Rachel Callahan

Thoroughly Shirking my Duties.

September 9, 2013September 8, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year, Toddlers: The Experience

The job of Mom is an infinite scroll of large and tiny responsibilities. Once I’ve fed them, hydrated them, schooled them, broken up fights, bathed them (semi-periodically), read to them, rocked them (not with real rocks, my Dad always reminds me), changed diapers, and allowed them to sit mindlessly in front of Dora the Explorer while I mentally check out to recover for a second, I cannot possibly remember all of the little details of my job description.

Here are the top ten duties that I most often let lapse.

10. I totally forget about clipping my kid’s fingernails until they start looking like an Emerald Dragon’s Talons out of Mystic Warlords of Ka’a. The act of cutting Noah’s nails is similar to breaking a Young Mongolian Wildebeest, and Ali’s were much more convenient before I convinced her to quit chewing them off. What was I thinking??

9. Toddler teeth. I’ve got nighttime brushing down pat (most days), but I sincerely hope that some shoemaker somewhere has donated his elves to my family and they come in every morning just to brush Noah’s teeth.

8. I find sweeping up crumbs under the table to be a worthless endeavor, seeing as how they regenerate three times a day. And anyway, eventually the toddler gets hungry enough to take care of them himself.

7. Sheets. I’m supposed to change my kid’s sheets? I mean, the toddler’s get changed when his diaper overfills and fountains out. But the kid’s? She’s totally changing her own once a week…right? Maybe the elves are taking care of that, also.

…Or I could go with the Hordes of Angry Stuffed Animals defense. There are 157 of them that would attack and smother me if I attempted their relocation to exhume the sheets.

6. The brushing of hair. Noah’s magically returns to the same position no matter what happens to it, but Ali screams like scorpions are eating her toes off if I try to brush her hair. We prefer the trendy waif look anyway.

5. Teaching my second child. By this point, Ali not only knew her alphabet and sounds, but she knew all of her states. Noah knows a few letters. And that’s only due to the beautiful law of osmosis.

4. Wearing actual clothing on days that we don’t leave the house. Then the question begs, if you’re getting the children ready for bed and they’re still in pajamas, do you change them into new pajamas or not?

(Only if there are breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snot stains on their sleeves.)

3. Clean Kid Rooms. Seriously? Do you not know how fast a child’s infinite possessions can re-convene themselves in the middle of the floor?

2. Sorting, properly packing, selling, and/or handing down kid’s clothes in a timely fashion. Sad but true fact – Noah has an entire dresser full of clothes that are too small for him – I simply started putting wearable clothes on his closet shelves.

1. Ear wax. Twice a year or so I remember that my kids have THAT orifice that requires cleaning, too. And my retrieval results in enough ear wax to be mistaken for a Pumpkin Pie.

I’m positive that my performance review will not be pretty. How about yours?

Can’t Buy Me Trust.

September 6, 2013February 17, 2014 Rachel Callahan Chris, Guest Post, Storytime

This is a guest post by Chris, Contributing Editor and Chief Husband.

So Ingrid is gone. My silver 2002 Mercedes Benz SLK32 AMG Retractable Hardtop Convertible. 2 Seats. Supercharged. 349hp. Electronically limited to 155 mph per the owner’s manual.

My dream car. Sold. Retitled. Driven away. My could-have-been, would-have-been, antique-tagged old man car. She has a new owner, a giddy fellow who promised to take good care of her.

And I am fine with it.

Why, you ask?

Lets go back a few weeks, to a quiet afternoon in the driveway.

As the sun set quickly in the late summer evening, I was finishing up the drying, carefully wiping her down with the artificial chamois, removing all the water spots. I know every curve. I stopped drying and cleared my throat.

“It’s not you. It’s me.” I looked into her headlights. I needed to be honest. I owed her that.

“Ja? Hau ees dat?” she said.

“I have to sell you. This just isn’t fun anymore. I’ve tried to make it work. But I just don’t trust you. I haven’t trusted you for a long time. I’ve been faking for so long I can barely remember what it felt like to trust you.” I rolled up the chamois and slid it into the case.

“Ich verstehe nicht. I don’t understand. Yoo knoo I vos going to be high mainteenants,” She maintained her pride. I was glad. I didn’t want her to be sad, or lose her identity over my weird phobias.

