Rachel Callahan

The Twelve Days of Facebook Christmas.

November 19, 2013November 18, 2013 Rachel Callahan Let's Talk about The Internet, Musically Speaking, Utter Silliness

On the First Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Christmas Lights on Halloween.

On the Second Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Early Christmas Haters and Christmas Lights on Thanksgiving.

On the Third Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Pumpkin Spice Latté, Thanksgiving Smock and Holiday Family Drama.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Cliché Sentiments, Gingerbread Latté, Hanukkah Smock, and Complaints About Christmas Music.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, ELF ON A SHELF!, Cheesy Inflatables, Vague Holiday Angst, Gingerbread Smock, and a Stupid Game of Dirty Santa.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Santa Hatted Dogs, ELF ON A SHELF!, Pinterexia, Christmas Shoes, Santa Claus Smock, and The Dean and Company Christmas Special.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Whining About Shopping, Santa Hatted Cats, ELF ON A SHELF!, Outdoor Christmas Lights, Santa Baby, Cross-Stitched Reindeer Bloomers, and an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party.

On the Eighth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Red-Eyed Pics with Santa, Bragging about Shopping, Santa Hatted Bunnies, ELF ON A SHELF!, Christmas Candy Crush, Elf Yourself, Eggnog Hangovers, And a Dudley Pile of Presents.

On the Ninth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Nine Holiday Hashtags, Snotty Pics with Santa, Selfies While Out Shopping, Santa Hatted Chickens, ELF ON A SHELF!, Holiday Farmville, Three Moose Mugs, Extreme Teacher Gifts, And Excessive Christmas Baking.

On the Tenth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Ten Homemade Ornaments, Nine Holiday E-Cards, Screaming Pics with Santa, Such Crowded Shopping, Santa Hatted Hamsters, ELF ON A SHELF!, Lego Nativities, Christmas Angry Birds, Car Reindeer Antlers, and Miley Cyrus Dressed in a Wreath.

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, Anti X-Mas Activists, Ten People of Wal-Mart, Nine Family Photos, Terrified Pics with Santa, “All Done with Shopping!”, Santa Hatted Horses, ELF ON A SHELF!, Reindeer Pancakes, Facebook Guilt, Christmas Monograms, And Children in Santa Claus Dresses.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas my feed did give to me, “What Does the ELF Say?”, Happy Holidays Haters, “You’ll Shoot Your Eye Out”, Nine Yuletide Bitstrips, Creepy Pics with Santa, Christmas Eve Shopping, Santa Hatted Goldfish, ELF ON A SHELF!, Matching Family Jammies, Three Leg Lamps, Yuletide Pedicures, and One Jaded Blog Post Like This.

An Official Apology.

November 18, 2013November 17, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, I embarrass myself just for your amusement.

Dear Toms,

It’s true. I’ve been cruel about your brand for years, likening them to my Grandmother’s Shriner Slippers, saying they looked like my 1986 Keds rolled with toilet paper, poking fun at anyone who would want to be like you, and absolutely refusing to even consider wearing a pair.

I admit that I thought them flimsy, faddish, and crack for hipsters.

But here I find myself, offering an apology.

Because you see, on a whim and thanks to my friend Zulily, I bought a pair of Toms this summer – gray Tiny Toms, for my two-year-old son.

There was something about the Velcro flap that made the design so much more palatable than the shapeless adult ones…and my kid hated the sandals I’d bought him. What was a Mom to do?

The Tiny Toms were perfect. Easy to get on, easy to get off, and he loved them – which was quite the accomplishment.

He wore them every day and would have kept wearing them nonstop if I hadn’t inadvertently raked a massive glass door across his foot and ripped a hole in his left shoe.

Although I would have preferred the Left Tom to have not torn, I do appreciate the fact that by doing so, he apparently mitigated the impact. Noah didn’t even flinch, despite my great negligence on his behalf.

I was saddened by the ripped turn of events, and immediately began trying to fix his lack of Toms. I had gotten them for nearly half-price on Zulily, and thought that surely I could mimic this deal on Amazon or somewhere else.

But no.

No one had them any cheaper than the Toms website – and it seemed like ordering them directly from Tom himself would surely be labeling me a groupie and make me complicit in smoking the hipster crack.

I MEAN, Tom would have my name and my address and my credit card expiration date!!

But I did it.

