Rachel Callahan | Grasping for Objectivity - Part 61

On Seeking Frobriety.

April 14, 2014April 12, 2014 Rachel Callahan Blogging: the therapy., Kids: The Experience.

It’s something I know I need to do.

For myself. For my family. For our ability to continue to function as normal human beings.

We need space between us and Frozen.

We need to admit that we are powerless over Let it Go and that our lives have become unmanageable with frozen fractals all around.

We need to realize that Frozen is a power greater than ourselves. And that is dangerous. So we need to find a power greater than Frozen. And there is only one. An act of true love – no wait.

We need to turn our will and our lives over to God for His help in fighting the curse of Do You Want to Build a Snowman being stuck on endless repeat in our heads like a Lamb Chops song on Crystal Meth.

This guy? Represents the monster that Froddiction can become.

And it’s time we get Frober.

We started with baby steps.

When the kids would ask to listen to the soundtrack in the car, I would say….no.

It’s Mommy’s turn to pick the music.

This, of course, was met with wails of shock and terror, beggings, DTs, and inconsolable depression.

I would turn my music up louder to drown out the children in their time of suffering.

They would sing over the top, constantly cranking up their volume, shrieking with the ferocity previously only reached by Idina Menzel.

“CONCEAL, DON’T FEEL, DON’T LET THEM KNOW!!! WELL NOW THEY KNOW!!!!!!”

The eldest child began questioning my judgment with a desperate whimper in her tone, “But Mommy. Why would you do this to us?”

“We need a day without Frozen.”

She gasped, and sounding just like Elsa upon finding out that Arendelle was frozen over, said, “What?! I don’t remember a day without Frozen!!”

“I know, honey. I know. I need you to trust me that I know what is best for you.”

But my efforts can do little against the power of Frozaholism. Because once it has eaten its way into your children’s souls, no one can truly escape – not them, not you, not the cat.

Every night, after putting Ali to bed, we hear her belting the entire soundtrack word for word and frightfully out of tune, most assuredly standing atop her bed with her arms out and injuring her vocal cords beyond repair.

And Noah. Noah’s favorite song is the intro song, and he knows every syllable, and mutters them in perfect pitch under his breath in a continuous loop.

“na na na heya na…. ha heya ah na ah…na heya heya na ya oh ah ah na heya oh no ah na….”

While he’s eating lunch…

“na na na heya na…. ha heya ah na ah…na heya heya na ya oh ah ah na heya oh no ah na….”

While he’s sitting on the toilet…

“na na na heya na…. ha heya ah na ah…na heya heya na ya oh ah ah na heya oh no ah na….”

While he’s riding in the car…

“na na na heya na…. ha heya ah na ah…na heya heya na ya oh ah ah na heya oh no ah na….”

While he’s watching Thomas the Train at the insistence of his Father…

“na na na heya na…. ha heya ah na ah…na heya heya na ya oh ah ah na heya oh no ah na….”

While I’m trying to talk on the phone…

“NA NA NA HEYA NA…. HA HEYA AH NA AH…NA HEYA HEYA NA YA OH AH AH NA HEYA OH NO AH NA!!!!!!”

We will continue our journey to recovery, but one of those steps is admitting powerlessness. It’s true – I don’t know what is to become of our family.

Will we be able to find the right kind of help to free us from this gripping Froddiction?

Will we achieve a day of Frobriety?

Will my children grow up thinking that all Snowmen like warm hugs?

It’s impossible to know for certain. Because once it lives inside their soul, it’s impossible to truly detoxify. Which is why if you drive by our house on any random day, you’ll most likely see this:

Little Local Look n’ Find: Avondale Park.

April 10, 2014April 9, 2014 Rachel Callahan Giveaways and Contests, I Love Birmingham, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Little Local Look n Find, Picture Birmingham

During our first year of dating, Chris and I discovered the Itty Bitty Magic City Scavenger Hunt. It was an annual feature in The Birmingham News (now more commonly known as al.com) where once a year, they would choose a location and publish 20-30 pictures of microscopic details. The first one we did was in Five Points South, and we had our most memorable date ever walking up and down our city, looking for tiny clues. We studiously wrote down all of our answers and mailed them in (this was, after all, 14 years ago,) and we both won giant duffel bags full of Birmingham News-branded crap that we were SERIOUSLY proud of.

(We still use those duffel bags.)

We eagerly awaited the annual scavenger hunt after we got married, each year with a different location – The Botanical Gardens, various downtown city blocks, Aldridge Gardens, Sloss Furnaces, Railroad Park, Vulcan, plus others I’m sure I’m not remembering. Every time we departed with a deeper appreciation for that slice of our city, and with the elation only brought by a beautiful Spring day spent outside.

We even took Ali one year, but quickly decided that the level of detail with which we wanted to perform our hunt was best left to dates. We evangelically told all of our friends about the fun and got them hooked, creating a bit of a cult following for the Itty Bitty.

The Birmingham News didn’t publish the annual hunt in 2013, which was met with great sadness. We weren’t sure if it would return this year, and before it did (they actually created one for Birmingham, Huntsville, Orange Beach, and Mobile this year,) one of my converted friends bemoaned to me her extreme need for a scavenger hunt.