“Yeah, I knew.” I rinsed the sponges and dropped them in the bucket. “I just didn’t expect so much, so soon. Ever since you stranded us at Brookwood Mall and spooked the babysitter, I’ve been trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. The A/C condenser wasn’t a big deal. The electrical brownouts and rough idle was my fault. I fixed that. The crankshaft position sensor. The idler arm…” I trailed off.

A drop of water I missed with the chamois slowly rolled down the bumper. I pretended not to notice. I took the can of tire shine and shook it well. It was almost empty.

“I knoo yoo cood not reelax.” She said. “Yoor eyes don’t sparkeel anymoor. Ve nayver go out. Just back and foorth to vurk. Ven yoo vunt to have fun and reelax you take thee othoors.”

“I can’t help it,” I said. I sprayed the tire shine evenly, careful to keep it on the tires and off the paint. “Every bump, every squeak, I wonder what’s going to go wrong.” I emptied the can of tire shine and set it gently in the bucket. “I cross my fingers practically every time I slide the key in that you will start. And it doesn’t make sense. The mechanic likes you. He says you’re a good car. You’ve been maintained well. You have a hand-built engine. You’re 10 years old, and just need a little love. I just…” The tire shine bubbles slowly faded and left a cool wet look that was barely visible under the darkening sky. The crickets stopped singing and listened to me. “I just can’t love you like that.”

She sat quietly and didn’t say a word. Still proud. Still beautiful. Still willing and able to throw me against the seat when I put the pedal to the floor. I wanted to speak, but some things just can’t quite make it out. I am glad I knew you. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to drive my dream car for 14 months after admiring your model for 14 years. I’ll miss you. On the right day, in the right moment, you were perfect. “I’m sorry Ingrid. This is better for everyone. You’ll have a lot more fun with someone else. I’m holding you back.”

I put away the hose and the bucket. She looked at the stars. The crickets chirped louder than ever. I walked upstairs and peered out the window at her shining in the moonlight. “Danke,” I whispered. She caught me looking. “Yoor veelcom,” she replied.

Noah Memes Business.

September 4, 2013September 4, 2013 Rachel Callahan I'm a Meme You're a Meme, NoahBlogs, Utter Silliness

Meme sets one and two can be found by clicking their numbers.

Confessions of a Poser.

September 3, 2013September 2, 2013 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

Life has begun in the South. Football Season is here, also known as The Holy Days. I married into University of Alabama Season Tickets, the most scarce and sought after of commodities in the state. Our schedule starts with a couple away games, but soon, our entire family will be digging out our crimson (except Chris, for his are never put away) and driving an hour to celebrate with over 100,000 like-minded southerners.

Except not likeminded. Because although I masquerade as best as I can, I am not one of them.

It’s not that I’m a fan for another team, I just…don’t get it.

And I am positive that this fact makes other Alabama fans burn with Righteous Crimson Indignation when they realize how undeserving I am for my seat. Because I am The University of Alabama’s Worst Season Ticket Holder.

Here’s a list of reasons why.

1. I fell asleep in the stadium during several games of my first two seasons.

2. I didn’t watch a single play of last year’s National Championship game – I chatted with my friend the entire time while our husbands passionately paced the room and yelled at the television.

3. I have trouble remembering the name of our current quarterback, and often presume that it’s still the two-quarterbacks-back guy.

4. I cannot stomach the term “Bama” and will only wear shirts on gameday that say “Alabama,” although I prefer color coordinating yet non-logoed clothing.

5. I don’t believe in booing. And I cut my husband an evil look anytime he tries to sneak one in.

6. Nick Saban scares me.

7. I’m much more interested in Gameday Fashion (and turning it into a sport) than I am the actual game.

8. I get ill when I realize how much younger the players are than me. Then find myself wondering why we’re supposed to care.

9. I don’t know how many National Championships Alabama has won. Then again, anyone could lose count lately.

10. I prefer to watch games on television. After all, they don’t have that nice yellow line in-stadium.

11. I hate Stadium Dogs.

12. I cheer only on extremely special occasions. And I’m pretty sure that’s happened less than ten times in my fourteen seasons.

13. I have considered boycotting until we got a Houndstooth Field, a real elephant for a mascot, or both.

14. I refuse to use “Roll Tide” as a greeting.

15. As I write this, there’s an away game on. I just heard my husband yell “Touchdown!” from the other room, and I was like, “eh.”