I swallowed my pride and ordered him the most fantastic pair of Red Toms ever – just in time for football season.

They came in and Noah was more enamored with his feet than ever before. He immediately named them his “Spiffy Red Shoes” and referred to them in that manner every time he mentioned them – except it came out as “Fiffy Red Shoes”, making them even more endearing.

He thought they made him more attractive than any other foot covering ever – except, obviously, his sister’s ruby slippers.

(So maybe it’s the color.)

Fiffy Red Shoes became a huge part of our life – going everywhere with us (and making people point out my Toms Hypocrisy now and again.)

They accompanied us to Pumpkin Patch Nightmares,

Halloween adventures,

And of course, football.

I cherished Fiffy Red Shoes so much that other Toms then began to grow on me – especially the women’s wedges. I won’t deny that a couple of pairs even made it into my shopping basket on the Toms site – but I didn’t go all the way.

Okay they’re still in my shopping basket.

Whatever.

And so our life went on – until a week ago.

Fiffy Red Shoes disappeared.

They’re probably in an overnight bag or under a car seat or at the bottom of a toy box or somewhere else as easily accessible, but cry as I might, I cannot find them.

There has been a great cloud of sadness over our household as the bright glow of Fiffy Red Shoes has been extinguished.

And in such anguish, I have realized the completeness of my Toms Conversion.

And so, Dear Toms, I am sorry.

And I sincerely hope that getting this off of my chest will make Fiffy Red Shoes emerge from their hiding place AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

Because without them, life has no spark.

Goose-Chasing Dysautonomia.

November 15, 2013November 14, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Dysautonomia

Since I first got sick in June, I’ve been convinced that if Dr. House were real, he would totally take my case. Not because my illness is that much more interesting than anyone else’s, but because I’ve written 1,730 blog posts in the past six years – posts that surely have clues to help him solve my case – or at least think that he had and repeatedly nearly kill me to find out that his first five hypotheses were wrong.

And, it turns out, I was right. Except that I used my blog to figure it out. Maybe – unless I end up nearly dead.

Shortly after I wrote my post explaining where I was in the diagnosis process, I was indeed diagnosed with Dysautonomia (which basically means that my autonomic nervous system, who pretty much controls everything, is behaving badly) and POTS (meaning that if I stand up, my pulse dramatically goes up, causing confusion and delay.) The Doctor Who Shall Not Be Named did have one redeeming quality – he gave me drugs. He prescribed a beta blocker to help with the pulse issues, and despite the level of confidence I had in him for trying to take it away from me to prescribe something else then changing his mind, I did actually take it anyway. Because I knew it was a common prescription for POTS that could help, and I desperately wanted help.

It solved the pulse problem nearly entirely, which took care of many of the symptoms. But with the landscape of symptoms suddenly much more sparse, the ones left over were easier to spot. I began noticing how intense my head pressure was (as if my brain was swelling and pressing against the sides of my skull), and most interestingly, that I had a tender spot on the top of my head.

I realized that I had been subconsciously avoiding that spot when brushing my hair out of my face, because even that slight of contact was painful. And then I noticed that when it did get touched or mashed or bumped, that it caused an immediate onset of my symptoms – my vision would go blurry, I’d get dizzy, I could feel my pulse in my nose it was so hard, and my head pressure would go through the roof.

I spent some time pondering this sensitive spot and gave it a good while to go away. I assumed I must have hit it and forgotten, since it felt like a bruise. But after four weeks, it had just become more sensitive. And oddly, the sensitivity would fade at times, but be very pronounced at other times – especially on days that I didn’t feel good.

During some point in this self-analysis, I remembered that, months beforehand, I had hit my head in that spot twice in one week. I went looking for it, and sure enough, I’d blogged the incident. I had forgotten how serious the blows had been until I read it.

Regarding the first injury, I wrote…

I was dizzy. I was nauseous. I felt pressure in my ears, eyes, and nose.

The pain mostly subsided by the next day, leaving only temporary spells of aches, pressure, and dizziness for the next four days, so I decided that I must be okay.

And on the second,

I nearly died right there, as Noah watched my dramatic entrance with great excitement.

I stumbled to his bed as the dizziness, pressure, and nausea returned in harmony. After a few minutes, I managed to get him out of the bed, get us both downstairs, and plant myself on the couch until Chris found me and nursed me back to Mostly Dead.