“WHY did they stop PUBLISHING it?!”

“I don’t know, friend. I don’t know.”

“You know what. YOU should publish one!”

“Me? Well, that’s not a bad idea…it would be fun finding the clues…”

“YOU SHOULD TOTALLY DO IT. LIKE, RIGHT NOW.”

And so I did.

After much pondering as to where the location should be, I decided on Avondale Park.

Built in 1886 but given a major renovation in 2011, the park is adjacent to downtown and has a vast history, which indicated to me that it would be a great spot to find interesting details for a scavenger hunt.

Also, it’s a park that I never visited until six months ago – Birmingham has many hidden treasures, and the 40 acres of Avondale Park are certainly among them.

It suffered many decades of neglect and bad reputation, but the revitalization of Avondale and renovation of the park itself has made it a gorgeous urban hot spot, and a place that more of us need to appreciate.

I mean – it’s so pristine that I couldn’t find a single Moist, Daze or Blaes tag to use as a clue. And I’ve pretty much found them at every park in the metro area.

Chris’ Aunt Kitty was in town for a few days, so I took her and the kids along. The last time she’d visited that park was fifty years ago, so getting to see it in its new and quite dashing state was a thrill for her.

The kids loved the playgrounds, especially the duck-guarded slides.

After which Noah herded the ducks back to where they belonged.

But in between playground visits, they were happy to help me find clues for you.

So. Without further ado, here’s the First Grasping for Objectivity Little Local Look n’ Find.

Here are the rules and information you’ll need:

1. All 26 photographs are located in the confines of Avondale Park, and I tried to make sure that the items were semi-permanent and unique enough that there could only be one.
2. A lot of them can be found with the help of your kids, but some might be difficult, so you will need to make the decision as to how determined you’re going to feel after you start.
3. Submit detailed information as to the location of the items on this form by May 31. You don’t have to find every item to win, so don’t obsess too much.
4. There will be prizes!! The person who finds the most items will receive a $50 Gift Certificate to Picture Birmingham. In case of tie, I’ll do a drawing. Also, five participants will be randomly chosen and will receive a a 6-pack of Picture Birmingham note cards.
5. The clues are below for you to study, but be sure to snag the printable version before you head to the park.
6. Do not tamper with the clues to hinder other finders. Someone did that to us one fateful year and we still haven’t forgiven them.
7. If you get stuck, you can email or tweet me for an extra hint, but I’m not guaranteeing an immediate response.
8. While you’re in the area, I recommend eating at Silvertron (my review), FIVE (my review), Slice Pizza (my review), or Saw’s Soul Kitchen (my review of their other location, Saw’s Juke Joint.) You won’t regret any of them.

Here are the clues.

If enough people enjoy this, then I won’t wait a year before creating another one. So get out there and enjoy our beautiful spring!

A Rainy Day With Thomas.

April 9, 2014April 9, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., The Blissfulness of Life, Toddlers: The Experience

On Monday morning, nine out of ten Facebook Statuses in my feed were bemoaning a flooded basement, a flooded back yard, a flooded street, or a flooded everything.

Sunday was slightly moist around here.

And of course, that would be the day we had picked out to visit Thomas the Train.

It was the last day he was to be in Birmingham, so we couldn’t change our minds.

But Thomas was a non-negotiable – rain or worse. Because Noah has asked to return, nearly on a daily basis, since last year’s visit. It is pretty much his crowning achievement from the age of two.

“I REMEMBER riding on Thomas!!”, he said, at least a dozen times, as if he knew he shouldn’t actually be able to remember things from being two. “I REMEMBER getting the bracelet!!”

…because red Paper Bracelets are the best part of any event.

The rain did not lessen the palpability of Noah’s ecstasy.

Nothing could.

Thomas had gotten some work done since last year, and actually had a moving mouth and eyes, and cheeks so soft and realistic that when they moved, they looked rather eerily like we were in the cartoon. Making me wonder why no one has bought a small island and turned it into a Sodor Theme Park.

We skipped all of the other rather wet Thomas-y activities and went immediately to the awning to wait for our ride, which didn’t seem to upset the children at all.

And, thanks to the rain, the train was nearly all ours.

Noah got some quality time with the Conductor,

And after spending much time silently staring,

From every angle,

Being as still as he’s been for at least a month,

He rewarded me for making his dreams come true by making my dreams come true – and actually looking in the general(ish) direction of my camera for a whole. Thirty. Seconds.

He even let me see a quick glimpse of his true excitement,

And wanted to take a train selfie.

We all left calling it a success,

And now begins another 365 days of the question, “Is it time to go see Thomas yet?”

How I (Mis)use My iPhone.

April 7, 2014April 6, 2014 Rachel Callahan Anal Retentivity to a Fault, Quirky quirky quirkiness, Weird Strange and True

Once upon a time, the act of randomly tweeting a screenshot of my iPhone front screen birthed a flurry of 76 aghast tweets and not one, but two blog posts by my very particular friend Katherine.

