, “My cage did say it was good for housing snakes, too…”

“So you want the snake?”

“NO!”

“Why not? He’s just like an oversized caterpillar.”

“I DON’T WANT THE SNAKE.”

“I didn’t think so. Plus he’s got a rattle – he’s not exactly the pet sort.”

But pet type or no, he had been thoughtful enough to park himself on the trail where there was a large natural jut-out on the other side, so there was plenty of room for us to pass without coming too close.

I walked Ali across, but Noah refused.

“Let’s go back the way we came!”

“It’s way longer – we’re almost to the mill!”

“I’m goin’ back.”

I carried him by the rattlesnake as they warily stared at each other, and we continued our journey.

The mill was every bit as lovely as I’d remembered it from my childhood.

The kids were mesmerized by the dam feeding the water trough that was (theoretically) supposed to move the water wheel, were it not for low water levels and a couple minor leaks.

The Tannehill Hike was completed by finding the unbelievably refreshing and always-cold Bubbling Springs which brought relief to our weary feet (and so many memories of my childhood to me),

And then a stroll through the campground to see the insane amount of Halloween decorations.

The campground was already full at the beginning of September with Halloweeners, and these people did not skimp on their space usage – and there seemed to be an endless supply of Halloween Tailgaters. If you want to see all the Halloween décor that your heart could ever desire, you must go to Tannehill this month.

(Warning: Although most of it was fun, there was one camper that had quite the fascination with immeasurably creepy and bloody clown ax murderers. No pictures because it would be more disturbing to sensitive viewers than the rattlesnake I so insensitively showed you.)

On Thursday, we set out for one more hike, as my mania had not yet been satiated. This time the destination was to a new treehouse at Red Mountain Park.

On the way there, Noah’s hiking mojo most definitely ran out. There were tears. There were whines. There were many snack breaks.

But we made it to the new treehouse,

which was situated next to some mining ruins, and the children realized there were antique bits of shiny yellow bricks scattered over the entire area.

While I laid in the treehouse with my eyes closed, they both completely engaged in archaeology – Ali finding the bricks, and Noah building “cars” out of the pieces. I have no pictures of their explorations because I was laying the the treehouse with my eyes closed, feeling increasingly sludgy. Finally, I decided it was time to hike back.

As on our Peavine Falls hike, the way back was significantly less whiny than the way there, except for a trip and fall by Ali, the-child-that-is-so-careful-she-never-bleeds.

(She still references this event often as one of the only times she has ever bled. SHE WAS THREE. How does she remember every detail??)

I messaged Chris dutifully when we got back to the car, as Ali wanted him to be fully aware of her wounds.

All good parents make fun of their kid’s injuries, right?

As we drove home from that third hike, I began not feeling right. My skin hurt, I had chills, and things just weren’t feeling nice.

Turns out, I had gotten a literal fall fever. Which ended up being full-blown pneumonia.

Perhaps the mixing of three different park’s dust in one’s lungs is medically ill advised. Or maybe it was The Curse of Luna. If so, I deserved it.

Epilogue: I am slowly recovering from my pneumonia, which was incidentally diagnosed on my birthday (Friday) which was also incidentally at least the fourth time I’ve been sick on my birthday. Ali continued her complete geekiness by begging me to read her the histories of Red Mountain and Tannehill’s ironworks ruins. Their stories wove together in a fascinating tale of the origins of Birmingham. Luna Junior is still alive and kicking. Because of course you can’t kill a pest without an ax.

Fall Fever: The Tale of Luna.

October 12, 2015October 10, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I Love Birmingham, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

Every fall, as the weather shows the first signs of getting cooler, I become a little bit manic.

Because Alabama falls are so magical. And so fleeting. Because if it’s cool today, it’s gonna be 90 degrees tomorrow. Then it’s gonna go straight to 40 degrees and – oops! You missed fall.

And also, I love fall. Not the basic-white-girl Pumpkin-Spice-and-Scarves-and-Boots type of fall, but the smell of the leaves falling, the clear, crispness of the air, the beautiful colors, and the outdoors. Yes, I’ve loved Fall since way before it was cool to love fall – and the proof of that is that my birthday falls right at the cusp of fall, making it therefore magical-by-association since I was old enough to understand birthdays.

In years prior, when the kids were younger and therefore not as mobile, my fall manicness has mainly been a burden that Chris has had to bear. The first time I got a whiff of leaves, I would start begging him to take me out of town. Up to north Alabama. To the mountains. To a bed and breakfast or a lodge. It was an urge within myself that I COULD NOT control.

