Rachel Callahan

The Grasshopper Incident.

September 2, 2014September 1, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Toddlers: The Experience

There’s a lovely walking trail somewhat near our house – one that I often run on when I can get away by myself. When I am accompanied by my entourage, I bribe the children to walk (without whining) in exchange for a stop at a candy store halfway through our route. Occasionally, we also have the pleasure of walking with our neighbors on this trail.

Last Friday, our companions included the beautiful and infinitely sweet Loulie. She’s Noah’s age, and they’re quite fond of each other.

So Loulie, her mother, and her baby brother sat out with the kids and I on a walk. Along our path, we took a break at a park bench by the creek. Noah and Loulie had one of those moments – the ones where us moms look at each other with adoring smiles and say, “Are they not the CUTEST?!”

They threw sticks and rocks into the creek and talked about the meaning of life, as three-year-olds often do.

Ali, meanwhile, was sweaty and zombified, slumped on the park bench next to me. At the age of seven, she does not have Noah and Loulie’s privilege of riding in a jogging stroller as if they are royalty being jaunted through life on a curtained litter.

I looked over at Ali and she had the most adorable baby grasshopper climbing up her arm. He was neon green and so lightweight that she didn’t even feel him.

I was smitten.

I carefully nudged him onto my finger and excitedly beckoned the couple at the creek to come see.

“Isn’t he cute? He’s so tiny. He’s a baby!!”

Loulie and Noah looked on in wonder.

He then hopped off of my finger.

“Where’d he go?”

“Where is he?”

“Oh there he is! Right at Noah’s foot.”

Perhaps Noah took this as an encrypted code from me on what needed to happen next. Or perhaps he’s just a boy.

But with the same measure of excitement I had about finding the grasshopper, Noah stomped on him.

Then stomped again for good measure. And gave his shoe a little grinding action.

I, being somewhat used to the male species and their idea of fun, recovered quickly and dryly said, “Well, he was by Noah’s foot.”

But Loulie. Dear sweet Loulie. Having only a tiny baby brother herself, she was wholly unprepared for vicious male barbarianism.

She began to whimper, softly, pitifully, grieving an untimely death.

Then the bleakness of the situation really hit her, and she ramped up to a full-out Wail of Devastation.

I took her baby brother so that her mother Renee could scoop her up and hide her from the tragedy that is this world, as Loulie continued her loud weeping, not able to speak past her grief.

After a few times of Renee asking her to calm down and talk it through, Loulie finally wailed out heartbroken accusations, as dramatically as if she were in a Matlock Courtroom.

“NOOOOOAAAAHHHH KIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEDDDD THAT BABBBBBYYY GRASSSSSSSHOOPPPPPPPERRRR!!!”

Renee tried to comfort her.

“BUUUUUUUTTTTT HHHHHHEEEE STOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMPPPPEDDD ON ITTTTT!!!!”

More comfort.

“WWWWHHHHHHYYYYY DDDIIIIIDDD HEEEEE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THATTT??!??!”

Noah, meanwhile, had a half-impish grin (still enjoying the thrill of the hunt), half confused nose wrinkle (why would a girl cry over this), half guilty eyebrow crease (yes I know those looks account for 150% of his face but there was a lot going on there).

I explained to him that Loulie was sad about the fate of Baby Grasshopper and walked him through apologizing, which he did with his head down and an attempt at a contrite face.

Renee said to Loulie, “Okay. What do we say when someone tells us we’re sorry?”

“IIIIIIIIIIII <sob> FOOOOOOORRRRRGIIIIIIIIIVEEEEEEEE <whimper> YOUUUUUUUUUU.”

Then she hopped down and went back to the creek.

Noah, having at least some measure of tact, gave her a minute.

He pondered his transgressions, and considered The Mystery of Woman.

Then he, too, went back to the creek.

Where he immediately started stomping on ants.

Her expression should have told him everything. This was NOT the kind of relationship-building activity a woman needs right now!

But instead, she found the mercy in her heart, repositioned her mercy target from “Grasshopper” to “Dumb Boy”, and joined him in his ant stomping.

Girls are versatile like that.

And boys are not.

Because two minutes later, Noah went to get a sip of water – the hard way.

After I took a dozen pictures, I had to actually lift his legs off the ground and slowly finagle (yes that’s a word) his giant head out from its trap that I’m pretty sure was set by the ghost of a baby grasshopper.

He sat down next to the Grasshopper Corpse and rubbed his sore scalp. I could nearly hear a tiny chirp-like giggle coming from the rock next to him.

Poetic Justice is a beautiful thing. As was Ali’s diary entry, capturing the emotions of the event far better than I ever could.

It’s a cruel world. Fortunately, we have War Reporters like Ali to help us not repeat history.

It’s Time We Met. Don’t You Think?

August 31, 2014August 31, 2014 Rachel Callahan I Love Birmingham, Newsflash, Picture Birmingham

I meet at least a dozen blog readers a year – sometimes intentionally (I’ve even driven to Georgia and Mississippi to meet blog friends), and sometimes accidentally, when one of you spots me in public and introduces yourself, which I always adore.