I had no idea I was so vastly unacceptable in my organizational decisions, but alas. Now I do.

And because I like causing heart attacks in my overly-wound-up friends, I thought I’d list a few more quirks about my iPhone usage. Some you might also have, some might make you cringe.

1. I will never, ever, ever use the horizontal keyboard. It’s the most awkward and unusable size in the history of virtual keyboards.

Okay surely you ALL agree with me on that one. Right?

2. I don’t use an alarm most days, but I have 19 alarms that are off, because I never delete an alarm, even if I’ll never wake up at 6am ever again. Plus, I would rather have an alarm ready to be swiped at every fifteen minute interval than be forced to create a brand new alarm when I do need one. I’m pretty sure the effort of scrolling through that many alarms is the same as creating a new one, but this is inconsequential.

How many alarms do you have?

3. I am a terrible organizer of both my iPhone and iPad. It’s like Noah threw all my apps on the floor, kicked the pile a couple times, lost half of them under the couch, then put the other half back.There are many apps that I have to use the search bar to find every time because I have NO IDEA where they’re hanging out.

4. I would rather have endless pages than use folders. I only put things in folders that I rarely use or that I am trying to hide from myself. Such as…

5. On the second screen of the seventh folder on the fourth page of my iPhone is where you can find my blog stats app. The folder is called “Kid’s Games” and it’s surrounded by apps my children don’t use. I put it there to make it difficult to find and therefore limit my obsessive stats checking.

It doesn’t work, in case you’re wondering.

6. You might have figured this out by now but I am an app hoarder – it takes a life-changing event to convince me to delete an app. Such as…

7. I have always unequivocally refused to get Candy Crush – it’s a cornerstone principle of my life. I know it’s addictive, I know they try to convince you to spend money or ruthlessly harass your friends on Facebook to be able to play the game, and I shall have no part in such deviant behavior.

However.

I TOTALLY allowed myself to download what was basically a Candy Crush clone – Frozen Free Fall – before I’d even seen the movie. Apparently I was craving addiction.

And yes, Ali and I both fell to its crushing grip on our souls. And yes, they did attempt to coerce us into spending money (I might have spent $3.97.) And yes, I even put this app on my Grandmother’s iPad to spread the disease.

And yes. I finally deleted it off of my phone because it was seriously cutting into my life – or at least my Twitter reading time.

(But I left it on my iPad.)

(My precious.)

8. I actually use the native notes app. I’m sure there are at least 1,927 apps that are better for note-taking than that stupid, unpleasingly designed app, but yet I still use it. I’m open to suggestions but I doubt I’ll take them.

9. I use the Spotify app for my radio nearly every time I’m in the car, and I pay $10 a month so that I can listen to anything I want on demand. I adore the immediate gratification yet am intensely aware that I am now, in effect, leasing music. And if I ever quit paying them, I have zero musical principal to show for it.

This makes me feel financially irresponsible.

10. The best thing I ever did on my iPhone was go to Settings –> Notifications –> Messages and change “Repeat Alerts” from “Once” to “Never.” That act alone added five years onto the backside of my life, because the lack of anxiety about that second message ding is indescribable bliss.

And I will NEVER be friends with whatever Donkeyface uses that last option.

(Oh. Did I just call you a Donkeyface? My apologies.)

11. I have never knowingly created a photo album. And I don’t exactly know what I’d do with one if I did.

What quirks do we share? Which of my quirks made you twitch? And what quirks do you have that I didn’t mention?

Slightly Off Target.

April 3, 2014March 18, 2020 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Anal Retentivity to a Fault, Pop Post, Shopping: A Girl's Best Friend, Utter Silliness

Dear Target,

I love you. I really do. I adore your wide aisles, your children’s clothes and shoes, your lack of Walmartian bedlam, your maternity camisoles that actually go over a pregnant belly unlike Motherhood Maternity’s which don’t make it past a gestating ribcage, your pleasingly geometric notebooks and bedspreads and various other pretty things, your Starbucks in every store, and your selection of chocolate.

However.

Even though all those rumors of you being a French company are false, it seems that you don’t understand the English Language. Or at least with the same breadth and detail as us consumers.

Clearance. What does the word mean to you? To us, and by us I mean all humans, we hear “clear” which means that you’re trying to get rid of an item – perhaps seasonal, perhaps not popular, perhaps discontinued.

Clearing out unwanted inventory is something we like being a part of. But only when properly motivated.

And so, “clearance” better mean “50% off or more.”

That’s right, Target. 15% off is NEVER clearance. It’s barely enough to make me consider getting something I do need, let alone something I don’t.

You need to take a moment to recognize that Publix routinely marks regular products down to “Buy One Get One Free”, or effectively 50% off, and doesn’t even make a big deal about it.

Every. Single. Day.

I know, right? I bet you need a diaper just thinking about it. Clearance – 15% off.

Too bad for you they’re not *really* on sale.

Publix has opened Oz’s curtain for us – we now know that you big retailers are capable of charging us half as much and still making money.

And you need to quit lying to us.

So. For you and for all of your retail friends, here is a helpful glossary.