All of Saturday night I worried that I was going to die. Or perhaps fall into a twelve-year coma during the night. I toyed with going to the emergency room, but ER visits never seem to do any good in our family. So I just crossed my fingers and hoped [not] to die.

Although I’d written the blog post in an amused voice, the descriptions had been accurate.

I began to research the connection between Dysautonomia and concussions. I was surprised to find out that not only were they connected, but that the Mayo Clinic was actually using autonomic reflex tests to diagnose concussions, because they were witnessing autonomic dysfunction in all of their concussion patients.

But the autonomic dysfunction usually only appeared during time that the concussion was healing – so that didn’t explain why my symptoms didn’t start (or weren’t noticeable) until four months after my supposed concussion, and why they persisted.

So I kept researching and read several articles about Physiologic Post Concussion Disorder. One article in particular resonated with me, as the description of my head pressure was better than I could conjure up myself:

Ray said he was feeling like someone had just tightened a rubber band around his head.

Yes. That was exactly how I felt. And because it was pressure and not pain, Ibuprofen and Tylenol hadn’t helped at all.

I discussed this with a few of my doctors and they all agreed that my head injuries were a very likely cause of all of my problems. Eventually, I made it into a neurologist’s office, who sent me to get a brain MRI to make sure that nothing was still injured and/or causing problems.

Thankfully, the MRI came back clear, indicating that nothing further was wrong. He said the head sensitivity was likely nerve damage on my scalp. Everyone agrees that my symptoms and Dysautonomia likely originated from the concussion, but that nothing can be done to promote healing. And it may or may not clear up on its own.

My neurologist’s medical advice was, “Gosh. I hope it gets better soon.”

So that’s where I am. Of course it’s frustrating, but in a way, I feel like I can rest now and just learn to live day-to-day. I’ve lost count of my doctor’s appointments over the past five months, during which I feel I have explored every possible option. I’ve had my diagnosis of Dysautonomia confirmed by two different tests, and have had four doctors tell me (some nicer than others) that there’s nothing else to be done except to learn to deal with it.

So deal I will.

I Want to Spotify You.

November 14, 2013November 13, 2013 Rachel Callahan I'm a Blog Geek, Musically Speaking, Survey Says. . .

When it comes to internet radio, I’ve always been a Pandora girl. It’s free, easy, and they were the first people (that I know of) to use the fantastically mysterious Music Genome Project to magically choose songs that I would like.

But then my friends kept talking about Spotify. Over and Over and OVER.

So I downloaded the app, couldn’t figure it out, realized I’d have to re-teach it all my likes and dislikes (why don’t they have a “Copy my Pandora Personality” option? Or do they and I’m just too dumb to find it?), and promptly deleted it.

But all I kept hearing was Spotify, Spotify, SPOTIFY!!!

You would think it was the musical equivalent of Doctor Who or something. Geez.

But then I craved some new musical input into my life and asked you on Facebook for your favorite songs. I wanted to put them into a publically available playlist so that you could enjoy it as well, and I knew that the best way to do that was Spotify. So I downloaded it again, and this time I didn’t delete it.

Because the mix of you was fascinating.

For one, I felt so much more intimate with you, now armed with the powerful knowledge of your favorite song. I remembered who recommended most of the songs, so I could think about (and overanalyze) that particular person as their song played. (Basically, a blogging stalker’s nirvana.) And plus – who knew I had a blog reader with a tattoo portrait of Alice Cooper?

I continued getting suggestions and added some of my own favorites, and so the playlist grew to over 80 songs – with variety as vast as Steven Curtis Chapman to Queen to Sam Cooke, and P!nk and Michael Jackson in between. And obviously, Alice Cooper made an appearance.

But now that I’ve listened to the playlist on repeat for two weeks straight, I’m itching to add more songs.

So. I need your input for my ongoing musical happiness.

1. What are your favorite songs?

and also,

2. Much to the chagrin of The Holiday Police, I have rashly created a separate Spotify Playlist for Christmas Songs, despite the pre-Thanksgiving state of the year. What are your favorite Christmas Songs? Preferably with the artist as well, but if not, I’ll make an educated decision for you.