(It’s way way WAY better for you to say hello than comment on a blog post later “I saw you at Target a couple of weeks ago but I didn’t say anything” because then I have to think back and wonder if I’d brushed my hair that day, what I was wearing, if I was irritated with my kids, or if I in general looked too unsavory to speak to.)

I love meeting internet people in real life. After all, some of my best friends formerly only existed on the internet.

So if you’re local-ish, next weekend is one of those opportunities for a face-to-face meeting, and I would really love for you to come say hello!

Where, you say? Downtown – one of my favorite places. I will be showing my Picture Birmingham collection at Birmingham Artwalk on Friday from 5-10pm and Saturday from noon-6pm. I’ll be outside in the parking lot for the Gallery Lofts located at 2412 2nd Avenue North.

Picture Birmingham is my organization through which I sell sunset and skyline pictures of Birmingham and surrounding areas so that I can give 100% of the profits to The WellHouse, a ministry that I have felt called to support.

The ladies at The WellHouse are heroes in one of the biggest yet least known battles of our generation – they are rescuing victims of sex trafficking. As soon as they get a call from a victim that needs their help to escape, they drive or fly to her and take her to their safehouse. From there, they provide for her medical needs, legal needs, physical needs, and help her recover from the trauma in which she’s been trapped. They also help her recover her identification, which is one of the first things a trafficker takes away, yet it is a requirement by almost all other shelters before entry. Because they are one of the only organizations that will do this, they rescue victims from all over the United States and bring them here to heal. They also have a long-term facility where they can house these women and children as they heal.

The world of sex trafficking is worse than you can imagine, the victims are younger than any of us want to grasp, and it’s happening closer than we realize. Their stories constantly shock and devastate me, and I thank God that there are people like those at The WellHouse who have dedicated their life to rescuing and providing new life to people who desperately need their help.

So come to Artwalk. I’ll have a full line of prints, canvases, note cards and postcards available there, all to support The WellHouse, and starting at $1. And I really, really would love to have the opportunity to meet you.

(And if I’ve already met you, then I definitely want to see you again!)

Besides saying hello to me (I get that I’m not that exciting), there are over a hundred other artists as well, great kid’s activities, and really just a fantastic event for a lovely late summer weekend.

We were attendees last year, and Ali was fascinated by the Birmingham Fashion Truck (MUCH more exciting than food trucks),

Noah was the recipient of a commissioned Tattoo from famous Birmingham artist Vero, which he still regularly tries to get me to reproduce,

(but I can’t, because nobody can make a robot as whimsical as Vero can,)

and both kids thoroughly enjoyed the leaf-painting activity.

So come. PLEASE come. It’s a free event, it’s a fantastic event, and I need to see some familiar faces. Or faces that are not-yet-but-are-now-familiar.

I hope to see you in a few days!

p.s. – if you can’t come and would still like to support The WellHouse, you can always shop Picture Birmingham online, as well as make a donation to The WellHouse. Thank you all for your support!

How to Properly Use Alabama Jell-O Molds.

August 29, 2014August 28, 2014 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Kids: The Experience.

In a huge announcement of unprecedented importance, Jell-O proclaimed that they were releasing University of Alabama Jell-O Molds.

(Along with molds for 22 other Universities, but I’m positive none of them took it nearly as seriously as Alabama fans.)

Because I love my husband and I’m a sucker for a good Jell-O mold, I immediately went to my personal shopper (named Amazon) and bought a set for my family.

However, my purchase was made amidst great state controversy.

Not only was this exciting news for football fans, it was also exciting news for the Alabama political machine. Because, you see, at least one lobbyist immediately condemned these Jell-O molds for fear that they would encourage underage drinking.

Yes, drinking.

I would like to say a few things to this lobbyist.

1. I’ve seen a lot of people slurp down Jell-O shots on Alabama Football gamedays. A LOT. And not a single one of them was actually a *student* at the university. In fact, most were over 50 and probably never even attended the University. Perhaps your concern might also extend to Alabama Football Fans with no educational ties to the University?

2. “I wasn’t going to drink while underage, but now that there are Jell-O molds for my University, well, that changes everything!”, said no college student ever.

3. Silly Lobbyist, Jell-O Molds are for Kids. Err, kids too young for underage drinking, that is.

To prove it, I present to you, my children.

There’s nothing my kids enjoy more than preparing for a Football Party, so I gave them the beautiful new Jell-O molds. Because football is upon us, y’all.

I wanted to delve into all the ways these molds could be used, so I bought chocolate, my favorite candy melts, and had the Jell-O that came with the molds. I also figured we could use the molds to create ice cubes.

There were two molds, which were apparently quite stuck together.

But that did not deter the palpable excitement in my home.

Okay no really. Were they superglued??

Noah even got in on the action. At least in moral support.

Finally, my daughter found the strength within herself to pull them apart.

They wanted to start with candy melts, and I didn’t blame them – it’s the purest form of sugar, and it seems to travel straight to the blood stream.

It can even be absorbed straight through fingers!

We melted and poured, then dropped the mold on the countertop a few dozen times to beat out the bubbles.

After refrigeration, they came out beautifully, although next time I will fill the molds halfway to prevent the messy bottoms and make the serving size of straight sugar a little less coma-inducing.