16. The only redeeming quality I see in shakers is to measure how far I can stretch their fronds when bored in the stadium.

So go ahead. It’s okay. Hate me. And Roll Tide.

So Maybe I Talk Weird.

August 30, 2013July 21, 2020 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Popular Posts, Southern Dictionary, Survey Says. . .

Last Saturday, I tweeted and Facebooked a passing thought about how to pronounce “pajamas”, thinking that most people would agree with me.

They did not.

And I learned something that day: more people should talk like me.

Okay maybe not. But I did decide that I should at least list out the rest of my speech idiosyncrasies for you all to mock.

Let’s start with the original issue at hand…

Pajamas should rhyme with Alabama, never llama. Unless you’re talking about Obama’s Pajamas, then it would be impossible to not make it rhyme. But then again, who has the right to discuss the president’s nightclothes? But the thing is, saying Pajama in that wrong way does something peculiar to my jaw (an unhinging?) and makes me feel like yawning. Which, I suppose, would be rather convenient…

My defense on this issue was going to be that I preferred the quirky Australian Cartoon Bananas in Pajamas significantly over the obnoxious book Llama Llama Red Pajama, but then I listened to the theme song of Bananas in Pajamas and realized that Australians pronounce pajamas and bananas to rhyme with llama.

Oops.

Let’s move on.

It’s a washcloth. Never a washrag. Because who wants to wash with a rag? Then it’d become a filthy rag, and we all know what that is.

(Cloth Vs. Rag is the recurring argument that Chris and I have every time bathe the kids. Which thankfully isn’t that often.)

“Buggy” is the correct way to pronounce “shopping cart.” Because shopping cart is a total waste of breath! That’s like, an entire syllable longer than it needs to be.

It’s y’all, y’all. Not you all. Not you guys. Definitely not your all. Never Yous Guys. Why can’t everyone recognize the superior efficiency of y’all?

I don’t wear trousers, slacks, blouses, bodices, shifts, or frocks. I wear pants, shirts, and dresses.

I also don’t wear drawers or britches.

(But I might refer to Noah’s every now and then.)

Tump is a word. (Even if it does have a red squiggly line under it when typed.) Tump means “to spill or turn over, usually accidentally and often by a child,” and is an important part of the southern lexicon.

We don’t drink soda, pop, cola, or soda pop. We drink coke. Even if it’s a Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, or Ginger Ale. It’s still coke.

Chester Drawers – My Dad kept his clothes in these when I was a kid. He might have been saying “Chest of Drawers”, but down here that sounds a lot like chester drawers, so I assumed his drawers were made out of chester wood, which I now realize is not actually a thing.

I carry a purse, not a handbag.

My grandmother, however, used the term “pocketbook” and confused me endlessly as a child. I always expected her purse to look like miniature reading material.

It’s a bathroom. Not a washroom, not a restroom, not a powder room, never a water closet, and certainly not a lavatory.

(Because lavatory sounds like there are experiments going on in there. Experiments that I want to know nothing about.)

Crayon has two syllables. Although when I was little, I totally learned that crayon was a homonym with crown. In fact, I assumed for years that those bible verses about getting “Crowns in Heaven” were actually talking about a Crayola Big 64 Box.

(And the 120 Crayon Tower for Billy Graham.)

Lawyer should be pronounced like it’s spelled. Law. Yer. Never like a loiterer.

Syrup should never seer up. It rhymes with stirrups. But don’t think too long about syrup-covered stirrups.

Pecan should be pronounced puhcon. They’re not peecans, puhcans, or peecons.

Roof should rhyme with aloof. And so should poof. The Snooki pronunciation of poof is not a sound that exists naturally in the human experience.

Route should rhyme with drought. Not boot. Unless referring to Route 66, the only exception.

I go to the grocery store, not the supermarket, and definitely not the “grocer” (that sounds like grosser.)

~~~~~

Sometimes, I realize the errors of my pronunciation and work hard to fix them. These are words that I’ve consciously adjusted over the years:

Illinois – I used to pronounce the s, but I have since dumped it, after being mocked by an Illinoisian. (Illini? Illinian?)

Anyway – I also used to add an s here – “anyways.” That one took a while to jettison, but I don’t miss it.

Orange – This is the worst word I ever butchered. As a kid, I said “are-eeeenje.” I recall this with humility every time I have to mention that color.

Salmon – I know how to properly pronounce this fish. However, it is impossibly difficult to form the word with my mouth. But I manage to muddle through very carefully.

