Rachel Callahan

Just Another Day at the Playground.

November 10, 2014November 9, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience.

My kids are blessedly now both at the age where they are Independent Playgrounders. Aside from the occasional “Give me a starting push on the swings”, they blissfully run around, make friends, entertain themselves, and gift me with a Mommy Break.

Sure, I could join the hordes of parents along the perimeter of the playground staring at their phones – I’m good at that, too. But it’s more entertaining to watch the In Real Life newsfeed going on around me. Because all of these events happened during one visit to the playground….

….The background soundtrack of the entire visit is the extremely loud, fast-talking cell phone Mom with the Starbucks cup. I’m not sure how the person on the other end could process all of those syllables coming out of her mouth, but they have no worries – she’s not giving them time to respond anyway.

…Oh – look over there by the swingset! A presumed Dad is leaning up against the pole, and his apparent wife/girlfriend/baby momma is taking a sexy profile picture for him. Oh – he’s putting on the sultry pout now. Don’t the children swinging in the background of this photo make it slightly less seductive? By his facial expression, I’m assuming his opinion is…no.

…Noah’s made a new friend, I see. A four-year-old-ish kid, he seems nice enough. Is that a…why yes, yes it is. A stud earring in that kid’s left ear. That might be the first pre-teen boy I’ve ever seen with an earring. How long has he had that? Did his parents get his ears pierced while he was still in the hospital? Is that a thing now? “Hey doc – while you’re doing his circumcision, can you go ahead and put a diamond in his ear?”

Speaking of which, has the pierce-your-newborn-baby-girl’s ears trend ended? I never see blinged-out baby pictures on Facebook anymore…

…Noah’s new friend’s Mom came up and is watching along. She has a giant neck tattoo. It says “Princess”. I’m not sure that word means what she thinks it means.

Then again, I could be wrong. I’ll take a look at Princess Kate’s neck next time the Paparazzi catches her at the right angle – maybe she has one to match.

…Ali’s found a friend, too. She looks oddly like Noah’s friend – they have the exact same hairdo.

…Ali’s friend’s Dad has come up to talk to me. Is he hitting on me? I ask if Noah’s friend is his, too. He laughs. “No, but they look like siblings!” …he has effectively distanced himself from Princess-Neck.

…The first Smocked Baby showed up at the playground. Her Mom is wearing leggings as pants. Ohhh…and now they’re taking pictures of Smock Baby with an iPad. WHERE IS YOUR PHONE PEOPLE. WHY DO YOU HAVE YOUR iPAD AT THE PLAYGROUND.

Madness.

…Another little kid is getting ready to be pushed by his Mom in the swing. “Momma, is my butt hangin’ out of the swing?”

“Well I dunno, son. Is it?”

She pushes him. Hard.

He begins to squeal, even drowning out fast-talking cell phone lady. “MY BUTT!! MY BUTT’S FALLIN’ OUTTA THE SWING!!! STOOOOP IT MY BUTTTTTT!!!”

…A fast-moving blur catches my eye on the sidewalk outside of the playground. I watch, fascinated and a little jealous. A Dad is riding a skateboard, pushing himself with a broomstick-like-thing, then using the broom to push a kid in front of him that is on a sitting scooter.

And they are BOOKING IT.

They’re going at least sixty miles an hour. Okay maybe ten.

Clearly, the mother is not at the playground today.

…Chris shows up to meet as at the playground, and Ali’s Friend’s Dad slinks off. Then eventually rejoins us and is now getting to know both of us. So maybe he wasn’t hitting on me. Who knows..

…Noah, who has been possessive of the one bouncy car on the playground the entire visit, is now being visited by twin blondes. This changes things. He hops out of the car and, with a huge grin, offers to bounce them in the car.

My goodness boys learn young. And what is it about twin blondes?

…A Lady in full Fairy Garb walks by. Sparkly antennas and all. She smiles and greets me, as bubbly as you could desire to be greeted by a fairy. And it is not Halloween.

And that’s a full day at the playground.

Which person were you?

The Great Alabama Outdoors.

November 6, 2014November 6, 2014 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Kids: The Experience., The Blissfulness of Life

So, camping.

The weather could not have been more perfect when we arrived to the annual family camping trip. They were the ideal conditions for asking your son to pose for a picture,

When in reality you’re trying to covertly snap a photo of your camping neighbors taking their dog for a walk…in a pink stroller.

That pup was the most pampered being in that campground, always parked in front of the fan, “walked” to her heart’s content…

But this camping trip wasn’t about dogs. It was about children, and the wonderland that is having a playground within eyesight and the freedom of coming and going by oneself,

About being made to carry firewood,

No matter what your age.