Next came Jell-O.

I’m always amazed at how quickly Jell-O cooks, as opposed to my childhood when it seemed to take five lifetimes.

Noah, however, did not agree.

He aged fifteen years in that two minutes.

While we’re waiting for a boiling point, let’s talk about the background of my picture, also known as Random Clutter on Rachel’s Kitchen Table (RCoRKT).

A: Two pairs of Noah’s Toms (my hypocrisy grows daily) and my running knee braces. Because that’s what belongs on chairs.
B: Running Socks. Hopefully just washed and laid out to dry, but there’s no guarantee that they hadn’t been sweat in.
C: Sunblock. Which is puzzling since I nearly never sunblock my children. Because hey – skin grows back, right?
D: A really unique sunset canvas. There’s this site where you can get one of your own…or use it as an excuse to come see me in person!
E: An Underwear Chart. Need I say more?

You’re welcome.

The water finally boiled, and Ali immediately volunteered to stir in the Jell-O. Noah, meanwhile, had moved onto other pursuits.

But he’s never one to turn down a chance to splash and spill hot liquid, so he did take his turn.

We pulled out our Lego and Magic Wand molds and filled nearly everything we had.

The Jell-O came out just as beautifully as the candy, albeit harder to photograph.

And, although we haven’t melted our chocolate yet or made our ice cubes, we’re ready for tomorrow.

Because really, snacks are football’s redeeming value.

To some of us.

Disclosure: Jell-O did not sponsor me or this post. Nor did lobbyists, Alabama Football, or children. Okay – maybe the kids did. They did get a lot of sugar out of it, after all.

Birmingham, Meet Meat. Meat, Meet Birmingham. {Giveaway}

August 28, 2014August 27, 2014 Rachel Callahan Chris, Giveaways and Contests, Guest Post

Guest Post by Contributing Editor, Chief Husband, and Meat Expert Chris.

There are certain pivotal moments in the history of the world when things change for the better, when life as we know it receives an upgrade to its operating system that – like Siri, or Instagram adjustable filter intensity – opens the door to a richness of experience that was previously unimaginable.

I like to think that this was one of those moments.

So God blessed Noah and his sons, and said to them: “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth. And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be on every beast of the earth, on every bird of the air, on all that move on the earth, and on all the fish of the sea. They are given into your hand. Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. I have given you all things, even as the green herbs.

Genesis 9:1-3

Much of humanity, including Rachel and I, have since had a love affair with meat. Birmingham is a great city for meat lovers. You can’t sling a pair of oversized sweatpants in this town without hitting a Barbeque restaurant. So when the opportunity came to try the newest addition to Birmingham’s meaty repertoire, I pretty much fell all over myself to get there.

Welcome to Texas de Brazil, in the new Uptown district.

It is fancy and casual at the same time, with a passionate décor and a comfortable vibe. It might be date night, but there are no illusions – everyone knows why you’re here. The meal begins with vast array of salads, soups, appetizers, and side dishes, but don’t get the wrong idea. This glorious buffet could be a meal unto itself, and is offered as such, if you so desire.

As if marinated mozzarella balls, antipasto meats and cheeses, sushi rolls, and shrimp weren’t enough, there is a big bowl of bacon. Not bits. Legit pieces of freshly cooked bacon, stacked in a bowl, to feast upon at your discretion.

To whet your appetite for this:

An endless supply of freshly prepared cuts of steak, chicken, lamb, pork, and Brazilian sausage that each bring a juicy high-five to your evening. As long as you leave your sign flipped to green, the happy swordsmen keep coming and carving onto your plate.

They of course also bring extra side dishes to cleanse your palate between meats, because we are, after all, only human. Overall, it’s not just the kind of place you want to come back to. It’s the kind of place you want to bring a friend so you can watch them enjoy it for the first time.

So, to help you enjoy the excess responsibly, here are my pro tips:

Fast before you go.

Sleep it off as soon as possible.

Remember it fondly. I certainly do.

And win this gift card for $50 to help your meal along. To enter, just comment on this post and tell me who the biggest carnivore in your life is. This contest is open until Monday, September 8 and the winner will be announced on the Giveaway Winner’s Page on September 9. This gift card is good for all Texas De Brazil locations, so check this list to see if there is one near you. Best of luck and eat some meat!

Disclosure: Our meal was complimentary. There was no agreement that a blog would be provided, so my passion for their work is absolutely authentic.

The Running Disease.

August 26, 2014September 7, 2014 Rachel Callahan FitBit, Lose It Diet, Newsflash, Running

“Let’s get the white elephant out of the room first. So you’re running now.”

I had lunch yesterday with my friend Jamie, the occasion upon which that accusation was made.

I leaned in and lowered my voice.

“Do you want to know how bad it’s gotten? It’s like really, really bad. Chris arranged for the kids to spend the night at my parent’s Sunday night to give me a break. When he told me, my first thought was ‘We could get up early and run together on Monday morning!’ Not ‘I can sleep as late as I want!’, but ‘I’ll get up before daybreak!’ – and I did. At 5:30 in the morning. And we ran west. And I DIDN’T EVEN TURN AROUND TO WATCH THE SUNRISE.”