~~~~~

And finally, there are a few words that I regularly swap up my pronunciation – because what’s life without whimsy?

Either – Some days it’s eether. Others it’s eyether.

Theater – The “a” has multiple variations of long, short, and medium pronunciation.

Caramel – Sometimes I care, sometimes I car.

Caribbean – This word legitimately does have two variations depending on context, right?

(Think “Going to the Caribbean” versus “Pirates of the Caribbean.”)

Data – I usually go with the long a Data to pay proper homage to ST:TNG, but if I’m feeling especially intelligent, I’ll short my a.

Niche – I hate saying “neesh”, even though I know it’s correct. It sounds so ridiculously 90210. So I say “nitch” anytime I think I can get away with not being mocked.

~~~~~

Your turn – weigh in. Tell me how wrong I am.

Noah’s Fashion Pointers: Volume One.

August 28, 2013November 3, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, I'm No Videographer, NoahBlogs, NoahVlogs, Pop Post, Toddlers: The Experience

For a two-year-old boy, Noah has very strong opinions about fashion, especially since his sister at two didn’t seem to be aware that she was even wearing clothes.

But my son’s tastes are exquisite, specific, and a non-negotiable. As such, I decided to let him have his own video column to share his wisdom. So be prepared to learn from the Tim Gunn of Toddlers.

You’ve Gotta Start Somewhere.

August 27, 2013August 27, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Actually Possibly Informational, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Toddlers: The Experience

So yesterday, we began.

Noah was slightly perturbed about being labeled as a troublemaker on the first day,

But he couldn’t deny that there was just cause for that assumption.

And no, I didn’t take a “first day of school” picture last year with which to compare these.

And yes, that fact does indeed eat away at my OCD brain like a hawk eating a rotting armadillo.

And yes, of course I have seen a hawk eating a rotting armadillo. Haven’t you?

But in order get this year’s pictures, I knew I would need some loot.

(Also, I wanted to try and make the day as fun as possible. But it was mainly a bribe.)

They tore into their presents, and Noah discovered that his bribe was a meta bribe – Legos to play with only during school hours.

It was the best set of Lego Duplos I’ve ever come across – over forty pieces of car creation fun. It even had a poster inside that showed many variations, and Noah was intent on building each one of them.

It might have been the most brilliant school purchase I will make this year.

In who-will-have-the-hardest-time-with-education terms, I had been most worried about Noah (he was quite angry by the halfway point of last school year), and secondarily worried about me (I hoped I had the energy I needed), and least worried about Ali. After all, she’s been begging me to start back all summer. The kid is an unabridged geek.

But in true Isn’t-It-Ironic form, I felt great, Noah was entertained and thrilled with his gift, and Ali was a complete crab.

DESPITE the fact that part of her school gift was a set of Tinkerbell Squinkies to help her with her work.

They disappointed me. They disappointed me greatly.

A few minutes into the morning, I realized that I had not set up this year’s rewards system, so I quickly grabbed a blank notebook and made the most non-Pinterestable school graphic ever.

This helped cheer Ali’s mood a little, but Noah decided that she needed more positive reinforcement, so he waited until we left the room and showered her work with approval.

Who knew that he’d be my cheery student this year.

For those of you interested in the minutia of my plan, I proved myself to be totally hipster (in a homeschool-mom sort of way) and we’re doing the most vintage, out of vogue, used-to-be-mainstream-but-it’s-so-not-anymore choice:

TEXTBOOKS.

Not Classical Education, not Literature-Based, not Montessori. I decided that Ali and I were both more suited to the traditional methods of learning – at least for now.

We’re using A Beka (I told you I went old school) for History, Science and Health,

As well as Math.

Handwriting without Tears for Handwriting,

Bob Jones for Reading and Comprehension (with a lot of supplemental reading thrown in),

as well as for Bible,

(Along with reviewing last year’s ABC Bible Verse Book that we loved,)

And Explode the Code for Phonics.

We’re still working our way through The Chronicles of Narnia for read-alouds, and will be doing various other books and activities for Spelling, Art, Geography, and such.

I’ll let you know how the hipster thing works out for us later in the year.

As we were finishing up school for the day, this happened.

But first, the backstory:

Saturday: we’d made the mistake of offering Noah a prize for pooping in the potty, because he’d actually showed interest in sitting on the toilet (without screaming in fear) for the first time.