Good Deal: You have my permission to use this term when your regular price beats over half of your competitor’s prices. I appreciate you letting me know about your good deals and I will reward you accordingly. However, you need to know that this term alerts me to the fact that you may never have this item on sale, so I might watch for it in your competitor’s sale papers.
Other acceptable terms: Everyday low price, everyday values.

Reduced: You may use this term when you’ve lowered your prices by ten cents or more. Don’t use it on a penny – we’ll see that and Instagram your ridiculousness in a hot second. And just so you know, 15% off definitely falls under the “Reduced” category – so invest in more Reduced signs and less Clearance signs.
Other acceptable terms: markdown, price reduction.

Coupon: DO NOT print me a coupon at the register for 25¢ off six cans of dog food. First of all I don’t have a dog and second of all if I did I wouldn’t, couldn’t, would rather die before keeping up with a piece of paper for two weeks that will save me 4.17 cents off of each item. I could pick up that much money in the parking lot if I needed it.

Here’s the coupon guideline. If it’s under a dollar, I won’t ever use it. And really if I’m being honest, if it’s under five dollars, I’ll probably forget I have it. Okay – if you really want me to use your stupid coupon it better be fifty dollars off a product that costs ten.

Sale: To be officially recognized as a sale, the item in question must be at least 25% off. NO EXCEPTIONS. 24% off is simply a markdown – don’t try to fleece us. Sale also inherently implies that it will be off-sale at some point in the future, so if that is not the case, you may call it a Permanent Markdown – just because the price is permanent does not a clearance make.

Clearance: Using the term “Clearance” for less than 50% off is like calling a bumblebee honey – it’s WRONG, and I get really upset if I accidentally bite. Half off is the absolute MINIMUM, guys. When you find yourselves starting to falter on this issue, just remember Publix. BOGO every day.

Speaking of,

BOGO: BOGO stands for “Buy one, get one free.” It does NOT stand for “Buy one, get one half off” or “Buy one, get one 25% off” or “Buy One Get this other random piece of crap for free.” If you break this sacred rule, then I will never be your friend.

Blowout: A blowout must be 75% off or more (unless we’re talking about the hair process, in which case it’s a stupid name.) Blowout implies “this is the best deal you’ll ever find on this product.” And, as I’m a good deal finder, you better work for it. 90% off is preferred.

Event: Ain’t nobody got time for events, unless you’re giving away free stuff. And it better be an entire cart of free stuff. So if you’re gonna have a Tampon Event and I read your fine print that tampons are 20% off and THAT’S what you’re calling an event, I’m gonna sic all my Event Planner friends on your PR people. And Event Planners are a group of humans that are not fun when they’re indignant – take my word for it.

There. That’s not too hard to follow, is it?

THEN WHY AM I STILL SEEING 15% OFF CLEARANCE IN ALL THE STORES?!

I’ll be practicing my calm breathing until you fix it.

Why I Will Henceforth Dehydrate Myself in Public.

April 2, 2014April 2, 2014 Rachel Callahan Dysautonomia, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., It's Tough Being a Girl, Just My Luck

Caution: This story is so humiliating that I didn’t even tell it to my husband for several days. And it took me all of a month to come back and read it and decide whether I’d cringe too much to share it here.

(I will, for the record, but alas. I am a blogger. And I have a duty to overshare.)

(But fortunately for you, you have no such duty to read. So turn off your computer now before it’s too late.)

I’ve been sick. A lot. Sickness tends to wear at you in many ways, and those ways are sometimes in conflict with one another, creating unsavory circumstances.

This story is a cautionary tale about one of those situations.

I was on my next-to-last day of antibiotics and worse than ever. My cough had kept me up half the night for the past four nights, I was an emotional wreck, and fearful that my lungs were completely full of pneumonia and I was going to die at any moment.

I had called my Mother that morning crying, because that’s what I do best when I haven’t slept in four days. And she, being the good mother that she is, was already making me homemade Chicken Soup, offered to keep my kids so I could return to the doctor, and visited every avenue of potential cough suppressants.

“You know what? I think I still have some of your Grandmother’s cough pearls…I need to check. She used to take these pearl thingies that worked WONDERFULLY. I’ll find them. I wonder if they’re still any good…?”

My Grandmother died SEVEN YEARS AGO.

I think I’ll pass. But thanks, Mom.

So I dropped my kids off at my parent’s and left before Mom could find her moldy drug stash, went to the doctor, discovered that I was not dying of pneumonia, and then went to the drug store to get my new prescriptions – prescriptions which, perhaps, my life depended upon.

I was careful not to breathe the air at the doctor’s office or in the pharmacy because I’d found out the day before that in addition to Dysautonomia, I have a seriously compromised immune system, so I would continue to catch every bug that floated along my path until they could decide on a treatment plan.

Must avoid all paths.

As I waited to pick up my prescriptions, I found myself in an extreme dire need of visiting the little girl’s room.

Stupid Dysautonomia water intake requirements.

I followed a giant, serious-looking, radio-chattering policeman down the restroom hall. Where I discovered that the bathroom available was one. And it was co-ed.