It’s time to get the white elephant out of the room here, too.

I don’t know how this happened to me. I’m shocked, confused, perplexed, and worried that I may have been abducted by aliens and returned with the brain of Jackie Joyner-Kersee.

I ran for 27 days straight.

In those 27 days, I ran 118 miles.

Before those 27 days, I had run all of six miles this entire year. And close to zero miles last year.

I became obsessed with making sure I got to run…finding the opportunity to run…sometimes running twice a day…and making compromises to find the time for my new problem.

(This could explain the recent lack of quality and quantity of blog posts.)

I was well aware that running several miles every day wasn’t exactly recommended by health professionals, but what it was doing for my Dysautonomia drove me to it anyway.

Although seeing all of my steps on my FitBit was the first driving force, most of my obsession with running in the past month has definitely been its impact on how it has made me feel. Despite my creaky legs and blistered toes and swollen foot (the one that had two surgeries and a bone removed and I swore would keep me from running ever again), my health has greatly improved. And on the days when I have struggled with Dysautonomia symptoms, the only thing that has helped was going out and running.

In the August Alabama heat.

It makes no sense. But it has worked.

…until I inevitably hurt my knee and had to take a couple of days off. Then got The Illness of The Century and had to take a couple more days off. But I’ve ramped back up, taking it a bit more in moderation now, despite the fact that I still desperately want to run every day.

Insane, I tell you.

I’ve known for a year now that exercise was on the list of things that makes Dysautonomia better. But if I had ordered that list in the sequence that I was willing to partake, it would have looked like this:

1. Eat more salt.
2. Eat more often.
3. Take medication.
4. Cut out soft drinks.
5. Reduce caffeine.
6. Drink more water.
7. Exercise.

However, in order of how much they’ve actually helped, they have proven to be:

1. Exercise.
2. Drink more water.
3. Take medication.
4. Cut out soft drinks.
5. Reduce caffeine.
6. Eat more often.
7. Eat more salt.

So it only took a year for some synapse in my brain to snap and make me actually want to attempt the thing that works the best.

And in so doing, I have gotten to see many things I wouldn’t have ever seen otherwise, like this bridge a little past the end of the Lakeshore Running Trail.

And this grisly murder scene in a parking lot.

Or this….Nazi Symbol? on the Jefferson County Courthouse???

And this amazing downtown loft and courtyard, of which I am now endlessly jealous.

It’s helped me in my Studies of Birmingham Graffiti, finding an elusive Naro tag (who is no longer with us, based on the giant “RIP Naro” tag that Daze put on the Red Mountain Expressway).

It’s also provided more quality time with my husband, on those rare opportunities we’ve been able to run together.

(One weekend we sent the kids to my parents and had a Friday night 5 mile run and Saturday morning 8 mile run, with a couple of date meals on either side.)

(That’s right. Even my dates are now scheduled around running.)

Chris was able to take me on some of his favorite routes and stretch my endurance tremendously, and now I’m interviewing live-in nannies so that we can run together every day.

(Okay not really. But a girl can fantasize.)

I’ve been bitten by the bug so hard that I used my only free time in Nashville to…run. In the afternoon Nashville no-shade heat.

THEN I went to bed early so I could get up early and do it all over again. In the delightful morning breeze.

But now I fully understand why Chris likes running other cities – you see things, angles, and details that you’d never see any other way. I’ve already shown you what I saw in Guntersville, but in Nashville, I saw the sun rising over the Ryman Auditorium,

The city waking up through the rails of the walking bridge,

The sun and clouds reflecting off of downtown Nashville and looking rather like a fried egg (over easy),

And the fact that Nashville shares a similar feature with Birmingham – a river of rails running through the middle,

Except that, instead of tearing down their grand central station like we did, they turned it into a breathtaking hotel.

Although the impact to my quality of life has become far more important than the impact to my weight, I’m happy with the results from seven weeks of FitBit and 158 miles in my running shoes.

(And yes. I’m totally wearing Toms. Because I’m a hypocrite like that.)

But running. I’ve fallen in love. And I’ve fallen hard. And you’re likely to hear more about it. So I apologize in advance.

A Public Service Announcement, for Parents.

August 25, 2014August 24, 2014 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year

I have been up front and honest with you many times about all of the things I forget to do, put off doing, or downright neglect when it comes to my role as a mother.

I’m not the most thorough, organized, on-top-of-it person out there, and my parenting is no exception. It often looks as messy as my office closet, and I hope that one day my children can forgive me for my grievous sins against them. By my practice of exposing of my shortcomings here, I also hope that perhaps I can help one of you remember something you might need to take care of.

Which is what brings us to today’s PSA. Quite accidentally, I discovered a giant, moon-sized hole in my parenting.

One of my children – I won’t say which to protect their identity (let’s pretend I have twelve children for the day) – has had a problem for quite some time. A rather embarrassing problem – one that Chris and I couldn’t seem to get this child to stop doing.

There was an issue of constant fidgeting and picking at a certain item of underclothing.

After weeks of reminding – nay even nagging this child to please refrain from this activity, said child looked me in the eye with a kernel of wisdom beyond their years and said, “I think it’s because they feel so tight all the time. Could they all be too small for me?”