“If you poop in the potty, you can have Dusty Crophopper!!”

Noah’s obsessed with Disney Planes, so we pretty much figured this was like offering him a Palace on the Mediterranean.

(And with a name like Dusty Crophopper, he was destined to become a poop prize.)

Noah was thrilled with the offer. He had pushed with all his might and sincerely tried to deposit fecal matter into the proper place.

But nothing came out.

Then we made a GIGANTIC parental miscalculation of buying Dusty in advance – and then a COLOSSAL mistake by accidentally allowing Noah to see us buy it.

Which led to even more desperate tries, fifteen minutes of whimpering, and the saddest soliloquy of all time,

I couldn’t get…
the poop out of my bum…
so I could have…
Dusty.

This Saturday Distress led to a ruined naptime and did not lead to depositing any poop properly.

So, two days later when I heard grunts, I was thrilled for my son and rushed him to the toilet so that he could win his friend Dusty.

But something about the actual possibility of performing this action completely freaked him out, leading to much wailing and clinching of sphincters.

He didn’t even want Dusty.

It wasn’t worth it.

So I used FaceTime for what I am sure Steve Jobs had in mind and called Chris at work to help distract Noah long enough to let off on his chokehold.

Chris used all of his Powers of Daddy Distraction to try and help.

(Yes my husband has Legos at work. Doesn’t yours?)

But his efforts were futile.

And Noah proved himself to be a World-Class Clincher.

So I shelved the accidental potty-training foray quicker than the woman who says “I might have a natural birth – we’ll just see how it goes” asks for an epidural.

Because diapers are awesome, y’all.

And that was our first day of school.

Editor’s Note: It turns out that Ali’s crabbiness was due to exhaustion after being awake in the middle of the night for an undisclosed period of time with achy knees. We’ve scheduled a knee removal for later this week.

* First Day Printables Available Here.

iParents.

August 26, 2013August 25, 2013 Rachel Callahan Utter Silliness

My Mom and Dad got their first iPhones.

Obviously, this came as a serious shock to the entire family.

We are just so accustomed to Dad calling from the car when he needs an address,

(“Are you near a computer?” // “No Dad, but I have my iPhone…”)

and Mom sending depressed texts,

(“Mom! I’m Pregnant!” // “yay”)

and both of them looking down their noses in disdain at their children’s shiny rectangular addiction problems.

(No, I didn’t really text my Mom when I was pregnant, but that’s the response I got for all fantastic news, and I’m positive that a positive pregnancy test wouldn’t have varied from the norm.)

So it filled my heart with tremendous joy (that could be expressed with every happy emoticon in the iPhone dictionary which of course they don’t know how to use yet) when, on family vacation, after the kids went to bed, every family member had their iPhone out, quietly feeding their iAddictions.

I even put mine away one night and sat on the couch motionless so I could gloat that I was the only person not looking at their crack rock.

And then I was even more gleeful when I caught my mother looking very much like me in my natural pose:

And my life was made complete when I received my first textual emotions from my mother.

So. Why did they finally bend?

I don’t know that anyone has the answer to that.

It could have been because my Dad’s doctor told him to lose weight and then added, “it would be a lot easier for you if you had an app for that. Or a phone that could have an app for that.”

Or it could have been the fact that their flip phone’s flips were about flipped out.

Or perhaps, maybe, just possibly, they wanted to be like us.

But it’s definitely not that last one.

So after much pondering of our new family paradigm, here are the top ten things that I predict will happen now that my parents have iPhones:

10. My Mom will text me one day and ask me how to access The Google.

9. My parents and I will have a yearlong World War over Twitter – me trying to explain its greatness, and them acting like obstinate teenagers. Something I never did to them.

8. My Mom will be able to actually see the photos I text her, rather than texting back “I cant see it its too small”

7. My Dad will become a Jedi Master at Bad Piggies. He builds cars for a living, for crying out loud. But he will not get addicted to Candy Crush. The first time I get a Candy Crush Facebook Notification from my Dad, I predict that the world will end within an hour.

6. My Mom will find some sort of Farmer’s Almanac App to send her push notifications when it’s time to plant things. And when to encourage her chickens to copulate. And how best to season her compost pile.

(I personally think Paprika would be a nice touch.)

5. My Dad will complain about how much less pocket real estate his flip phone took, and he will never ask Siri for help, no matter how badly he needs directions.