I’m not typically a naggy, demanding wife for stuff or experiences, but fall is always the exception. Last fall I got so desperate that I experimented with traveling alone with children. It wasn’t so bad.

But this year, they’re older and sturdier. Ali has been running and hiking for a year (to impressive lengths – we’ve had up to a 4 mile run and a 6.75 mile hike, the latter of which was kind of an accident that she may never forgive me for but she brings it up with pride every time we go hiking), and Noah can hike with minimal whining on a happy day.

So, at least for the early part of fall (I mean it is JUST BARELY fall here), I’ve been able to quench my Fall Fever by taking the kids hiking locally. We started a few weeks ago having one hike a week. But last week, my mania reached a new level, and we went on three hikes in four days for a total of 7.6 miles. Pretty sure my kids got in their PE credits for the week.

On Monday for our first hike of the week, I felt as if we needed a new adventure (my manic fall-ness demands a bit of intrigue), and so I chose the hike down to Peavine Falls at Oak Mountain State Park – a trail I’d never done but heard was “fairly steep.”

We set off on a nice, wide trail that was quite pleasing to the kids.

And then we got to the Peavine Trail. The way down was scary. Not adult-scary, but four-year-old scary? Absolutely. It was nearly straight down, and Noah was not happy about it. I knew I could get him down with a bit of coaxing and a lot of hand-holding, but what about back up? I worried greatly at what I had done to our future.

We got to the bottom and Peavine Falls was barely a trickle. Had all been for naught?

I decided that we would sit and play for a while before I attempted shoving my kid up the side of a mountain. Noah always prepares for hikes by packing his backpack with all sorts of sugary snacks, so he was more than happy to sit a while and rest his chainmail.

While eating muffins and Fruit Roll-Ups, Noah found a microscopic inchworm. We all studied it and I praised him highly for his nature eye. Which made Ali determined to also find some fascinating bit of nature, which is how we came to meet Luna.

She was quite possibly the most beautiful creature with more than ten legs that I’d ever seen, with her endearing cankle fat rolls and rubbery translucent skin.

Thankfully, the bottom of Peavine Falls has good cell service, and Luna was more than happy to grasp a piece of pine straw so that I could see all of her angles for scientific Googling. Look at those thigh dimples!

We discovered that she was a Luna Moth caterpillar (hence her name), and that the orange color she was sporting showed that she was getting ready to spin a cocoon.

Ali begged to take her and keep her and love her forever.

I reminded Ali of our steep hike down and how there was no way she could keep Luna from getting smooshed on the way back up.

She began frantically searching for temporary housing. Noah had packed down a game of Spot It from his Chick-Fil-A kid’s meal, so she bartered with him, promising to give him her Spot It cards if she could use the plastic case from his set to carry Luna.

Noah was not happy with this idea, but I made him agree to it.

Unfortunately, Luna’s generous fat rolls did not fit in the Spot It case.

So Ali went back to thinking.

A water bottle!

We hadn’t drank any of our packed water yet, so she put Noah and I to work taking turns with giant gulps of a Dasani so she could have the empty bottle.

She carefully rinsed it in the stream, put leaves and sticks in it to make a homey carrying case, and I gently plucked Luna off of the rock and nudged her into the bottle.

(Because of course Ali didn’t want to touch her beloved new pet. Just to gaze upon her and learn all the things about her.)

“Can we go to the pet store? And the bookstore? And the library? I need a cage! And an instruction manual! I need to study everything about taking care of Luna.”

Now my job was to get a four-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a rotund caterpillar out of a canyon that would almost certainly require some light rock climbing.

I strapped Luna to the outside of my camera bag (because Noah was decisively not having her in his backpack) and we headed up.

Shockingly, because climbing up rocks is way more fun than shimmying and slipping down them, both kids scaled the side of the ravine quicker than I could even keep up with them. Who knew? Up is easier. When we got to the top, I miraculously still had a happy hiker.

…a Happy Hiker who was very much looking forward to the promised playground bribe, even though his sister was much more interested in getting proper care facilities and instructions for her new pet.

I kept my end of the bribe and took them to the playground while I snapped a couple of pictures of Oak Mountain’s beautiful Lake.

Ali very carefully positioned Luna, putting her in the shade on my tailgate, and not completely screwing the lid onto her Dasani home so as not to suffocate her. Until that gust of wind knocked the improperly sealed bottle off the car and I found Dasani, open, on its side, pointed underneath my car, and a “quickly” waddling Luna midway under the vehicle.