I’ll be updating the lists as your suggestions come in, and if you’d like to listen along to the cornucopia that is all of your tastes, you can tune in (can we still call it tuning in?) to the original playlist or the Christmas playlist from your computer or the Spotify app. I think you can do all of this for free, but what do I know – I’m new to Spotify.

(And I still don’t watch Doctor Who. So there.)

Writing Prompts for Children.

November 12, 2013November 11, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., Kids: The Experience.

One of the most entertaining school tasks that Ali and I attempt is what we call writing prompts. The idea is to encourage her to think outside of hard facts, which can be challenging. This exercise isn’t about correct spelling, proper penmanship, writing paragraphs or even proper sentences – its purpose is to practice creativity and thought, and the ability to get those down on paper.

We don’t do this every day, but we have a notebook that we’ve kept for Kindergarten and First Grade containing many pages of my questions and her answers. I usually give her about six questions, expecting a short answer in return. And at the bottom of the page, I write “Ask Mommy Anything!”, where she has the chance to try and “stump” me. Her answers are not always what I expect, nor do they even answer the question in the way that I meant it to be understood, making the entire exercise much more fascinating.

It’s just as difficult for me to come up with new questions as it is for her to think of answers, so I decided that I would share some of my past prompts for you to use (albeit some will need to be modified to your family), along with her answers (spelling in tact) for you to enjoy.

1. If I could go anywhere in space, I would

Go back to irth

2. One day, I want to name my daughter

Bela

3. One day, I want to name my son

Danyl

4. Next time we go on vacation, I hope I get to

Swim

5. If I could fly, I would fly to

The oshin

6. I think the world would be a better place if

It wod hav no bad gis in it

7. If I were president, I would

Do wut I’m told

8. If Rapunzel was president, she would

Obay Flin

9. If I could create a holiday, I would call it

Holiday av min

10. We would celebrate my holiday by

Having a parti

11. If I could have any pet in the world, I would get

A elafint

12. If I had 50 kids, I would

Tack them altsid

13. If I had 50 brothers and 50 sisters, I would

Play apstars {upstairs} with them.

14. If I got to meet Sofia the First, I would tell her

Abalt my lif

15. When I’m 60 years old, I want to

Go swimig

16. If I wrote a book, it would be about

Fary Sofia the First

17. If I had been on Noah’s Ark with all those animals, I would have

Fun

18. When I grow up, I will

be a backr {baker}

19. If I could be an animal, I would choose to be

A elafint

20. I bet that living in China would be

Danjaris

21. If I designed clothes, I would make them all

Shirts.

22. I can’t wait for Spring, because

Piking flawirs it’s my favrit

23. If I had a thousand Mommies, I would

Go altsid

24. If I could be a princess, my favorite part would be

Waring a dres

25. When I grow up, I want to drive a

Flex

26. I would love to visit this country:

Washigtin

27. If I could be a cartoon character, I would be

A helpr for Dora

28. I think that boys are

Speshl

29. My favorite place to eat is

Silvrtron!

30. My favorite adult that’s not in my family is

David

31. If I could live in another state, I would move to

Misasipy

32. My favorite part of church is

Lirnig abalt God

33. My favorite thing about Kitty and Leo’s House [Her great-Aunt and Uncle at the beach] is

Flamingo’s

34. I love Mommy because

Your speshl

35. I love Noah because

Hes speshl to

36. When I grow up, I want to

Driv a Flex

37. I am excited for Summer because

Its worm

38. My favorite food is

Lasanya

39. I liked going to Kitty and Leo’s because

I lick the Duck’s

40. My favorite part of the car trip was

Woching Sofea

41. I bet Noah’s favorite part of the trip was

Playeng with Leo.

42. The most fun thing I did with Kitty was

Playig hide the ducks

43. The most fun thing I did with Leo was

The sam with Kitty

44. I loved Quiet Time at Kitty and Leo’s because

I lick poring alt my shels and sortg them.

45. Daddy made the trip very special when he

Tock me to the tickit gam

46. Three things I did at my friend’s house yesterday:

1. We eat a snack
2. Played altsid
3. And wacht a movy

47. I love talking to Gramamma about:

Now stuf

48. My Mommy makes me happy when she

Tells me I love you!