So I was going to have to wait.

I did a jig in the hallway, fearing how long that wait might be depending on the nature of his business inside. I tried not to listen to his radio chatter through the door.

Fortunately, he emerged quickly, so we crossed paths (me holding my breath in case of germs) and I went in.

And this is the point in the story where my lapse in judgment occurred.

I sat.

I’ll admit it. I’m a public restroom sitter. Despite the fact that it’s unsavory to think about and one of my friends ruined me forever by forcing me to consider all of the butt-to-butt contact one does with other people by sitting on toilet seats, I will never be coordinated enough to be a squatter. And an uncoordinated squatter can lead to a significantly high amount of bathroom injuries…and therefore germs.

So I sat. And I was in such a Red Alert State of Need that I forgot to look or wipe the seat first.

And as fate would have it, that law enforcement officer had not been enforcing his own aim.

That horrible feeling of warm moisture crept over my being. Very moist moisture. Dank moisture even.

If you’ve never experienced the sensation of a stranger’s urine making contact with your backside, then God Bless You. Because you are Fortunate above all others.

I, however, was overcome with horror. I jumped up and panicked. What does one do in this situation?

The first thing I did was look at the floor around the toilet. It was quite soggy also, confirming my fears that this wasn’t just a case of a self-moistening toilet seat.

(They exist, guys.)

I repeated the mantra of my nurse friend.

Urine is sterile.

Urine is sterile.

Urine is sterile.

But my head did not buy it, because my compromised immune system was performing a death wail over the top of my chant.

I waddled over to the sink, where the soap dispenser bladder was out of its container and lying in a puddle of pink soap in what looked like a cleanliness murder scene, and there were no paper towels, pre-moistened wipes, blow-torches, or other items that would have been helpful to me in that moment.

So I waddled further, over to my purse, frantically digging around, and finally finding my hand sanitizer.

And I emptied that bottle onto my hands. And slathered my butt cheeks. Both at once.

Wax on, wax off.

Sanitize on, sanitize off.

I doused my hands and arms with the remaining droplets in the bottle and then scraped soap out of the leaky bladder and washed them again with searing hot water.Then I washed my arms. And my hands again. Then once more, my hands.

I slumped out of the bathroom to pay for my prescriptions. And in an act of absolute compulsion, bought four bottles of hand sanitizer.

If only I’d skipped the pharmacy and taken my Grandmother’s petrified pearls.

Topper’s a Teenager.

March 31, 2014March 30, 2014 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Quirky quirky quirkiness, Utter Silliness

So…Topper.

We meant to eat him on our first anniversary (or at least taste him for sentimentality, since we didn’t really like him when he was fresh), but we forgot.

So we left him in the freezer. And moved, with him, twice. Topper unfroze and refroze dozens of times during power outages and freezer doors being left ajar, but he lived on.

And today, Topper is turning thirteen.

He’s getting kinda moody, spends a lot of time alone in the freezer, and is sprouting peach fuzz in lots of new places.

To help him process his hormonal blossoming and remind him that it’s important to have strong bonds with one’s parents, we felt it would do him good to get him out of the basement and go on an adventure with us.

So we took him on our anniversary trip.

We made sure to keep him properly restrained during the drive,

But he’s a bit sulky about the booster seat, so don’t give him a hard time about being a Little Cake.

We got him out to see the sights, starting with the courthouse in Ashville, Alabama on the way to Asheville, North Carolina. It’s always good to paint a brooding adolescent a clear picture of consequences for actions.

We made it to Knoxville by dusk, so we took Topper up to Sharp’s Ridge to see the city. He seemed to appreciate our sightseeing, but you know – he’s in that quiet angsty stage, so he didn’t say much.

We arrived at the Grove Park Inn fairly late, and we put him right to bed. He slept till noon, of course, so we took him to see the view before he’d made it out of his pajamas.

But he insisted on primping a bit and taking a Grove Park Selfie.

He enjoyed the giant fireplaces in the lobby, but we couldn’t let him sit too long, or his face would start to break out.

Plus, there were loads of old people who wanted to talk to him, and he just shrugged his piping and moped.

So we gave him his space when we weren’t sightseeing.

When we did make him go out in public with us, Chris carried him comfortably, not embarrassing him or forcing him to converse with too many strangers.

But we did strategically nudge him into some low pressure group activities.

Of course, we also learned about the glorious excesses of The Industrial Revolution. He got pretty excited, but we’re not going to make him write a report about it.

His one request was that we take him to French Broad Chocolate Lounge so that he could check out the artisanal ladies.

But he seemed to get a little jealous when he had to watch us drooling over our fresh dessert – yet when we touched him, we washed our hands with scalding water and soap – because of his raunchy teenage B.O.

Topper even got to see snow, which he loved because he keeps his room pretty frosty at home.

And of course, as you should do any teenager, we absolutely forced him to take part in family traditions.

And his birthday present? He gets a brand new Ziploc Bag.

Because that old one now takes the fun out of funky.

Happy Birthday, Topper!

Drain Shame.