About playing on the giant rocks in a creek bed that’s never been anything but dry,

About heading to the playground before breakfast and before being de-pajamaed,

And before anyone can force you to put your Crocs on the right feet.

About playing happily with your cousins so that your parents can take a romantic and quiet walk around the campground without any little shadows getting in the way,

About pulling your grandmother in every direction possible because we all know she’s the most fun person on a camping trip,

And about sitting around the campfire with your Granddad while making up ghost stories.

And, since Ali was there and Ali is never unprepared, it was about having a craft table set up and organizing all of your cousins as if you were the activities coordinator on a cruise ship.

This might mean that you have your first Rainbow Loom disaster and major rubberband de-sorting, but it’s worth it anyway.

This is our annual family camping trip. Always at the idyllic location of Buck’s Pocket State Park, low in the valley below Sand Mountain in North Alabama.

It’s a place where you take your dogs along to do the dishes,

(Yes I gagged a little when I saw that,)

Where you force your children to go on long nature hikes,

(Yes these “paths” were most definitely where we managed to pick up Poison Sumac,)

Where you teach them how to climb trails that go straight up mountainsides,

Where you have to come up with a satisfying explanation for the rock-writing along the trail – because after all, some kids can read,

Where, on some parts of the trail, you wish you were as short as they were,

And where the view at the top makes it all worth it.

Well, at least for grownups.

(But the cousin-to-cousin bonding of such shared trauma cannot be denied.)

But this is also the place where my Mother has been hosting The World’s Best Treasure Hunt for over two decades and two generations, so all hiking can be forgiven.

Because the ecstasy of getting your water balloon into a bucket a foot in front of you erases all negative memories.

(As does finding a new best friend.)

At night, there are glow sticks to be had, and light shows to be offered.

But after the children are tucked snugly in their sleeping bags is when the real fun can be had – because the good chocolate comes out for the S’mores, there are glow sticks to burn,

And fiery air-writing to attempt.

And then, after all can be had of the State Park, there are new adventures to discover.

Adventures that require walking up to a ledge and looking over –

To discover what is sure to be one of Alabama’s most fantastic sights, High Falls Park.

If ever there were a Troll Bridge, that has to be it.

And of course, there are sunsets.

Wide, sweeping gigantic sunsets,

Unbelievable overlooks in the middle of nowhere,

And awe-inspiring paintings in the sky.

Sunsets that leave the cows unimpressed,

Because they see them every night.

This is Alabama. Come visit us soon.

(And I might even take your dog’s picture while I’m pretending to take my son’s.)

Just Escape.

November 4, 2014November 3, 2014 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Kids: The Experience., Weird Strange and True

Every year about this time, there is a clear and defined day where it actually starts to feel like Fall in Alabama.

And every year on that day, I go crazy.

I become an obsessed antsy fool who can think of nothing but going North. Sometimes I fantasize about North Alabama, sometimes the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina, sometimes New England, sometimes Canada, and sometimes Alaska.

(Although I hear Canada’s Autumn has already come and gone. So scratch that fantasy.)

It completely consumes me and I begin nagging my husband to please take me away, and I can even become so psychotic that I consider traveling alone…with children.

And two weeks ago, I actually followed through.

It mattered not that we had a camping trip planned for that very weekend in North Alabama, where my heart so desired to go. I was so consumed with the need to go north immediately that I packed myself and the children up and left a day early, loosely planning to drive about in North Alabama and stay overnight on hotel rewards points. My dear husband didn’t argue and even agreed to do all of the camping grocery shopping in my stead. Because he knows you can’t stand in the way of someone in their Crazy Season.

Our first stop was Weathington Park, one of my favorite overlooks in North Alabama, right above Scottsboro. The crisp fall air and barely-budding fall colors warmed my heart deeply, confirming that this was indeed what it sought.

The kids had never been there and were quite impressed with the view, though perhaps not as big of fans of the wind.

I snapped a dozen pictures of them before they ran away, and they all came out like a mountaintop silly pose photo booth.

I especially liked Noah getting slapped around by his sister’s hair.

They ran around at the park while I breathed in the mountainous air. And we were all well satisfied.

They had also never been to Unclaimed Baggage, just down the hill. This cost me many questions on the way there about how luggage gets lost, why luggage gets lost, what happens when luggage gets lost, and why people can’t just go to the store and find their luggage again.

And when we arrived, the questions began again: how could such an enormous surfboard possibly get lost?

Who knows, Ali. Who. Knows.

All troubling thoughts were forgotten, though, when Ali spotted her hero at the store.

I bribed them to hang out with me in the denim section by promising a visit to the kid’s building afterward. Although I did find and buy myself a pair of Armani (Armani!!) jeans for $30, I kinda more so fell in love with these beauties:

Long Live the Queen. And may she one day be photographed wearing something similar.