My eyes widened, stunned by the logic and insight pouring from such a tiny mouth.

I had never bought this child any new underwear. Since this child was potty-trained many years ago, they had been slowly growing out of their provided underclothes, just as a tree root slowly grows through a sidewalk.

This. THIS is the kind of sub-par crappy parenting that I bring to the table.

Guilt agitated my soul like a washing machine set on stain-removal. And I immediately set out to Target to correct my grievous sins.

But which underwear should I buy? I hadn’t bought any children’s underwear in this particular gender in many years. Which were most comfortable? Which would provide greatest ease in wear? Which would abolish wedgies?

So I bought them all.

Because a guilty conscience carries a big checkbook.

A guilty conscience also needs a safe place to seek reassurance, so I texted my friend Katherine and confessed my Sins of Motherhood. Her response was triple antibiotic on my wounded soul.

Oh that? Yes. It only cost us four separate co-pays and a visit to Children’s Hospital South for a GI scan to rule out colon cancer. Sorry – I thought ALL families did that before they bought their children new underwear.

Everyone needs a friend like Katherine.

I pursued her on this issue of negligence. Upon which of your four children did you commit this omission?

[Kid X] got the four visits and GI scan, but we also made a doctor’s visit for [Kid Y] as well.

If Katherine can make this mistake twice, then I can make it once. Right?

I came home from Target with a fresh spring in my step and presented my wise, neglected child with an armload of underthings and explained that if said child would track the efficacy of the different types, I would make sure to buy more in the best variation of underthings to properly ensure that comfort could finally be had – something denied to that child for far too long.

I then explained the meaning and importance of the concept of Unbiased Scientific Analysis. Because the thing was, some of the items of clothing in question had favorite cartoon characters on them – but this fact should not afford them a greater review than a pair that was, say, a solid color. Scientists must not be driven by the wind. Or by Elsa, Queen of the Wind.

The child looked at me with those same serious, wide eyes, agreeing to the importance of the task at hand.

“But how will I remember which were best? How will I keep up with such important information?”

“Don’t worry, dear child. I will make you a chart.”

And I did.

Again showing my egregious negligence, I did not take time to find a ruler for a straightline, nor even did I simply draw slowly enough to have consistent lines. But I am what I am. And thankfully, the child was pleased with the chart and excited to get to work on the research project.

(Although the child was a bit critical of the fact that some of my questions were rather redundant.)

The child filled out the chart with the care of a Ph.D. candidate, even caring enough to count the number of wedgies created by each variety in a 24 hour time period.

I wish the first line wasn’t filled out in pencil so that you could see the reasoning behind the sad rating of 1 – “I got up in the middle of the night to change” – yes, they were that bad. But this vital piece of data is why it was worthy of its own chart.

But most importantly, all embarrassing habits ceased immediately upon the reception of these gifts.

Dearest friends, this is your wake-up call. Buy your children new underwear once in a while.

Signs of Vacation.

August 21, 2014August 20, 2014 Rachel Callahan Free Family Vacations, Just My Luck, Photographical Oddities, Toddlers: The Experience

A flock of Emus in a Wastewater treatment plant…

The Church of Holy Water/Wrestling Federation…

A Labelmakered all-caps toilet instruction – “DO NOT FLUSH ANYTHING BUT TISSUE” – to which we almost left a post-it note underneath it saying, “But where do we put the poo?”…

These are the things I didn’t manage to get photos of on our family vacation.

I hope that the things I did manage to capture will help you forgive me.

So many questions.

1. What were adults using it for?
2. If my son gets stuck at the top, panics, and requires a rescue from his mother, will I be tackled by the Playground Police?
3. Are there other equal provisions for adult play in your city? Or is there an issue of play inequality?
4. What about teenagers? I feel like there is a definite age bracket that is left undefined as to their play legality.

This sign was facing an automatic toilet. A toilet that flushed two times while I was sitting on it.

So….the sign was for me, or the commode?

I appreciated that they acknowledged that at one time they were okay with this. But NO MORE.

And finally…I just…what to say…except God Bless America.

In case you wanted to see where this Battle Royal took place, I captured that for you as well. Not at all creepy or suspect. Not. At. All.

We did not, however, visit that establishment during family vacation. I know you’re disappointed. So am I. It would have made an AMAZING blog post.

Instead, we took our children to Noccalula Falls Park, albeit slightly less educational.

Ali was intensely more nervous than she looks. She adored the train ride, the petting zoo, the rock stairs, the playground, and every other part of the park – but not having a giant rock ledge hanging over her head.

And no, the logic of “It’s been here for thousands of years” did not help her at all. Nor did “if we die it will be so quick you won’t even know it.”

Escape was sweet.

And she was then able to appreciate the view from the top much more effectively.

Then we moved onward to Guntersville, where we met up with the rest of my family.

To refresh your memory, my family exchanges no gifts during the year (except for the children of course) and instead, we go on a trip together once a year.

We failed miserably and didn’t get a formal group shot this year, but the above picture sums it up pretty well, except for missing Chris-the-picture-taker. Yes, Noah is still shirtless even on vacation, and yes, Eli is still fantastic at photo facial expressions.