March 28, 2014March 28, 2014 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Anal Retentivity to a Fault, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Mystery Solved

There are things that an iPhone alters about your life from which you will never escape.

Traffic light entertainment, for one. I admit it – I struggle with not picking up my iPhone at a red light. Smart phones have effectively made me forget how to simply be still.

Also? Curiosity. Every “I wonder…” I ever mutter is followed by a Google search or thorough internet stalking. Which is further followed by the exultation of curiosity satiated.

And then there’s the measurement of my attentiveness to real life served up by my battery life at the end of the day.

If my battery life is in the mid-range by day’s end, I feel victorious. Clearly I paid attention to my kids, didn’t grab my phone at every traffic light, and engaged in real life today. Way to go, Rachel! Give yourself an extra ten minutes on Instagram.

But if it’s at 10% before the kid’s bedtime, then for shame. I should have read more books aloud and refilled more sippies. I clearly kept my Twitter feed too up-to-date and really should back off on my HauteLook shopping.

(I know. I have a problem with inner judgment. I also judge myself about my self-judginess, if that helps.)

This week, as Chris and I were preparing to dump the kids on the Grandparent’s for a few days and head off on an anniversary getaway, my self-analysis was even more ruthless than usual.

Remember…you’re not going to see your precious children for four days. You really should cuddle for five minutes longer before bed. Even if your eyeballs are about to fall out from exhaustion.

Yes he just elbowed you in the boob with all of his three-year-old might, but don’t yell in pain and startle the poor child…he’ll remember you that way while you’re gone.

And so it was the worst of weeks to also suffer from Drain Shame.

Yet every day, my phone was at 30% — by lunchtime!

Unheard of. Horrifying. I am a putrid mother.

I berated myself constantly.

What are you DOING?!? Who do you think you ARE?!? People don’t care that much about what you have to say! Pay attention to your dang kids for cryinoutloud!!

It did seem strange that my extra pre-vacation awareness was being so overshadowed by my apparent device addiction, but battery percentages don’t lie. They pierce your soul and gauge your goodness with accuracy previously only known by Mary Poppin’s tape measure.

The day we left for our trip, I carried along with me a bit more Mommy-Guilt than usual – the kids and I had suffered through a rough morning, and THAT BLASTED BATTERY PERCENTAGE was staring me down with the suspicious eyes of Maleficent and Snape’s lovechild.

I talked to the kids on the phone that night and they seemed to still love me, so I relaxed and began enjoying our trip.

The next day, Chris and I toured The Biltmore Estate, which took hours, and phone photography was highly unallowable. So except for two quickly stolen shots, I kept my phone in my purse to avoid looking suspicious (which I was.)

Yet.

When we left Biltmore, my phone battery was below 40%.

40%!

There was no way.

It was impossible.

Unless I had a gremlin in the bottom of my purse that was streaming movies while I wasn’t using my phone, my battery COULD NOT be at 40%.

I sheepishly admitted my deplorable battery life to Chris, feeling especially horrible for my now admitted problem. Surely he would judge me. He would think I was sneaking off to the bathroom to get a fix. I mean I basically believed it myself – how else could I have gotten to 40%??

He, being the not-as-constantly-self-judging-and-unhealthily-self-loathing one of of us, said, “Oh – it’s probably something to do with the iOS 7.1 update – you just did that, remember? Why don’t you Google ‘7.1 battery life issues.’ I bet you’ll find it.”

WHAAAAT? There’s a possibility that I might not be the most reprehensible person on the planet?!

NO.

I obeyed and Googled immediately, and there it was.

All. Over. The stinking. Internet. Everyone knew but me.

7.1 Kills Batteries.

7.1 Leaves Location Services On

7.1 Bugs Will Drain Your Phone

9 Ways 7.1 Will Deplete your Phone Battery

Apple really screwed up this time

I wasn’t a terrible mother!

I wasn’t a terrible wife!

It wasn’t me – it was all a lie. All a big fat Apple-Driven lie to heap guilt upon me and make me think I was an addict.

(Okay I probably am but not as bad as I thought.)

So. If you, too, have been suffering from Drain Shame, I am here to relieve your pain and guilt.

It’s not you. It’s Apple.

So go find yourself something else to feel guilty about.

Neither self-judgment based on battery life or Mommy Guilt is recommended by this blogger or her family.

Update: If you’re suffering from this same drain, go to Settings –> General –> Background App Refresh, and turn it off. It’s a new setting with 7.1 that allows all your apps to track you in the background, therefore leaving location services on continuously. It seriously helped my battery to turn this off.

The Mystery of Fred.

March 26, 2014September 16, 2015 Rachel Callahan Kids: The Experience., Storytime, The Blissfulness of Life

Fred came into our lives at lunchtime on the last day of February.

We were having one of our many recent picnics in the front yard, enjoying the benefits of living in Alabama (early, lovely Spring), when he ran purposefully up the street, into our yard, caught Ali’s attention, then immediately rolled over to invite her to pet him.

It was love at first sight.

For both of them.

After Ali’s 72-hour ownership of Sam the Cat almost a year ago, she’s been melancholy about her extreme need for another cat.