49. My Daddy makes me feel special when he

Givs me swet sadrday milk {That would be “Sweet Saturday Milk” – milk with coffee creamer in it}

50. When I grow up, I want to have _____ kids and name them

2, Danyl and Dayse

51. I bet that when Daddy’s at work, he does

rit a lot

52. At Gramamma’s house, I thought about

Nutheg

53. Something I did with Nick was

Played Fruit Ninja HD

54. Something I did with Pop was

Made bisckits

55. Three things I did with Gramamma were

1. Book
2. Wotched strobery shortcak
3. Played

56. My favorite part of the weekend was

Goeg to Gremomma’s Hals

57. If I had a mustache, I would look

Boreg. {Boring}

58. If I had three arms, I use my extra arm to

Play iPad

59. If I could live anywhere, I would live

At home.

60. I think Daddy is the greatest because he

Hugs me

61. I think my Mommy is awesome because she

Maks ckampany chickin {Company Chicken – apparently a recipe she likes.}

62. I know Gramamma is amazing because she

Hugs

63. Pop is fabulous because he

Maks eggs

64. If you got to plan a perfect day, what would we do?

Go to Macwayn {McWane Center is the science center in Birmingham}

65. Next time we go to vacation, I hope I get to

Swim

66. My favorite person is

Mommy and Daddy

67 I love school because

I Lrn

68. My favorite game to play with Noah is

Lego

69. My favorite thing about Daddy is

To cudle

70. I can’t wait until I can drive so I can go

To the stor

71. My favorite vacation was when we went to

Tinasy

72. I love Sunday School because

God

73. Summer was fun because we

Played altsid

74. My favorite playground is

The won at Nabils

75. I love doing this with Mommy:

Cus its fun

76. I know that it makes Noah happy when I do this with him:

Cus he liks it {…but we still don’t know what “this” is…}

77. I think that flowers are the prettiest when they are

Pink

78. Birmingham is great because

It’s great for wocking on.

79. I love giving cards and gifts to people because

its fun

80. My favorite dream is

The won last nite.

I’m not Crazy. My Mother Had Me Tested.

November 10, 2013November 10, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Blogging: the therapy., Dysautonomia, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck

Spoiler: I won’t find out the results until Wednesday. Sometime after that point I’ll give y’all a full update.

I got my head examined last week.

It was a lovely procedure, really, shoving me into a capsule only slightly bigger than an extra-strength Tylenol and using experimentally psychosis-inducing cacophony to peek into the depths of my brain.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First came all the paperwork.

To get an MRI, one must promise that they have never knowingly allowed any sort of metallic substance to be put into their body. I couldn’t help but wonder how Dana Scully would answer these questions, since none of us are really sure if she was actually abducted by aliens and if yes, did they insert any metal objects into her body?

Or maybe I just missed the episode where THEY EXPLAINED IT ALL.

I should go back and watch the entire series to search for clues.

Or better yet, is there an X-Files Cliff’s Notes?

Anyway. Back to the paperwork.

So the receptionist handed me a clipboard with a stack of questions about Metal and Me, and right before I walked away, she said,

“Oh – Miss Callahan, how old are you?”

“32.”

“In that case, you’ll need this form, too.”

And she handed me a form that had clearly been copied from a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of the first medical form that Johannes Gutenberg ever printed.

Now I know that this form is barely legible and I really can’t tell whether that second five is a five or an eight BUT STILL.

The ages of women that have to fill out this particular form are between TWELVE and FIFTY-FIVE/EIGHT.

Exactly which end of that spectrum did she possibly think I might qualify for?

I did the math. And if we assume that Gutenberg printed 55 and not 58, then the only way I could be more smack dab in the middle of those two numbers is to be 33.5 years old instead of 32.

I was very nearly compelled to march back up to the counter and demand to know WHICH side of that spectrum she was trying to not waste her paperwork on, but I refrained. And I dutifully filled out my form.

Then, as tradition would absolutely have it, a young male technician came and retrieved me. Because how else would I get to once again have that fantastically awkward conversation about the details of my underthings?

Pro tip: Wear a sports bra on your MRI day. Otherwise, you’ll have to admit to underwire, remove your bra, and sit in the waiting area for up to fifteen minutes with saggy boobs and multiple young male MRI technicians.

Too bad I’m not a pro.

But while I was hugging myself and praying I wouldn’t get chilly, I was able to find distraction in the titillating conversation between Young Male MRI Tech #1 and Young Male MRI Tech #2.

#1: “Dude, let me know if you’re ever interested. I can hook you UP with some prostates and breasts.”