Speaking of England, I also ran across this book. The British have such a more respectable way of saying “Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader”:

Eventually we made it to the kid’s building, and my anti-violence ultra-cautious daughter picked out a pair of these for her one purchase:

Noah stayed true to his stereotype and decided on a motorized train set that was shockingly cheap and even more shockingly functional. We hooked it up for him the next day on our camping trip,

where he let many hours fall through the cracks.

After Unclaimed Baggage, we toured the historic Scottsboro square, where everything felt as if nothing had changed in 50 years.

There was a Soda Fountain,

A courthouse where Noah decisively did not want to pose for a photo,

And a bakery, where the children received their other bribe for playing nice at Unclaimed Baggage:

Doughnuts.

Then we continued our adventure driving through The Great Autumn Outdoors.

We drove to Huntsville next, because a) I just needed to drive north, and b) I had Marriott points, and Marriott has yet to grace the great town of Scottsboro.

Plus, I haven’t been to Huntsville since I was a tween. It was time.

As tradition states in our family, we had to try the local Greek restaurant. We found Big Papa Gyro hanging out with the Classy ladies. Because he’s Greek. And Greeks have good taste.

I mean, who but Greeks would know how very stylish it is to have a faux rock fountain – on a pedestal – with a hanging garden protruding from its abdomen?

And of course nothing accents such a magnificent piece like a wall-length mirror on one side,

And a Greek mural lined with fake hanging grapes on the other side.

All of this confirmed the most important of facts: This was a TRUE Greek-owned restaurant. And it was going to be delicious.

I had a hard time picking from the above-counter food photos,

But I finally did, and let me tell you – they slaughtered half a dozen potatoes on behalf of my side of fries.

It was all I dreamed it to be.

It was the night of the solar eclipse, so the plan was to go to Monte Sano State Park, 15 minutes above Huntsville, to watch the event. Unfortunately, the clouds did not agree to our plan.

We did, however, see something more rare than an eclipse – this dude was in the park office when we walked in…

Which is when he looked at us, smiled, then licked a twenty-dollar bill.

While holding eye contact.

Then…licked it again.

I have no idea what that meant but it might stop me from travelling alone again for at least six months.

The sky stayed completely dull until we pulled back in at our hotel, because of course it would show off when I no longer had a great view.

But there was no way I was hanging out on a mountaintop with a dollar-licker after dark.

The next morning while we were eating breakfast at the hotel, Chris checked in on us via text. I sent him back a photo that encapsulated that family demeanor for our trip thus far.

He tried to help lighten the mood.

But that just made Ali want to play along, and her grumpy face might be the most frightening thing I’ve seen this whole Halloween season.

I apologize if you have nightmares.

We drove back to Scottsboro and ran at Goose Pond Colony, soaking in yet more North Alabama Beauty before meeting the rest of the family on our camping trip.

And it was exactly what I needed to ease my Crazy Season.

And the kids didn’t seem to mind being dragged along.

…And then we headed to meet the rest of the family for our camping trip, blissfully unaware that it would create a week of misery and the need for four doctor’s visits.

But at least my Autumn need to escape was satiated.

The Night We Turned into Lego.

November 2, 2014November 2, 2014 Rachel Callahan Lego Love, Trunk and Treat

On Friday night, I found myself putting on makeup while squinting at a tiny Lego Minifigure for reference. The night before, I was designing a hoodie and yoga pants – while studying that same minifigure to guide my fingers.

There are far too few times in life that this occurs, but our family made the most of our big opportunity.

Because here’s the deal: We are a Lego Family. My husband has loved these bricks since he was a child, and even claims to have somewhat decided his career based on them (“My job is just like building Lego – except with 3-D computer models instead of by hand.”)

In addition, we design a trunk for our church’s Trunk and Treat every year, always themed around something quirky.

So the fact that The Lego Movie came out this year meant that this was his chance. His chance to enter into every childhood fantasy, and to show off his mad brick skills to the world.

First, our costumes, as compared to the movie characters:

Ali is the ever-positive Princess Unikitty, Noah is “The Special”, also known as Emmet. I am WyldStyle, later identified as Lucy, and Chris is the villain, Lord Business.

If you’ve seen the movie you understand why Chris had to be Lord Business.

Because he is Lord Business.

My Lord Business stayed up until 1am two nights in a row designing this for the back of his truck – out of his own Lego (and a few from the kid’s collection.)

I watched him meticulously design a diorama so complicated that no passing kid at Trunk and Treat would ever fully absorb it, but such trivialities don’t matter to Lord Business.

Luckily for you, though, I am here to explain it.

The concept is that there’s a stadium with screaming fans. The game being played is Chess.

Like football, Chess can be brutal, requiring medics and stretchers.