This year, we stayed in a house on Lake Guntersville in beautiful North Alabama, and really didn’t do too much else aside from relaxing on the lake, including “fishing” with Gramamma,

Paddle boating, for which I discovered I was extremely fond of and maybe even a little obsessed,

(and it was made all the more rewarding by my mapping and logging it like a dweeb,)

And playing an intricate mermaid game in the water – one that was too secretive to be photographed.

Inside the house, there were games of Rummikub and Uno, which are, at the age of the children involved, only games that grandparents have enough patience to carry out.

And of course, the kids did plenty of what kids these days do best.

Thanks to my Dad who unofficially volunteered to be my evening chauffeur (most likely because he wanted a moment of silence), I was able to catch the sunset every night.

I even broke my most important rule and…got a sunrise picture.

While running with Chris earlier than I even like to acknowledge exists.

Because I’m that obsessed with running. It’s like sleep doesn’t even matter anymore. But more about that in a later post.

When you’re in a place as beautiful as Guntersville, it’s best to break a few rules to get to appreciate it at its finest.

………….especially since vacation ended with health death for half the family.

Noah and I were the first to crumble, to what the doctor told us was “just viral” but turned out to be quite bacterial and in need of antibiotics. Why do doctors hate me so?

Others have since fallen, Ali included, and Noah and I are on our fifth day of impending fatality. Family vacation has its price.

While Noah and I were at the doctor, we ran across a couple more fantastic signs – such as, the most depressed looking stick figure ever created. I want to be the kind of person that can convey such depth of emotion with so little detail.

And yet more puzzling flush instructions.

I don’t even know what a toliet is, but I’m assuming it’s French.

But nothing…NOTHING I SAY…will ever compare with this.

God Bless America.

The Ticket to Preschool.

August 18, 2014August 17, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Just My Luck, Parent of the Year, Toddlers: The Experience

As I mentioned a few months ago, Noah is attending Preschool this fall – three days a week, and his teacher is his precious Godmother, Miss Janey.

…whom he calls “Miss Jamie”, because I make him eat lunch with Jamie of Jamie’s Rabbits way too often and once one has encountered Jamie and her Rabbits they’re hard to flush from one’s mind – even at the expense of mispronouncing one’s own Godmother’s name.

(Sorry, Miss Janey.)

At parent orientation, they told us that they would be having two parties for the moms on the first day: a “Coffee and Kleenex Party” on one side, and a “Coffee and Kick-Your-Heels-Up” Party on the other.

Which is when I realized that I am some sort of misfit alien – because I neither felt like crying or cheering.

On the one hand, I knew I wouldn’t have a “the first day of the rest of his life” moment because at this time, I plan on bringing him back home for school next year – I just needed a year to focus on second grade with Ali without his vast disapproval in the background of every subject, and I knew he’d love the chance to be in Miss Janey’s class.

On the other hand, I’m not kicking my heels up because I’m a bit nervous about the round-trip drive three times a week (it’s not exactly close to my house) and…I’ve still got to teach second grade.

Therefore, the sum of my feelings about my son going to preschool is…COMPLETELY NEUTRAL.

I told you. I am alien. I should be kicked out of the Mommy League.

So, on his first day, I was somewhat nervously timing the drive, realizing that I was going to routinely hit some morning traffic, carefully skirting around two fresh wrecks on the interstate, and in general feeling neutral.

I got off the interstate with only a few minutes to spare and began down a freshly created road on which I’d only traveled a couple of times. I was checking it out, and I even remember looking for a speed limit sign, which is when, instead, I saw a motorcycle cop.

Hello, first day of school.

Goodbye, Neutral Feelings.

He pulled me over and the kids began their flood of questions about what evil I had executed to be trapped by a POLICEMAN.

Ali was reassuring, telling Noah, “Don’t worry, Noah – he’s on a motorcycle, so he can’t take us all to jail.”

I frantically began rooting around in my glove compartment for my registration and had it in my lap when he walked up.

“Hello ma’am. I need to see your license and insurance card.”

But I went to all that trouble to find my registration and I actually *have* it thanks to my husband who takes care of these things…don’t you want to see it?

I nodded and modified my search parameters to my wallet, where my license never wants to come out and my insurance card is always at least two policy periods out of date.

“I’m sorry I promise my insurance is current but I have an old card. I can get on the app on my phone or call my State Farm agent…”

“Okay ma’am. You figure that out while I run your license.”

Fortunately I don’t find much need for my State Farm app, resulting in it unfortunately not being logged in and more unfortunately me having no idea what my user ID and password were.

I tried every likely combination with shaking hands, still watching the clock leading up to Preschool Delivery Time.

The children continued to discuss my criminal past, present, and future in the backseat.

I finally resorted to calling State Farm’s toll-free app support number, knowing that customer support never ends well. By the time I got a human on the line, the cop was back at my door with a ticket.

I tried to rush Ms. State Farm through the process but she would not be rushed.

In fact, she needed to verify my identity fourfold. Because someone besides me could have totally known three out of four of these questions.