#2: “Really? That would be awesome.”

#1: “Oh yeah. Prostates aren’t that bad at all, and really, neither are breasts. And it’s really great money on the side!”

Much to my profound heartbreak, their conversation was interrupted by the current victim’s test concluding, and #1 had to go retrieve him from the depths of The Machine.

And then it was my turn. He got me all set up, then said,

“I think I have room to get the headphones on you. What radio station would you like to listen to?”

“Um, I don’t know. How about Birmingham Mountain Radio?”

(Our city’s newish rock/alternative/indie station.)

“Okay – let me see what I can do.”

He disappeared for a moment, then returned,

“Well, the only station our radio gets is a country one. How’s that?”

“Well I guess it’s fine.”

He fitted me with the world’s most gigantic headphones as I pondered why he played that game rather than just telling his victims “Would you like to listen to country or noise so loud it will make your head blow up?”, But whatever.

He slid me into my coffin as I realized that apparently, it was oldies day on the one country station. But it didn’t matter for long, because once the test started, no matter how hard I strained, I could find no trace of music.

Each of the nine-ish tests had it’s own unique dissonance.

We started with a nearly pleasant Atari-Throwback beeps-and-boops.

Then we moved on to jackhammer.

Then to a fast busy signal over a loudspeaker.

Then there seemed to be a three-dimensional clapping and foot-stomping that was quiet enough I could tell it was on beat to the one country station – just a little creepy.

Then there was a bony skeleton finger tapping behind my left ear four times, then a clanging above my right ear five times, then the skeleton finger five times, then the clanging five times. And so it continued, 4-5-5-5, 4-5-5-5, 4-5-5-5 for so long that I was DYING to pull a Sheldon and add that fifth tap to every other skeleton knock.

And now I wonder if Sheldon’s Penny, Penny, Penny routine is PTSD from a brain MRI when his mother had him tested.

I tried to keep my eyes closed because every time I opened them, I relived scenes from House, where anytime they gave a patient an MRI they either started violently vomiting, seizing, or dying. Apparently that show was not subversively sponsored by Magnetic Resonance Imaging equipment.

But really, it wasn’t that bad. Other than wondering if the young male tech could see me scratching my nose between tests (and hoping it didn’t look like I was picking it in his billion dollar equipment), the MRI tube felt reminiscently like the tanning bed of my pre-wedding bronzing, except without the comforting warmth. And as a bonus, I can now be assured that I’ve never been abducted by aliens and had a metal chip unknowingly inserted into my face.

After what he said would be twenty or twenty-five minutes, he returned and retracted me. I stood up a little too quickly and got dizzy and light-headed. #1 got concerned when he saw me lurching around and told me the MRI can cause such, but I quickly reassured him that I was accustomed to it.

“Are you SURE? Because I really don’t want you falling out right here in my room. That would create way too much paperwork for a Friday.”

But I was far too intent on getting my bra back for that kind of drama.

On Bed-Making: A Scientific Study.

November 7, 2013November 6, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Anal Retentivity to a Fault, Survey Says. . ., This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

Last week, I confessed yet another sad truth about my lacking in human decency. This time, it was with regards to bed-making: I don’t do it, my kids don’t do it, and I don’t do it for my kids.

I asked for your input – the situation needed to be brought to light, once and for all, and we all deserved to know if daily bed-making was a universally expected task.

And, much like you did on my child-bathing report, y’all stepped in and made me feel normal.

I love you.

Between the blog post, Facebook posts, and Twitter, I received 278 total responses.

And I am here to relieve you all.

Because Bed-makers are not, after all, the majority.

First let’s look at an overview.

We can conclude by this chart that clearly, children are the problem.

It should also be noted, though, that many parents with adult children said that they do make their beds and also had their children make their beds when they were growing up. So the current societal lack of family bed-making is either a case of generational changes or of faulty memory on the part of parents with adult children.

(Just like when they tell us “I enjoyed every second of my children’s younger years!!”)

Now. Let’s have a bit of a breakdown when it comes to families with children still at home.

Based on the results of this survey, there are five types of families. We’ll discuss them in the order of most to least often occurring.