In the stands can be found all pertinent, themed, and slightly sketchy minifigures.

(Chris put me in charge of assembling the minifigs, and I might have enjoyed my job a bit too much.)

Some were important enough to get skyboxes, such as the stars of The Lego Movie and important Hobbits.

And others perhaps took their skyboxes with dark magic or by practicing the spells they were learning in school.

In front of the stadium are the tailgaters, and perhaps those that didn’t pay for an actual ticket into the stadium.

And of course at every good tailgate, you have a satellite dish and a Grillmaster.

(There are so many layers of Chris in this project. So. Many. Layers.)

He set it all up in his truck, along with exact replicas of the signage around the Lego sets in The Lego Movie.

“But babe, some people will see those signs and not get The Lego Movie reference and just think you’re being a turd.”

“That’s okay. Because I’m half serious about the signs, too. I don’t want all those kids trying to touch my Lego!”

“You’re SO Lord Business.”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

His bravery gave me strength: If he could risk the exposure of his Lego to thousands of juvenile passerby, then I could do my part, too.

(I had to add my pink and blue hair once I arrived to meet him, as the ones I ordered from Amazon didn’t come in, and I spent all day Friday at the doctor and had to send Chris to Sally Beauty Supply to buy my hair extensions. I knew he’d do it because he will do anything thing for [Lego] Love.)

Noah was Emmet all the way down to The Piece of Resistance, which Chris rubber-banded and binder-clipped to his back.

And Ali was a fantastic Princess Unikitty thanks to an amazing blog reader and master crochet artist, Stephanie, whom I texted less than two weeks in advance, and she miraculously created this masterpiece for me:

(I added the braided tail. Because that’s the extent of my construction capabilities.)

And then we got to work. Handing out candy to hundreds (thousands?) of kids,

and torturing our children with the sudden cold snap that came just in time for Halloween.

That night, as I tucked Noah into bed, I was asking him about all of his favorite parts of the event.

“What were your favorite costumes?”

Sleepily, he answered me, “I only liked yours, Mom.”

Endlessly loyal to Lucy: He’s the perfect Emmet.

The next morning, Noah woke up and squealed, “Daddy said we could play with all the Lego tomorrow and now it’s tomorrow. All of them!! ISN’T HE NICE?!?!?”

So maybe he’s not a total Lord Business after all.

Appendix:

– Clearly, we have a lot of minifigures, which are really the most fun part of Lego in my opinion. To create this giant collection, I bought Chris these minifigure sets three Christmases in a row. They have fantastic characters in them, and, in Lego standards, are inexpensive (well, two out of three are, anyway.)

– Thanks to the overcrowding of Frozen costumes this year, Lego Movie costumes were impossible to find (which made us the only Lego Movie characters that we saw all night, so at least we were unique.) Noah’s jacket, however, I found here, and I’m sure he’ll wear it every other day for the rest of the winter. Ali’s hat was custom crocheted for her by Stephanie at Spring Valley Special and quite reasonably priced, and I am positive it will be Ali’s go-to winter hat. Chris made his headpiece out of a couple of UPS boxes, a Lego Store container top, a couple of styrofoam cylinders, tea lights, and spray paint. If he wears it all winter, I’ll let you know. I created my outfit with a black hoodie and multicolored duct tape, and some pretty fabulous hot pink lipstick.

A Full Shut Down.

October 30, 2014October 30, 2014 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck

This blog has been temporarily suspended due to the author being in the middle of a near death experience.

Though not Ebola, the author accepted into her bloodstream a severe dose of Poison Sumac, an element that she is quite familiar with, as it plagued her already-awkward tween years with large, weeping mounds of burning, itching, raw meat where her skin once was.

In other words, Rachel has contracted a Flesh-Eating Bacteria.

Okay it’s not a bacteria but it might as well be. Because Sumac considers Rachel to be the greatest feast in the world. It is currently munching around her eyes and in her nose, ears, and other randomly chosen points of interest.

Too much information?

That could be a side effect of her complete lack of sleep and steroid/Benadryl haze.

To exacerbate her situation, her son decided to bless her at the beginning of the week with an all-night party hosted by DJ Croup, every project in her life converged into needing to be finished this week, she must finish creating several fantastic Halloween costumes for Trunk and Treat tomorrow night, and she has not yet recovered her house from the onslaught that is unpacking after a camping trip.

A camping trip that…you got it, brought her and Poison Sumac together again. Which means that unpacking all of those poison-ridden clothes may very well be the end of Rachel as we know her.

But she’ll have a pretty dang realistic Halloween costume. If you’re into flesh-eaten zombies.

The Brush of Death.

October 28, 2014October 27, 2014 Rachel Callahan Boy Child = Bizarre., I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year, Toddlers: The Experience

I’ve made many humiliating parental admissions on this blog.