Ali panicked.

So I did what any good mother would do and crawled under the car, caught the escapee, and put her back in her apartment.

We had native leaves, lake water, and proper home from the pet store all obtained on behalf of Princess Caterpillar.

But when we got home and Ali went to dump her into the carefully Feng Shui’d and much larger permanent residence, she said “Mom! What’s this sticky stuff Luna put on the inside of the water bottle??

OH CRAP.

She had apparently become accustomed to her Euro-sized Dasani apartment and had the very beginnings of a cocoon.

“BUT MOM!! If she cocoons in there and comes out as a giant Luna Moth, how will we ever get her out?!”

Ali’s logic was inescapable. Luna Moths are quite massive.

There wasn’t much silk yet. Surely this could be remedied. Without putting much thought into it, I shook her gently off the side and she plopped in her new home.

Later that afternoon, Luna looked different. Her skin had changed color to a darker magenta and her body wasn’t as rubbery.

I put on a matter-of-fact face (because Ali is very matter-of-fact), and explained that she could be going through one last molting, or she could be dying. But on the inside, I was feeling giant heaps of guilt regarding what could be a future caterpillar death.

We Googled some more. We adjusted the cage. We got her out in the sun and grass to boost her serotonin (do caterpillars get serotonin?) We did everything we could, but by Tuesday morning, Luna’s fate was sealed.

We “buried” her in the flower garden, and Ali was unemotional about the entire thing. I, however, was filled with silent angst over the death of such a magnificent creature (and kept reminding myself that she was just a caterpillar and I’d probably unknowingly stepped on three of her sisters trying to get down to Peavine Falls.)

Ali and I clinically discussed each step in our encounter with Luna. Did we not bring her enough leaves that she liked? Maybe. Did we put too much moisture in her cage? Quite possibly. Should I have let her cocoon in that Dasani bottle and worried about getting her out later? Probably. Then I reminded myself that this was still absolutely education – Ali was guiding me along the paths she was interested in, and we were learning both the good and hard lessons about life and nature.

“Hey Mom – can we go on a hike today so I can find another caterpillar? They’re my second favorite bug behind butterflies – and isn’t that convenient??”

Yes, she was definitely pursuing her interests.

The rest of the tale, including the replacement of Luna and one very decisive non-replacement of Luna, will come tomorrow.

The 10 Stages of Schooling Double the Students.

October 7, 2015October 6, 2015 Rachel Callahan Boy Child = Bizarre., Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

Noah is now four years old.

Last year, I sent him to 3K at a preschool – for many reasons.

It was quite lovely.

This year, he is doing 4K at home – for many reasons. It will be lovely.

Dear God please let it be lovely.

We’re four weeks in, but that first week had a massive rollercoaster of emotions – for all involved. Herein lies the steps that a mother goes through when transitioning between homeschooling one very studious child and homeschooling two children, one of which is…not so studious.

1. Anticipation: The glee and excitement of First Day of School pictures. Because two students makes this opportunity so much more adorable!

Noah. Smile like a normal human. Ali. Look at me, not your alien-smile brother.

Hold your sign down. I can’t see your smile.

Thank you. Now smile.

Not bad. Hold your sign a little higher please.

I said a LITTLE.

Put your head down. Hold your sign up.

Okay fine. Good enough.

(Drops the Mic)

2. Excitement Building: The presentation, and following thrill, of the rewards sheet.

You, dear child, will get to earn REWARDS with your AWESOME school achievements!!

3. Realization: The adorable promise of a student doing their first assignment: this year is going to rock.

4. Darker Realization: the older child is going to have trouble paying attention when I’m talking to the younger child. How do teachers teach more than one child at a time? This seems completely impractical.

5. Shock: SECONDBORNS ARE SO MUCH LESS DEVOTED STUDENTS THAN FIRSTBORNS.

6. Baffledness: What does one do when the four-year-old realizes that he has the power within him to simply…not do school?

“Yeah, I’m not doing school today, Mom. It’s really just not fun.”

A dark power indeed.

7. Strategy Shift: FaceTime with Principal Daddy.

8. The Abomination of Convenient Memory.

“But I forgot how to do that.”

“You KNOW EXACTLY how to do this, son.”

“I weewy weewy forgot!”