“The Normal” – This group includes me, of course, because I am the epitome of normal. Normal people do not make their beds nor require their children’s beds to be made, as they recognize that the amount of time wasted daily in such endeavors can be used much more properly – like, say, getting an extra five minutes of sleep. It should also be noted that some normal people have cited the scientific fact that bacteria can much more easily flourish in the dark confines of a made bed (this fantastic “medical” report explains this truth much more gruesomely.) Normal people comprise of 56% of the population.

“The Personally Neat” – This set of parents make their own beds for various reasons (because their husbands prefer/require it, or better, because their husbands make the bed themselves, or because they have a small bedroom and read somewhere that if they make their bed then 75% of their room would be clean, or because that’s the way they’ve always done it.) However, they see no need in fighting the battle to try and make their children make their beds. Many of these parents even explained that they do whatever they can to avoid ever entering their child’s room. Personally Neat people comprise of 20% of the population.

“The Ultimate Neat” – These people make their own beds and encourage/require their children to make theirs. They tend to feel that it is an important way to start the day, and that everything feels better if beds are made. Although not true in every case*, these types of people are also likely to bathe their children on a daily basis, not leave dishes in the sink, and vacuum their cats. Ultimate Neat people comprise of 17% of the population.

* It should be noted that a large number of responders in this category claimed to be not-at-all neat in the rest of their life. However, I’m assuming that this was a clever ruse so that I didn’t follow up by asking if they vacuumed their cat.

“The Hypocrite” – This subset of society do not make their own beds as they understand the ultimate pointlessness of such activities, but do see the value in giving their children a chore, or teaching their children the needed skill of bed-making. Clearly, their kids are too young to call their parents on this extreme injustice, or the parents are better than I at using the “I’m the parent I can do what I like” line. If I’m honest, I’m pretty jealous of this group’s ability to politic their household so fiercely. But they only comprise of 4% of the population.

“The Harmonious Neat-Seeker” – This group of people make their own beds and their children’s beds. They prefer the cleanliness of a house of beautiful beds, but do not want to fight the battle and/or take time out of their children’s sleep-cycle to make their children do it themselves. They prefer a lack of discord in their household and their familial relationships whenever possible. The smallest segment of society, this group only comprises of 3% of the population.

So. What can we conclude from this survey?

Absolutely nothing.

Except that if you forget to make up your bed next time you have company coming over, you have a 56% chance that your inaction will make them feel more normal.

On The Appreciation of Autumn.

November 5, 2013November 5, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I Love Birmingham, I Play at Photography, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, The Blissfulness of Life

I had a doctor’s appointment first thing Monday morning, so the kids spent the prior night with my parents. On the way to pick them up, I stopped by the outlet mall to buy some shoes. And the trees in the parking lot were marvelous.

They inspired me. I decided that a Fall Foliage Field Trip was absolutely in order. After all, it was a school day, but it was far too magnificent outside to do bookwork.

So I picked the kids up and we took a driving tour of the St. Clair County mountain [hill] ridges – all just 25 minutes outside of Birmingham.

Our windows were down so that we could hear the crunching of leaves under the tires and the migrating birds overhead.

I attempted to pit my children against each other with statements such as, “Who can find the brightest colored tree?”

And, “Who can spot the next pretty sight?”

We passed pastures,

Barns,

Ponds,

More pastures,

Houses with sunset views that made me treacherously envious,

Paths leading to seemingly nowhere but with beauty everywhere,

Neighborhoods that city life can only dream of emulating,

Houses that looked far too modern and architectural to be hidden in the middle of the woods,

Stunning ridge views,

And endless metamorphosing trees.

I didn’t make our educational adventure into any sort of formal learning experience – we didn’t identify a single tree or discuss why leaves change colors. It was simply an appreciation day for God’s creation.

As a bonus for Noah, we even got to go through a tunnel – one of the narrowest tunnels in Alabama – and perhaps the only tunnel that still has its own phone booth.

And if you’re wondering what the children thought of this sublime school-substitution gift from their loving mother,

they were bored, underwhelmed, and begging to go home.

Just like I was when my homeschooling parents used to pull this same kind of crap.

But perhaps it subliminally snuck into their little brains, as apparently did my many childhood rides down country roads, and just maybe one day they’ll subject their kids to the same sort of glorious torture.

Downton Abbey MBTI Chart.

November 4, 2013August 13, 2016 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Actually Possibly Informational, Downton Abbey, Downton Abbey Graphics, Pop Post

There’s one for Star Wars, and one for Harry Potter.