You guys know that I only bathe my children twice a week.

You are aware that I never make their beds.

You have been apprised of my issues with Sippy Cups and Mold.

So you probably won’t be shocked that I’m not the best teeth-brushing mother, either.

(And although I’ve tried to be a flossing mother, it’s really a ridiculous undertaking since the gaps between their teeth are so large that it’s like rubbing a piece of yarn between two houses an acre apart and expecting to pick up some paint chips.)

But back to brushing.

Ali is responsible for her own teeth, and she does a decent job, although she must be reminded two times a day because heaven forbid a kid actually realize that they are responsible for the same things every single day.

I mean really. There’s just no logic to expecting her to know that she is required to brush her teeth today just because she was required to do so yesterday. And last week on this day. And last month on this day. And last year on this day.

Moving on.

Then there’s Noah.

I’ve been riding high on the fact that he’s gotten four good dentist reports, and have let this undeserved success fuel me in my lack of proper attention to his teeth.

(And I might also occasionally tell myself “Eh, they’re only baby teeth!”)

It’s not that I don’t try.

Really.

It’s just that he doesn’t appreciate my efforts and he’s a professional wiggler and whiner, so short of me buying a cast-off set of stocks from a medieval torture chamber estate sale or a second-hand straight jacket from a Mental Institution Going Out of Business Everything Must Go Sale, I’m not going to be able to force him to let me properly clean his teeth.

So I do my best at night before he starts screaming and thrashing (because I’m supposedly hurting him but just wait till he feels how comfortable a straight jacket is), and sometimes I don’t even try in the mornings.

If I’m feeling really lazy, I’ll just ask Ali to brush his teeth while they’re in there together, and I don’t check up on them so I don’t have to feel guilty about her seven-year-old sub-par cleansing of her brother’s mouth garden.

Because I’m the best sort of Mommy.

Last Thursday night was one of those times.

I had taken the kids out of town by myself (more on that adventure later), and by nightfall I was exhausted. We’d skipped nap, we’d had adventure and intrigue, we’d walked and shopped and explored, I’d never had a second of alone time to regroup, and they’d asked a combined total of 1,238 questions.

There was no hope of having the patience for a screaming teeth-brushing fest in my immediate future.

So I sent Ali and Noah to the tiny hotel bathroom and instructed Ali to brush her teeth, then Noah’s.

The difference, however, was that I could see the children from my reclining comatose position on my hotel bed.

And what I saw changed the world…forever.

I did not see a screaming, whining, thrashing toddler.

Nor did I see a seven-year-old make a cursory toothbrush swipe across her brother’s face to be able to say she obeyed me.

I saw this.

A toddler willingly opening his mouth for his sister.

When she told him to.

Wider than he has ever opened his mouth for me.

Then, this.

My son accepting a thorough brushing of his teeth – with a smile.

A SMILE!! And even a giggle or two.

Then, THIS:

She said “Say eeee!” And he actually said eeee.

Every single night I tell that same kid to say eeee and he acts like he has no freaking idea what I’m talking about. Never, has he ever, put his teeth together and opened his lips to allow me to brush his teeth like a real human being!

I had chalked it up to him being three and not a bright firstborn and simply not understanding my commands. Now, I see that he is certainly bright. And extraordinarily talented at hiding his brightness.

And that his mouth can indeed open happily when a toothbrush is nearby.

And that his Magical Sister will forevermore have the responsibility of brushing his teeth.

The game is up, son. The game is up.

The Kicking.

October 27, 2014October 26, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience.

Ali and I had downtown lunch plans, so after dropping Noah off at preschool, we decided that the big downtown Birmingham Public Library would be a great place to get a little of her schoolwork done.

I have fond memories of the vast expanse that is the downtown library, so I love taking my kids down there to be amazed at the sky-high ceilings, billions of books, and the same gruesomely chewed-up toddler shoe display that has been by the elevator since I was a kid.

(I think it’s to discourage having your shoes untied when going up the elevator? But that can’t be right because I specifically remember seeing a new pair added to the glass box this time, and they were Crocs. So maybe it’s just to give a reminder to be solemn when using the elevator.)

We rode the Killer Elevator up to the second floor to the Children’s Section, and as it was 10am on a Tuesday, we had the entire floor to ourselves, except for Norbert, with whom Ali quickly made friends.

We were enjoying the solitude and attempting to focus on Math (but Norbert kept asking Ali to play). It’s hard to focus when you’re in second grade, even if there’s no one else around. But we did our best.

UNTIL.

Another homeschool family topped the escalator – a mom and three kids. The entire floor of the library had been silent and empty, and there were chairs and tables available in every direction, including ones that we could neither see nor hear.

But NOOOO.