1. What is your date of birth?

2. What make of car was registered to you when you lived at X address? [Three houses ago, from which we moved in 2002.]

3. How much did you pay for the house at Y address? [Our current address, which we bought 7 years ago.]

“I’m sorry but I have a policeman standing at my door can we hurry this along? I just need my insurance card.”

“No ma’am. I must completely verify your identity.”

4. What year was the house at Z address built? [Two residences ago, because I memorize what year every house I live in was built.]

Thankfully, the last three questions were multiple choice BUT STILL. THAT WAS NOT LIKE A GOOD NEIGHBOR. That was like the most suspicious nosiest most awful neighbor no one ever wanted. That neighbor is probably breaking into my back door right now just to see how clean I keep my bathroom.

(Not very.)

During the above questioning, the cop stood awkwardly at my door as I kept whispering apologies and explaining what the problem was. After question four, he said,

“Can you ask her to hold?”

I tried to get a word in edgewise but my Neighbor Nightmare was now giving me my username and a scripted list of instructions. As soon as she took a break, I said “thankyougoodbye” and hung up before she could ask me to take a survey on her exemplary interrogation skills.

I turned to the cop. “I’m so so so so sorry. I have my username now and should be able to reset my password and then get into the app and show you my current insurance card.”

“I tell you what, ma’am. Let’s forget about the insurance card. Here’s your ticket. Have a good day.”

Lesson Learned: Motorcycle Cops hate customer service as much as I do.

And as an added bonus, I now know the speed limit on that new road.

(35, if you must know.)

(And I was doing 54.)

(Because it looked like an interstate and there’s nothing on either side.)

(It wasn’t unreasonable.)

(But don’t ask my kids if they concur because they’re now convinced I deserve to go to jail.)

Thankfully I had taken happy First Day of School pictures of Noah before we left the house,

Because his level of distrust for me after The Incident rendered his walking-in pictures as decisively suspicious, disillusioned, and humiliated.

I deserved it.

He immediately found the water fountain to wash away the bad taste my parenting had given him,

then started down the long hallway to freedom from me,

and from his ever-present always-directing older sister.

Happy first day of school, kid. And by the way, your Mommy’s a criminal.

….And might need that Coffee and Kleenex party after all.

On Stalking Vegetables {And a Giveaway}

August 14, 2014August 12, 2014 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, The Cartoon Age

I have been a fan of VeggieTales since I was thirteen years old and a babysitter-in-training. The kids I babysat for introduced me to it and I was all like “Whaaaaaat? Vegetables on cartoons?? That can’t be good.”

Until I watched one.

I *might* have bought my own VHS copies as a teenager.

I also *might* have bought myself a stuffed Bob and Larry.

And my kids *might* own over half of the movies released in the past 21 years.

So, although I don’t usually participate in the Blogger Media Circuit, when I got an invitation to come to VeggieTales, it was clearly the occasion for rule-bending.

I knew I must go. Whether, whether, whether, whether, whether you like it or not. Weather, weather, weather, weather, the weather was cold, warm or hot.

I packed my bags and arrived via Cebu in Nashville only to discover that in my haste I had accidentally brought the most Nashvillian outfit that I own.

I looked like a freaking waitress. At at Honky Tonk.

Shocked and Slightly Embarrassed, I could visualize Tim Gunn putting his fingers on his chin, creasing his brow, and saying, “Are you sure that’s not too…costumey? Maybe something a little less…LITERAL.”

But I assumed it was A Lesson in Enduring Embarrassment and showed up anyway. Just like Junior Asparagus would do.

After which I promptly ate Junior, and his best friend Laura Carrot.

They’re delicious.

The fine people at Big Idea shared all sorts of exciting VeggieTales news with us, including letting us be the very first non-veggies to lay eyes on the newly imagined stars of “VeggieTales in the House”, the upcoming Netflix Series.

THEY GREW EYEBROWS, Y’all.

I think they’re perfectly adorable. And they’re even better in action – but you’ll have to wait to see that for yourselves.

The current plan is to release the first ten episodes Thanksgiving Weekend, so the kids and I are already planning on binge-Vegging rather than Black Friday Shopping.

I also received a drawing lesson from one of the a storyboard artists,

which Ali was totally jealous of since her favorite bonus features are the “How to Draw Bob and Larry” segments. But then when she saw how a sub-par my learning curve was, she forgave me out of pity.

I’m sure I would have done better if he’d taught with a flannel graph. (Oooooh! Flannel graph!)

We had a Q&A session with Mike Nawrocki, the co-founder of VeggieTales and voice of Larry.

I was doubly blessed when he sat next to me at lunch and even serenaded me with a few lines of Barbara Manatee – no greater a love song has ever been written.

(By a cucumber.)

After lunch, we got to chat with Kellie Pickler, star of the upcoming Beauty and the Beet. She makes for a precious vegetable and human being.

Aaaaaand….we were escorted individually into a sound booth to record a bit of Beauty in the Beet alongside her voice, which happens to nearly render my southern accent null and void in comparison.

(I’m the blond, she’s the reddish-brunette. A bit backwards I know.)

When I arrived back home, I tried to make it up to the kids by bringing them the just-released Celery Night Fever, which is a show about forgiveness, therefore attempting to subconsciously help them forgive their mother for hanging out with their favorite celebrities without them.