And Fred seemed willing to comply.

Fred was an immediate puzzle for me to figure out. He seemed well-fed, tame, groomed, flea and infection-free, yet hungry.

He had no collar, but he was clearly used to children.

He seemed pretty happy to be an outdoor cat, but didn’t pass up the opportunity to attempt entry when the opportunity arose.

He was also quite hypo-allergenic, a fact I much appreciated.

But the MYSTERY.

Where did he come from?

How did he know my daughter needed him?

And, most importantly, how long would he stick around?

I reluctantly checked Craig’s List for Lost Cat listings, as well as watching out for signs in the neighborhood, but Fred seems to be wholly unlisted.

After having several neighbors all corroborate my suspicions that he was male (and one going so far as to say he was a neutered male, thank goodness,) Ali gave him the name of Fred, because apparently she likes strong, one-syllable male names for the felines in her life.

Fred immediately set up shop. With Sheldon-Like Analysis, he tried out each of our porch chairs and swing to find the optimal resting spot, then quickly made it clear that this one was Fred’s Spot.

He would disappear sometimes, but normally could be found on our porch.

He happily endured the children, both mine and the neighbor’s, taking part in their games and being the utmost of a gentleman.

He became a regular attender of our picnics,

Didn’t mind at all that Ali pampered him with treats,

And posed willingly for her finger-laden photography.

He even followed Ali up her favorite climbing trees.

Noah, however, was not as convinced of Fred’s Goodness.

Because, he explained, “Gramamma has a cat and her cat is mean.”

(He’s right.)

Whether Noah had a fry, a car, or his favorite brick (yes brick), if he saw Fred within 1000 feet, he would yell out,

“No Fred! Don’t take my fry! Mooooommmmmy!!! Fred is trying to take my fry!!”

“No Fred! Don’t take my car! Mooooommmmmy!!! Fred is trying to take my car!!”

“No Fred! Don’t take my brick! Mooooommmmmy!!! Fred is trying to take my brick!!”

Because apparently my Mom’s cat also has a problem with stealing bricks?

But Fred didn’t care.

As Noah thawed, he would work up the courage to run up to Fred, pet him, then run away, squealing with adrenaline.

And Fred didn’t flinch.

Fred also has human qualities, picking up food with his paw and eating it like a man – or at least when I rudely fed him straight out of the can.

(He usually gets dry cat food. But they give you one free can with every bag in hopes that your cat becomes a foodie and demands it.)

Ali proved herself to be quite the responsible pet owner in the most meticulous of ways. She fed Fred. She fretted over Fred when he went off on adventure. And she rarely let him eat a meal alone.

Or unfettered.

Even though Fred managed to daily throw his food bowl off the porch and somewhere in the far reaches of the yard, Ali would dutifully find him another bowl or retrieve and wash his thrown bowls. One morning we woke up and found that four bowls had been retrieved and put in front of the door. We immediately assumed that Fred was especially hungry that day and wanted us to know it. Then later realized that Chris had cleaned up the yard the night before.

Fred seems to be friends with the neighbor’s cat, as well – she steals his food, but he follows her around. In fact, we watched her tromp across the street and down into the storm drain. Fred watched too, then took off to follow.

I don’t know what they were doing in that storm drain, but whatever it was I’m glad they took it to a private place.

He’s recently acquired the habit of napping in my lap on sunny afternoons, and I often stare at the top of his head and wonder what secrets he holds.

Who owned you?

What made you leave?

What kids loved you enough to make you so comfortable with my little people?

Where do you go when you disappear for 24 hours at a time?

Will you leave my daughter one day, too? Once a leaver, always a leaver. And I don’t want any heartbreakers hanging around.

And so, I pet him a little harder, begging him with my fingernails to stay forever. For her sake.

Although I cannot seem to come up with a reasonable explanation for Fred’s very purposeful adoption of Ali, she did.

“Mommy, I think I figured out why Fred came here. I think his old owners had a picture of me and Fred saw it and scratched at it and scratched at it every day. And then one day he just had to set off to look for me until he found me, because he knew I was supposed to be his owner.”

And really, who can argue with that?

Update: The Mystery of Fred was solved six months later – read his story here.

When Sharing Corrupts.

March 24, 2014March 22, 2014 Rachel Callahan Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

Ali has a sharing problem.

Her problem is unlike her brother’s sharing problem, which prompted him to sit atop four Hot Wheels like an overprotective mother bird on a nest of eggs for an hour because the little girl across the street was visiting and there was a slight possibility of her having interest in said cars.

No, Ali’s sharing problem is quite the opposite.

Oversharing.

Her problem is unlike my oversharing problem, where I tell you things you had no desire to know. Ever. In your entire life.

No. Her oversharing problem is unique.

They have an economy in Kid’s Church. It includes a currency and a store full of delightful treats. Scooters are the main bill – each Scooter is worth one…Scooter. There are other bills that are worth more than one Scooter, but I’ve only seen those on rare occasions and am uncertain as to the terminology surrounding said treasures.