But alas, no MBTI personality chart for Downton Abbey.

Not one to shy away from helping out in the need for Downton Abbey graphics, I felt it was my duty to step in and solve this problem. I pondered each character, researched the personality types, and sincerely hope that I correctly pegged the upstairs and the downtstairs.

And I’m glad I did, because seeing the types in Downton Abbey terms helped me realize that my last personality test result was wrong – there’s no way I’m a Carson – at least not anymore.

I’m totally a Mrs. Hughes. I think.

(And yes, I am hacking season four and watching with the British. And no, there are no spoilers in this chart.)

Here’s an explanation of the letters in the terms of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator:

First Letter: E or I – Extroversion/Introversion – Are you stimulated and refreshed by being with other people, or by being alone?

Second Letter: S or N – Sensing/Intuition – Do you use your five senses to interpret the world and prefer facts, or do you rely on your instincts and prefer hunches?

Third Letter: T or F – Thinking/Feeling – Do you lean towards using logic and objective criteria, or values and subjective ideas?

Fourth Letter: J or P – Judging/Perceiving – Are you purposeful, liking structure, plans, rules, and organization, or are you laid-back and flexible, open to change, and explorative?

Everybody ready? Here’s the chart:

So. Which character are you? Please report in the comments.

Click on the following pictures to visit my other Downton Abbey Graphics:

Find my Big Bang Theory MBTI Chart Here:

The Year We Were Vaguely Arabian.

November 1, 2013November 1, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Trunk and Treat

We’ve found ourselves in a bit of a Halloween Tradition: decorating our trunk and handing out candy for our Church’s Trunk and Treat. But the problem is, when you spend your first year dressed as a Pregnant Mary, Donkey, and Angel, it’s seriously hard to ever top that.

(Nor will Noah ever live up to his role as Jesus-in-Utero. But that’s not really the point right now.)

But this year, I found inspiration in the International Section at Unclaimed Baggage, and bought all four of us authentic but mysterious outfits (for $6-12 each, might I add.)

(So yes, we built our Halloween on the backs of now-naked international tourists.)

These pieces, by the way, made me feel seriously icky about the quality of American clothing. They were so thick, so luxurious, so delicately hand-sewn, so opulent…

I admit to having no idea exactly what nations our outfits came from. A good homeschool Mom would have researched them tirelessly and done a unit study with each child on their country of origin.

But I am not that Mom.

Instead, we titled our trunk “Vaguely Arabian” and whenever pushed for more detailed information regarding our theme, explained that there was no absolute truth to the story of our trunk, but we didn’t have a Genie, so we couldn’t be Aladdin.

I’m guessing that Ali’s dress was from somewhere in South Asia – Malaysia or Bangladesh perhaps. Noah’s definitely looked Middle-Eastern-Muslim (and came with white cotton pants that were way too big for him.) His still had the tags on them, so I imagined that someone had taken a holiday to Dubai and lost their grandson’s souvenir.

I’m nearly positive I was wearing an Indian Sari and Chris was wearing…I really have no idea what Chris was wearing. But it was awesome.

His Full-Length embroidered robe could have been worn by the North African Monks guarding the Ark of the Covenant. But perhaps without the tennis shoes and cargo shorts.

As for our background, it was…well, it was bad.

I could give many excuses, like being out of town for the last three weekends, serious hecticness the days we were home, the fact that trunk and treat had to be adjusted two hours earlier to avoid the rain storms and therefore was in my trunk instead of Chris’ so we couldn’t make our background as high, and since it was in the daylight it looked more crappy than it would’ve appeared in the dark, but…

It was what it was.

$4 Flying carpets from Wal-Mart tie-wrapped together, our castle recycled from last year with leaning Arabian Turrets…and that’s pretty much it.

Fortunately, Noah didn’t care. AT ALL.

And Ali was so excited about handing out candy that she didn’t seem to notice our lacking in detail either.

She asked me when it was going to start once a minute every minute, and as soon as she started to see “Customers”, she was giddy with excitement.

She worked frantically, picking out the right two pieces of candy for each child with a level of OCD that would even make Sheldon proud.

Noah was entirely too busy chain sucking all the Dum Dums, but every now and then he would be inspired, grab a hand-full of candy, and give a lucky kid quite the bonus.