They came and sat at the table six inches from ours.

SIX INCHES!!

TWENTY OTHER TABLES AND SIX INCHES!!!

If there’s a Urinal Rule for men, then there should be a Library Rule for homeschool families. Leaving two empty tables in between is only humane.

They settled in and all three kids immediately started kicking the chair legs and table legs with inharmonious rhythms. Loud, echoing kicking. The Mom gave them their school books then disappeared for a few minutes of solace in the ladies room.

Kick. Kick. Kickkickkick. Whine. Argue. Kickkickkick.

I had no idea how irritable of a person I was until this family entered my life.

Kick. Kickkickkick. Shuffle papers. Drop books. Kickkick.

The Mom returned, and I silently thanked my lucky library. Surely she would put an end to the kicking. Surely she would make them shut up and do their schoolwork. Surely she would realize how distracted my little student was and how we were here first and how my brain was about to explode. And then surely they would move to another table. Or maybe even another floor. Or perhaps another library.

But no.

She proceeded to orally give the children spelling tests.

And I proceeded to wish desperately that the Birmingham Public Library employed a librarian related to the one in Monsters University.

Kick. kickkick. “SPELL AROUND.” kickkickkick A!-R! kick A! kickkick W!-N! kick D!

Call me a Nazi but chair-kicking is not allowed in my homeschool.

My pulse topped out at 968 and I finally had to call it. I told Ali we were done two subjects early and sent her off to find three dozen fairy books to check out while I found an empty aisle to practice breathing exercises and prevent stroke. Then we left poor Norbert on his own to be tortured by their kicking and gruesome misspellings.

And next time, we’ll take the table in the back corner behind the microfiche.

The Best Worst Comments, Volume II

October 23, 2014January 13, 2016 Rachel Callahan Best Worst Comments, I'm a Blog Geek, Quirky quirky quirkiness, Weird Strange and True

You may have heard…bloggers live for comments.

They are just the best. They add richness and depth to the story, offer wisdom, information, and differing viewpoints, as well as giving us the positive feedback we need to keep writing – because every blogger’s Love Language is Words of Affirmation – why else would we spend hundreds of hours writing down our inane and unimportant thoughts?

However, even the worst comments are still the best. They always come from drive-by readers (never regulars), and usually have a certain flair of nuttiness that truly deserves an award. I shared the first volume of these a year and a half ago, and have been saving all new best worst comments just for you.

Almost all of my negative comments are left on my collection of denim posts. Since all of those posts are at least two years old and already have an insane number of ridiculously repetitive comments, I often wonder why people still feel the need to leave their thoughts.

As does, apparently, Rod.

At least he said “we.” Recognizing one’s own hypocrisy is the first step, Rod.

Dina disagrees with my denim conclusions and offered her own ideas about what the problem was.

Well, besides the fact that I had multiple models so as to not rely on the sizing issues of one specific butt, Dina will be happy to know that my new running muscles have “fixed” that problem. And now all my jeans don’t fit.

So I guess I need to try Gap jeans now and they’ll be all better?

Or not.

Monica has another explanation.

I am so conflicted!! Who is right about my butt – Dina or Monica?! Does it need growing or shrinking? I’m going to have a rear crisis right here right now.

Neto felt the need to leave his wishes and dreams for all to read.

Thank you for your input, Neto. I wish you the best in your quest.

Lisa was especially angry. Because only especially angry people use the word friggen and misspell six words in two paragraphs.

Thankfully, I do not think my readers are too stupid to notice the asterisk and read the writing on the photo she’s referring to that clearly indicates it was meant to be satirical.

Thanks for being smarter than Lisa, everyone.

Eay felt the need to point out other problems.

Never read comments with such poor .period. .usage.

Sometimes people think the fact that I use the term “Mom Jeans” means I’m anti-Mom.

If I am lucky, I am already a Mom. As is clearly shown in my blog header and stated in the post on which you comment. Psh. Details, details.

Huma, on the other hand, thinks I’ve been living under a rock.

I have the commercial memorized and can act it out if you’d like (as long as I can be Amy Poehler.) But thanks for the education anyway, Huma.

But my favorite jeans commenter of late was Mike, who, it should be noted, speaks for ALL (good) men.

You heard it first here, people. Nicole Richie is what we should all be shooting for. And if your man is no good and you can’t figure out why, then you best check the tag on the inside of your jeans.

Besides my blog, another place that’s fun to get comments is on James Spann’s Facebook Page. As our local Meteorologist, he occasionally shares my sunset pictures, and he has a far better collection of nuts than I do.

For instance, this picture,

brought out the chem-trail conspiracy theorists. See the cross in the sky? Those are left by commercial airplanes, which the United States Government uses to spread poison that is going to kill us all.