9. Justification:

“Eh, 4K isn’t that important. Right? He’ll be able to get a job…somewhere…without 4K.”

10. This Feeling. For Everyone.

We’re working on strategies to make school more fun and palatable for everyone. Educational iPad games are a big part of that, as they were for Ali at the age of four. He will live. As will I. Dear God please let me live through 4K.

On Independent Study.

October 5, 2015October 4, 2015 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Kids: The Experience.

Ali has a lot of free time compared to most children her age.

She’s nearly nine and in the third grade, which is prime time to be besieged with the first loads of homework. But since we homeschool, she escapes this fate.

I am never one to tell people that they should homeschool, nor do I dare think it is right for every child or family. However, the one benefit that is fairly global is the extreme efficiency of time. We are done with school at lunchtime. There is no need for homework, because teaching one-on-one takes so much less time. There might be afternoon educational outings such as nature walks, visits to the zoo, and children’s museums, but all post-lunchtime education is purely fun.

Ali also fills her free time by busying herself with independent learning. She’s a little geek, after all, and adores using her afternoons to pursue her own interests of study.

(It’s like I’m homeschooling her, and she’s unschooling herself. It works for us.)

Ali’s current three favorite self-inflicted “textbooks” are Extreme Planet (subtitled “Not for Parents”), Guinness World Records, and Space: A Visual Encyclopedia.

Each has been scoured and studied countless times (except for Guinness, which is pretty new but getting devoured by the day), and each comes with its own unique set of experiences.

Extreme Planet started out as a library check-out that Ali found beloved enough to beg me to allow her to take it to her grandparent’s to show them (because it was Not For Parents and she needed someone legal to show the magic that was found within), and after enjoying the book with her, my Dad bought her a copy to keep.

Not that I’ve read it because ACCORDING TO THE RULES I cannot, from what I gather, Extreme Planet is full of facts and pictures of the most extreme items in nature. I have built my assumptions about the contents from events surrounding this book. Such as when we were at the beach (and had our fabulous babysitter Sarah along.) We were all playing in the sand when Noah casually mentioned, “The bedtime story Sarah read us last night was about BUGS in your BUTT!!”

I looked at Sarah with wide, amused eyes.

“I swear I didn’t pick it! Ali had that book and they picked the page they wanted me to read!”

Then Ali added, “And anyway they were bugs in ANIMAL’S butts, not human’s butts.”

Well that makes it better.

Guinness, the newest treasure trove, was on Ali’s “Absolute Must” list of items she had to take with her to stay at Gramamma’s house last week. I asked her if she was going to read it with my mom, and she said, “Well actually we’re going to look through it together and find a record we can break so that I can be in the next book.”

When I picked her up, I asked if she was able to break a record.

She sighed.

“Not yet. All of them were either super dangerous, like how many candles you can fit in your mouth WHILE LIT, or they were stuff you just couldn’t do, like having fourteen fingers.”

I felt like I should apologize to her for not taking some Class IV drug while I was pregnant with her so that she could have fourteen-and-a-half fingers.

And then there’s the Space book. She’s fascinated by Space and knows significantly more facts about our universe than I do. She can quickly name all the planets in order (I cannot even name them all), can explain what would happen (theoretically) to an astronaut who got sucked into a black hole, and can share information about every celestial body.

One day last week, she disappeared into her room for a few hours after school. I figured she was reading. She came down for dinner, then disappeared again. While I was doing the dishes, a mysterious invitation showed up on the kitchen counter.

I wasn’t exactly sure where Space was, but walked up to her room on a hunch. She peered around the corner, and I took in the slightly messier-than-usual state of her room.

Then I started looking closer. And was drawn in by the detail of her interpretation of space. Our galaxy was all present, including clouds around the sun and a warning not to get too close,

An (angry) alien resident of Neptune,

A black hole made out of recycled glow sticks,

A Lego satellite,

And the moon, complete with a (GIANT) NASA spaceship on it.

And then there were the other galaxies. They were magnificent, creating an environment of intrigue and imagination.

This one made me realize I needed to introduce her to the show ALF.

And the planet that she’ll be introduced in a few years, poor girl.

There were three imaginary galaxies containing dozens of planets, all labeled and decorated.

Before bed, Chris helped her add even more details to her diorama, including rockets and meteors.

So that she could share her fabulous creation, I told Ali that our neighbors and their nanny could come over to visit Space the next morning.

Ali hurried through school, fretting that she needed enough time to make some last minute arrangements to Space before introducing it to a crowd.