Scooter, the namesake of the bills, is according to Ali, a real talking creature of unknown genome.

“He’s kinda like a dog…but not a dog. I guess he’s like a monster, but he’s nicer. But he’s definitely not a puppet.”

Ali is Scooter Rich, despite the fact that she’s sharing, readily and often, with many of her friends and random stranger kids that wander into Kid’s Church. Which sounds great and awesome and generous and kind-hearted. But it has created some uncomfortable situations.

Like that Sunday she bribed her favorite male friend with Scooters to convince him to listen to her dream about him.

“But Mommy, last time I dreamed about him, he didn’t want to hear it!”

When said friend was asked by his mother in a rather startled voice, “What did you say when Ali offered to pay you to converse with her?”, he answered, “I said, ‘well, Now you’re talkin’!!’”

Needless to say, we and his parents had several reasons to feel alarm with regards to this new development.

And then there was my other friend, who discovered that her daughter was strung out on a regular stipend from Ali. She had legitimate concerns that Ali was fostering a sense of entitlement into her previously economically innocent seven-year-old.

Generosity. A confusing issue indeed. Made even more perplexing by rumors that Scooter-Sharing might possibly be illegal.

Parenting is tricky, guys.

So I emailed Ali’s Children’s Pastor to dig for wisdom.

Dear Pastor,

I need to discuss a matter with you that has come to my attention, and hopefully receive in return your deep and grand insight into the issue at hand.

My daughter seems to have a Scooter sharing problem. She also seems to have an uncanny ability to amass fortunes of said Scooters, thereby fueling her sharing addictions.

(The latter may be my genetic fault, as I was also uncannily talented at saving funds as a child, never sure how it came to be that I had such grand fortunes compared to my destitute and begging brother.)

I call it a problem because I have recently come into the knowledge that Scooter Sharing may possibly be not be allowed. This knowledge came via a parent via a kid via a kid via a kid, so its credibility is admittedly under scrutiny. But whether it is true or whether it isn’t, Ali’s Scooter Sharing Habits have caused some awkward feelings with other Kid’s Church Parents.

Such as the time that Ali paid {unnamed male} to listen to her dream about him. Which he readily accepted, though on prior occasions when Ali had dreamed about him he had flatly refused to hear the details of said dreams. Needless to say, {unnamed male’s} parents weren’t too keen on the idea of their son accepting a cash-equivalent bribe in exchange for being willing to converse with another human being.

And today, when {unnamed parent} found out that {unnamed female} might have been getting weekly Scooters from Ali for quite some time, leading her to worry that her own daughter now has a future of Government Handouts and Welfare Babies.

So, I would like to find out from the Horse’s Mouth (you being the Horse in this scenario – my apologies) – is Scooter Sharing unlawful? Because my daughter is a rule-follower to the core, and will be devastated to learn that she has been actively and repeatedly participating in serial rule-breaking. However, if it is, I will surely tell her as it might possibly be her loophole out of a life of awkward generosity.

If, however, it is not unlawful and you have no offense toward my daughter for her hyper-generosity, do you have any discerning words for me as I parent Ali through the minefield of a giver’s heart? I want to encourage generosity (which is the only thing I have done thus far), but without her using it as bribery or a plea for affection, and therefore becoming a character-depraving issue for Ali or her Scooter Recipients.

I eagerly await your Pastoral Wisdom.

Sincerely yours,

Rachel

It took him a couple of days to get back to me, clearly because the issue required a thought level deep in nature.

Rachel,

I have come off the mountain and have a few things to say.

1. I have never uttered a “No Share” policy as it relates to Scooters. To be honest I had no idea this was happening so the thought of telling kids not to share hadn’t crossed my mind. Scooters seem to be a commodity and kids freely giving them up is quite surprising. I know siblings have gone in together to get something they would share but not across families.

2. If you feel it would be a help {to make an} amendment to our Kid’s Church bylaws to make sharing outside of families {disallowed}, I would be happy to take this up with Scooter. And I speak with much certainty when I say that I think he will see the reality of the situation and make the right call. Though he is made of fur and sometimes it seems to skew his judgment.

3. I think helping Ali see that Scooters are a way to reward kids for 1) their participation in Kids Church, 2) weekly doing their daily news and 3) a way for me to reward good behavior. So to have a Scooter spent to hear one’s dreams would go against the spirit of what the Scooters are for.

I hope these are helpful thoughts. Please let me know how I can further assist.

I felt it only right to respond with the faint suspicion that had been floating around in the back of my mind.

Thank you for your thoughts on this matter. I am positive that you and Scooter will make the right decisions, and I shall continue to shepherd Ali on my end with regards to proper and improper sharing.

I will also continue to investigate the inexplicable reason as to why she has so many Scooters to begin with – I believe she has a current account balance of at least 9, and she’s sharing every week. Perhaps if her moral code allows her to use Scooters to bribe boys into listening to her dreams, her moral code also allows her to run a Black Market Smuggling Scheme. I recommend that Scooter check his books and vaults for evidence of embezzlement and fraud as soon as possible.

The investigation is ongoing. So please don’t tell Ali about this post.

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