It totally worked.

Laura the Carrot’s character further reinforced to Ali the beauty in being Type-A, and she has carried around a checklist ever since, begging me for items that she could add to it.

(Though she wasn’t a fan when I suggested adding bedtime.)

I brought Noah home his own Larry the Cucumber, since my teenage version of Larry is packed somewhere in a box of high school keepsakes. And since we haven’t had baths between my return home and the writing of this post, I can say with certainty that Larry has not left Noah’s presence in at least 72 hours.

Between the two of them, they invented a game called “Larry Draws”, and apparently Larry does know how to draw because quite suddenly, Noah began coloring in the lines.

Cucumbers are INSPIRATIONAL. And probably steal abandoned Pop Tarts when kids aren’t looking.

Ali was also inspired, and showed up my previously exposed drawing skills with this portrait of Noah and his new best friend.

The trip was fantastic, and I left with a newly revived vigor for all things veggie. To celebrate, I went out and bought my six favorite VeggieTales movies to share with you guys!

I love all of these for different reasons: The Wonderful Wizard of Ha’s and Lord of the Beans have unbelievably brilliant nods to the classics that inspired them, A Snoodles Tale makes me sniffle with joy every time I see it, Little Joe and King George are adorable and have great lessons that we all need reminded of, and Celery Night Fever, the newest release, is an always-needed reminder not to hold grudges – and has some dang catchy music.

So. I will pick six winners and send you all one of the above DVDs (I’ll contact you to see which would be your preferences after I choose the winners.) To enter, just comment below and tell me your favorite VeggieTales movie. If you’ve never seen one, you can just tell me that, too.

The contest is open until Monday, August 25, and I’ll announce the winners on my Giveaway Winners Page.

Best of luck!

Disclaimer: I personally bought the prizes for this giveaway because I adore VeggieTales. My trip to Nashville was paid for by Dreamworks Entertainment but did not require a blog post or any other media services by me. All opinions are my own. And Junior Asparagus is my favorite, although now that I’ve actually met Larry, Junior does have competition.

Why I Homeschool.

August 12, 2014August 11, 2014 Rachel Callahan Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

18. If my kid is going to pass notes in class, they’re going to have to be to me. And I DO love getting a good note – especially if it’s creatively folded and contains at least twenty hearts.

17. I like being able to answer the question “When are your kids starting back to school?” With “I have no idea – whenever we get around to it.”

16. Because I never want to get a Lice Letter. The paper it was written on would make me itch.

15. Because I don’t believe in alarm clocks. Or brushing a seven-year-old’s hair first thing in the morning.

14. If I don’t like how my kid is progressing, the entire school changes curriculum.

13. Back-To-School shopping means new pajamas for everyone! Because school uniforms should always have stretchy waistbands.

12. A trip to the mall can count as math – “Find Mommy the best deals, students!”

11. No one is getting duct-taped naked to a flagpole around here (because that happens at every school and not just in Veronica Mars, right?)

10. It’s super easy to pick out who gets to be the Teacher’s Pet.

9. Because evenings are for eating, playing with Daddy, and going to bed promptly so the teacher can clock out – not for homework.

8. Because I never find out about a class project the night before it is due. Or have to take home the Class Tarantula for the weekend. Or feel guilty because I have absolutely no desire to be a Class Mom.

7. The Teacher/Student Ratio is an efficiency bomb: we spend approximately 75% less time doing school.

6. Because I find sleeping with the principal to be fun.

5. Because I can go to a coffee shop by myself anytime I want and call it a PTA meeting. And “Meet The Teacher” consists of me treating myself to a Mint Chocolate Chip Sorbet.

4. I never have to wonder what kind of junk my kids are buying in the Cafeteria. All their junk comes STRAIGHT FROM ME. Nor do they have to wonder about the ominous lunch lady or the equally dubious mystery meat.

3. Because packing lunches is, on a misery scale of razor burn to abscessed tooth, a solid C-Section without an epidural.

2. If the classroom feels claustrophobic, I can decide that it’s time for a Science Day and we can take a Nature Walk. Also known as a walk.

1. If I get really fed up, I can declare it PE and tell my kid to clean her room – with vigor.

Nine Reasons Why I Sometimes Wish I Didn’t Homeschool.

9. QUIET. There could be quiet. Like real, live, honest-to-goodness SILENCE.

8. I’d have a totally legitimate reason to put my kids to bed even earlier.

7. Someone else could take a turn at answering my daughter’s 500+ questions a day.

6. I could get my hair cut and colored. Without having to find a babysitter.

5. Long division.

4. Laundry could be a task that could be focused on and completed, rather than shoved into every empty second of the school day.

3. I’d get a break from the Mommy Guilt of “Am I doing it right? Am I doing enough? Am I making my kid stupid?” …. just kidding, then I’d just have Mommy Guilt of “Is this school the right choice? Am I spending enough time with my kid when they get home? Is someone else making my kid stupid?”

2. My kid could make all of those cutesy crafts and I wouldn’t have to be the one with glitter up my nose.

1. Did I mention that there could be quiet? Without even hiding in my closet.