I checked in on her, and she’d rearranged the galaxies so that she could create a path.

“I want it like a museum,” she explained.

Our friends came over to observe. Ali was sure to instruct them to stay on the paths provided, but offered a thorough tour of every feature.

Including, of course, a light show.

And throughout all of the many versions of Space, her precious book sat watching, propped up on a chair leg, intensely proud of the creativity it inspired.

All the Answers: The Last Batch.

October 2, 2015October 2, 2015 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Running

I think I’ve made it through everyone’s questions! If I missed anyone, please let me know.

Kyla asked,

How do you avoid angering any family with what you write? Although you are one of the most positive people out there. I send emails to a few family members, but have avoided blogging because I don’t want to start a feud by saying anything that could be taken the wrong way and make Thanksgiving uncomfortable. In other words, I may be too snarky :/ How do you navigate around that? Because every family has at least one. Even saying “I had a bad day” will bring out – “well you chose this life”… I’m sure you know the type.

My family is in the above-average grade of reasonableness and lack of offendability. They’re really all great people. That helps a lot. But when I’m writing extensively about anyone other than myself, I always send them the post beforehand (or offer to send it and they decline) so that they can read it and make sure I’m not oversharing or offending. And also, I self-edit A LOT. There are many things I don’t write about because I’m highly paranoid about offending people, or if I do write it and then think there’s a slight possibility that it might offend, it stays in my drafts folder indefinitely.

Subsequently, my drafts folder is FASCINATING.

Renita asked,

What are your favorite brands of clothes for running? I’ve been buying Old Navy cause it’s cute and cheap but they’re definitely not the sturdiest.

I buy almost all my running clothes from one of two places: either TJ Maxx or Nordstrom Rack (mostly through their app, Hautelook because it’s cheaper than in-store.) Both have fabulous prices on name brand running gear, so it doesn’t wear out, fits well, and is about as cheap as Old Navy.

Running Shirts: Z by Zella from Rack/HauteLook, New Balance, 90 Degree by Reflex, and Marika from TJ Maxx, and I do have a couple from Old Navy because they’re so long (and therefore cover my butt.)

My favorite shirt is 90 Degree by Reflex and only $9.99 at TJ Maxx:

It’s way longer on me because I’m not 5’10” like the model:

I also own this Z by Zella tank from Hautelook for $12.97 and love it:

Sports Bras: New Balance from TJ Maxx. I want standard sports bras – no padding, no cups, no tiny spaghetti straps – why is this so hard to find? I have no idea. Unfortunately I can’t find the one I love online to show you.

Leggings: I’m most particular about my running leggings because I want ones that I won’t constantly have to pull up while running, I don’t want cameltoe, and I want extraordinarily thick stitching on the inside seam (because thighs.) When I started buying leggings, I bought mediums, but then I learned that smalls stay up better. So buy a size down. These are my favorite brands: Z by Zella, X by Gottex, and Adidas from HauteLook; and Mondetta, MPG, and Marika from TJ Maxx.

If you want black capri leggings (black definitely hides more, especially VPL), I’d try these Mondetta capris from TJ Maxx:

If you want a bit of a pattern (these come in several colors including black), I love these Z by Zella capris:

This is a great full-length legging by Marika at HauteLook, but please don’t try to run with your jacket open and no shirt on.

(And here’s a solid black option – it does have a shiny pattern on it to make it a bit more interesting.)

Shoes: So far, I’ve run in Saucony and New Balance.

Socks: Because I’ve had two foot surgeries and a tendon injury, I actually spend more (proportionally) on socks than anything else. I don’t want blisters, I need support for my ankles, and I just don’t like it when my socks move when I run. So I buy compression socks from Amazon – I use the Sockwell quarter socks when it’s not cold:

And full length ones when it’s cold (they go under my leggings and make me feel like a superhero.)

Do you have a belt for carrying water or an iPhone or anything?

I do not carry water. I have an Armpocket armband for my iPhone, and it’s the only one out there that’s sweatproof – I’ve sweat through all the others (and might or might not have ruined an iPhone doing so – running has made me very sweaty.) It’s expensive, but if you want to run with a phone, it is, in my opinion, the only safe way to do so – except for the extremely sketchy fanny pack that Chris uses.

It has room in it for a cased phone, and has pockets for credit cards and a key. I offer one warning, though: since it absorbs all the sweat and doesn’t let it near your phone, it can become very…ripe. So wash it regularly (in the washing machine, no dryer.) But before you wash it, play “smell my arm pocket” with your spouse – it’s a blast.