So it should be noted that I am a highly irresponsible mother for letting my children sit on a hillside under such dangerous and noxious gases. When they grow a third leg and a second belly-button, everyone will see and believe.

And then there was this photo, which I took during the two weeks in the Spring that we have Japanese Cherry Blossoms.

It captured the particular ire of Misty.

Some tried to explain it to her,

Others tried to encourage her to relax,

or just move on,

but Misty. Misty could not be satiated.

White Jesus snuggling with a Velociraptor!!!

I was intrigued. Is this a thing???

So I did what anyone would do in these circumstances.

I Googled.

“White Jesus snuggling with a velociraptor.”

And what to my wondering eyes did appear….

Holy. Crap.

Relief swept over me. Because if Jesus once posed with a Velociraptor, then my photo (that I distinctly remember taking and never loading into Photoshop) must be real, too.

Now that we can all rest happily knowing that the Velociraptor is so well taken care of, back to blog comments.

Once I wrote about getting a pink streak in my hair, and I mentioned the fact that Chris “tells” me to do whatever I want with my hair as long as I keep it long. I didn’t feel the need to spell it out that I willingly agree to this because I love him and seriously enjoy making him happy, but in retrospect, I see that explanation might have helped “ffff.”

Oh my, how creative of you to fill out your email address as poop@fart.com. Or will Ezekiel not allow you to have a real address of your very own?

Last Christmas, my kids watched a Disney movie that repeatedly implied that Santa wasn’t real. I wrote an exaggerated, over-dramatized post about it. One that Katy did not appreciate.

I’m dealing with it, Katy. I’m dealing with it.

Finally, Spam.

I currently have over 15,000 spam comments in my filter (and I think it clears every 30 days.) I see almost none of these, but every now and then one makes it through. Almost none of those are interesting, but this one – this is The One in 15,000.

Not for the comment itself.

Just for the brilliant author name.

I SO want to meet “leggings Of the shadowy protector.” I mean, how thrilling of a job is it to be leggings for a shadowy protector? Does the shadowy protector treat his leggings right, never wearing them as pants but always covering his butt? And if not, is the legging’s print awkwardly misaligned on the rear, giving the shadowy protector the look of one leg (and butt-cheek) being longer than the other?

Furthermore, does the shadowy protector care for his leggings, making sure before every use that they haven’t developed one of those annoying yet ubiquitous crotch holes?

And are they pleather? Because I have a feeling that the shadowy protector might wear shiny faux-leather leggings. And call them his “vegan” pants.

And finally, why is “Of” the only word in the title that’s capitalized?

I will never, ever quit wondering.

Tales from the Porch Swing.

October 21, 2014October 20, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Boy Child = Bizarre., Just My Luck, Toddlers: The Experience

The kids were playing outside while I was lounging flat on my back on the porch swing.

(That happens more than it should. But Motherhood as an introvert is exhausting.)

(And I’m exceptionally good at lazy when I want to be.)

Noah needed to go to the bathroom, so he headed over for me to unbutton and unzip his pants, then shuffled inside.

But it’s fall, y’all. And the kid had on blue jeans.

So he couldn’t get them off.

He came back outside and I wrestled him out of his jeans – because toddler jeans are nearly as hard to manage as women’s skinny jeans.

He sprinted back inside, naked from the waist down this time.

(My neighbors think we’re real classy.)

I continued my lounging in peace, scrolling on my phone, reading my tweets, doing all the things that one does when laying flat on their back in a gently gliding swing on a beautiful fall day.

After about fifteen minutes, I realized that Noah probably should have returned by then to collect his pants.

And then I remembered that he was especially gaseous as we were wrestling him out of his jeans. At the time I assumed it was from all the straining, but fifteen minutes later, I recognized the more likely cause.

He had to poop.

And he doesn’t wipe his own butt.

(I have been exiled to nearly eight years of constant butt-wiping. The day that I don’t have to wipe anyone’s butt ever again is going to be one with much rejoicing.)

So Noah. He was probably still sitting on the toilet, waiting for me to come clean his hinder, no way to reach me since he, unlike the rest of the first world, cannot text while pooping.

I went inside and was greeted with an aroma that confirmed my suspicions.

“Nooo-aah? Are you okay?”

“Yes! I pooped.”

I walked in and he was still calmly sitting on the toilet, most likely straining his vagal nerve and germinating toddler hemorrhoids due to my negligence.

“I’m so sorry, buddy. <wipe, wipe> So…what exactly was your plan? Were you going to sit here all day until I came?”

“Well, I yelled and I yelled for you, but that just made me poop more. Did you see all those poops in there?!?”

“Well then, I guess it worked out nicely!”