Are you more of a dark chocolate or milk chocolate type?

Dark. And Artisan. I even wrote a guide for it. I’m a chocolate snob. But I did just eat Reese’s Cups from the gas station so I guess my morals are looser than I may claim.

Rachel asked,

Here’s a universe-question for you…what is up with Sesame Street? We have books where Elmo needs help from Daddy, to make Jello (actually it’s Gel-mo) for Mommy, and other books where he’s off wandering the streets by himself. We have a book where Ernie needs Maria to take him to the store (and he gets lost anyway), but the rest of the time he lives by himself (well, you know…with his…brother?)! Yet another where Big Bird and the rest are playing T-ball, yet they live by themselves too. I think we need an investigation into these discrepancies.

Wow. I have not delved into the continuity issues of Sesame Street because we are not a Sesame Street family – my kids can’t get through half an episode without getting bored. In fact, at this moment, I’m in a hotel with Noah. I flipped through the channels and landed on Sesame Street, and he said “Nah…”

Our major continuity beefs are with Bubble Guppies. They’re underwater – why in the world do they need a boat to cross the lake? They’re ALREADY SWIMMING. Besides the confusion of how there’s a lake underwater. And why did they have to call the fire department to get out of the tree? They could have simply swam out! That show is the most mind-blowingly distracting show ever created – Ali and I are highly disturbed every single episode.

Julie asked,

We need food recommendations for inside and/or tailgating outside the stadium on game day.

Well, since I’m basically Arm Candy for Chris on football Saturdays and do nothing whatsoever useful (except every now and then I make crunchy slaw), I’m not really the best person to ask. There’s quite the organized meal-planning Facebook group for our tailgate, and Chris usually cooks some sort of meat for our contribution. My greatest tailgating tip is to pray for God to send you a restaurant owner that wants to tailgate with you – we were highly blessed with Shannon from John’s City Diner and oh-MY-gosh he brings the most glorious food ever concocted.

I would also like to see a graph or two to determine best parks (height of slide, availability of bathrooms, wildlife, and fencing options are good starts).

Good idea! This will have to be a post in itself. I shall begin collecting data.

I know games just started, but it is about time to let us know the boot and short trends for this football season.

I’m working on this. I’ve only been to one game so far, and it takes a few to make this happen.

Finally, please let Noah tell us about how school is going at home this year.

Coming very soon. He’s working on his impassioned speech.

Marie Asked,

How and how much do you edit your photos for your blog and for Picture Birmingham? I’ve become very disenchanted with and pessimistic about photography/photographers lately because I feel like I can’t trust their pictures to be real. It is so easy to adjust, edit, brighten, etc. that I have begun to dislike and question all photos. Was the sky really that color of blue? Were the greens that lush? Are that kid’s eyes really that shade? Whenever I see a photo with vibrant colors I assume it was doctored in some way. I don’t think I’d mind if it was put up as an artistic interpretation rather than as an accurate representation, but it is so hard to tell.

I absolutely edit nearly all of my photos. However, I believe the reason for editing is to get the photo back to what the naked eye can see. Rarely can a camera capture all of the nuances of a scene upon first shoot – the shadows become too dark, the colors become washed out, the lighting is nearly never able to be caught perfectly – even by the most professionals of professional. Editing is just as much of the process as shooting the photo. Especially when shooting in RAW, which somewhat strips a photo down so that it can be edited to perfection. (I shoot RAW+jpeg, and the jpeg is always significantly more saturated than the RAW – I have to edit the RAW back up to get it where I want it.)

Overall, I believe that editing should be used to get the scene to look as natural as possible. Do I always do this perfectly? Probably not. Do I believe that brightening a photo is wrong? No I do not. My goal is to show off God’s creation in the most beautiful light possible – I don’t want to “fake” anything and certainly don’t try to fake anything, but photography is an art, and I try to walk the line between realism and art very carefully.

Sarah R asked,

What’s your Myers-Briggs personality type?

Despite doing a Downton Abbey and Big Bang Theory MBTI personality chart, Myers-Briggs IS HARD. So many letters! However, I think I’m an ISTJ or ISTP. I think. Who knows. And I don’t even remember what that means.

Okay – that’s it!! I’ll try to respond to any further or follow-up questions in the comments. I hope this has been enlightening for everyone, or at least that you didn’t quit following me from boredom.