I got him cleaned up and washing his hands and thanked him for waiting patiently for me. Which is when he looked at me with love and adoration in his eyes and said,

“I knew you would know. You would know I pooped. You would know I needed you to wipe me.”

And that’s how a boy melts his Mom’s heart…with feces.

On yet another round of “Mommy lays in the porch swing while you kids play nicely together,” Ali and Noah were drawing with chalk in the driveway.

They seemed happy and especially giggly, so I let them alone until it was absolutely time to call them inside.

That night, we were all riding in the car together when Chris mentioned,

“So either Ali’s handwriting has gotten really good all of a sudden, or she convinced you to write ‘poop’ on the driveway.”

“Whaaaa?! I didn’t write poop on the driveway!”

“Are you sure? Because it was really, really well-written. I stared at it for a minute, then said to myself, ‘well, I guess Ali asked Rachel to write it and she did for some reason.’”

“I did NOT write poop on the driveway. I do remember them talking about a toilet, though…”

“Oh! I saw that too and thought it was a giant white finger pointing to where she had written poop.”

Ali was listening intently and finally chimed in.

“I was the one who wrote poop on the driveway. And underneath that, I drew a brown, lumpy…”

“WE GET IT.”

When we got home, Chris let me out of the car and he shined the headlights on the artwork du jour so I could experience it for myself.

And I must say, she really does deserve an A+ for those letters.

As well as marks in thoroughness for making the inside of the toilet bowl yellow.

I got back in the car.

“Well that’s just something.”

“And did you know that it’s not supposed to rain for over a week?”

“Fantastic.”

The next day, my Mom stopped by. Noah dragged her to the driveway to show her the new facilities, as well as to demonstrate how very talented he was at squatting over the potty and pretending to use it.

And I’m going to have to start baking daily Apology Cookies for my neighbors.

Work of Worth: Pretty Things Changing Lives {Giveaway}

October 20, 2014October 19, 2014 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Giveaways and Contests

Third World Entrepreneurial Philanthropy. It sounds all big-wordish and heady, but it’s one of my favorite concepts that has been made easier due to the internet age. In short, it means freedom.

Freedom for women enslaved in sex trafficking.

Freedom for families who have no way to support their children.

Freedom from work that exploits, mistreats, and abuses.

Freedom from having to decide whether to starve or sell a child.

The particular form of Entrepreneurial Philanthropy that I’m referring to is when a company opens up in an impoverished area with the intent of employing people who need a chance to find those freedoms. They are committed to paying fair wages, treating their employees with dignity, and transforming lives.

The way the internet greatly aids this cause is by connecting these organizations with the Western Market through e-commerce. Never before has it been as easy as it is now to buy artisan products from Africa, India, and anywhere else in the world. The opportunity to be able to purchase these beautiful and unique items while helping provide freedom to people who desperately need it is truly a gift. And it is a gift I try to utilize any chance I get.

There’s a brand new organization providing the valuable service of connecting us with freedom-bringing products: Work of Worth International.

Work of Worth carries beautiful artisan products from organizations that they have thoroughly vetted to ensure that they are truly offering hope and freedom to their employees. They have a particular focus on groups working with employees who have found escape from sex trafficking, as well as groups who focus on preemptive sustainable employment so that families are not faced with the choice of feeding someone or selling them.

Work of Worth’s headquarters are based in Birmingham, so I was able to go to their launch event last month for a sneak peek at the beautiful products they’re carrying. I bought jewelry for myself, a very special journal for Ali (she obviously carries it everywhere), and a t-shirt for Chris.

I have LOVED my jewelry, and find myself constantly admiring the exquisite craftsmanship of it, shocked this amazing bracelet only cost $10!

I was also privileged with the opportunity to go through all of their collection and recommend my own mini-collection of Work of Worth items. It was difficult to narrow it down, but I pushed through – just for you.

Decopalm Journal, $15; Grecian Goddess Necklace, $20; Rings of Hope Bracelet, $15; Sari Hobo Bag, $30

These pieces are just fabulous. They are all luxurious, gorgeous statement pieces that can go with anything. And any of them would make stand-out Christmas gifts (it’s just around the corner, ladies!), or simply gifts for yourself. Because hey – why not buy for yourself when you have the excuse that it’s helping someone else?

As an added bonus, though, I’m buying something for you. Just in time for the cooler weather, one of you will receive one of these stunning Sari Infinity Scarves. All you have to do to enter is check out Work of Worth’s Shop and come back and tell me your favorite find.

You have until Thursday, October 30 to enter. A winner will be chosen and announced on my giveaway winner’s page on Friday, October 31. Best of luck, and I can’t wait to hear which items are your favorite!

Disclosure: I was not compensated in any way to write this post. Opinions are my own, I made purchases of my own products, and I’m paying for the giveaway item. I am simply in love what Work of Worth is doing.