4. My Mom will Pocket-FaceTime me weekly.

(After I wrote this, she called and FaceTimed me three times in a row during dinner. After I sent her an toothy-angry emoticon, she apologized and said that she was trying to add me to her favorites. And for that, I forgave her.)

3. My kids will teach my parents how to do 99% of the iStuff they ever learn.

2. One day, my parents are going to tell us we were right. And wonder how they ever lived without it.

1. One day soon after that other one day, they’re going to realize that they’re addicts. And curse us for allowing them to ever go down the wide iPath that leads to destruction.

I Saw a Bear.

August 23, 2013August 22, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Free Family Vacations, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Kids: The Experience.

Need I say more?

Oh wait – yes, yes I do.

Because I saw a bear – and her tiny, precious newborn bear.

Less than thirty feet from our car.

If it weren’t for the phrase “Mama Bear” being common vernacular, I would have totally scooped that baby up into my arms and cuddled with him – just for a second.

Instead, I so totally disturbed the wildlife by squealing like a tween girl spotting Justin Bieber in his natural environment.

So OBVIOUSLY, that was the pinnacle of achievement of our family vacation last week.

But here’s how it started.

Ali spent three day’s worth of quiet times packing for our trip.

She had plans, as she is, after all, the oldest cousin and self-appointed Activities Coordinator.

But as I was finally getting around to packing and she presented me with her own multiple “suitcases,” I had a vision of our cleaning deposit sifting through my fingers.

And of keeping up with all. That. Stuff.

I began delving farther into her bag of preparations. It included a tin that, upon opening, sprayed me with crepe paper crumbs.

(“But Mom, it’s for crafts!”)

Then another container, housing an entire family of mosaic stickers.

(“But Mom, I just can’t travel without stickers!!”)

Yes, yes you can.

I explained to her the precious gift that is a mother’s sanity, and then allowed her to pick two out of the three trillion items in that bag to actually take.

Downcast Activities Coordinators are the worst.

But I cheered her up by showing her fantastic photos of the Princess House we were going to stay in on the way to vacation – The General Woods Inn.

This was the first time we’ve taken the kids to my favorite hideaway spot, so we got two rooms. .

(We cannot, will not, do not sleep in the same room as our children. Call us infidels if you must.)

As soon as we got there and Ali ran up the fantastic staircase, she gasped at the bed in one of our rooms.

“A Princess Bed!! A REAL PRINCESS BED!! PleasecanIhavethisroompleasepleaseplease??”

We agreed, and she quickly got ready for bed, fixed her curtains “just so,” dug with much effort to get underneath the massive pile of covers, and wanted me to take her picture.

“I’ll do a Princess Wave.”

When we came to get the kids up the next morning, she had closed all of her curtains. A Princess needs her privacy, after all.

We sat on the front porch and enjoyed the majesty of the views,

then ate a spoilingly luxurious breakfast provided by Ali and Noah’s favorite innkeeper of all time, Kaitlin.

After breakfast, Ali joined me in my usual appreciation of their wedding setup,

where she noticed the photo bridge, and pondered wide-eyed, “Wow. I wonder if there used to be an ocean under there…”

The kids and Chris swam in the pool for a bit, then we headed on to our ultimate destination, but not until Ali left her own entry in the guest book.

Riding through the Smoky Mountains is always an awe-inspiring drive, and one that we don’t do often enough.

They really help solidify the fact that Birmingham has hills and hills alone.

(But I can live with that reality since Birmingham also never makes my ears pop.)

The house we rented was in Wears Valley, Tennessee, and across the street from this view.

…and the owners had a very special love affair with their label maker.

(If they ever read this, I’d like to state that the Yahtzee Pencil bag was empty when we arrived, thankyouverymuch.)

We did the things that every family does when on vacation in a cabin in the mountains: we watched YouTube videos on our iPhones.

…And on our laptops.

We did get out and see the sights,

Ali never wavering from her Princess Roots.

My kids climbed cautiously, looking back every other second to make sure that I was okay with their progress.

…While their cousins climbed with superhuman speed and complete lack of fear, requiring my brother to scramble up after them to prevent doom.

We then took the paved but steep trail up to Clingmans Dome, the highest point in the Smoky Mountains National Park.

Some required rides,

and some required hands,

But we eventually all made it up to the top, with only a dozen or so complaints.

And the views were spectacular, despite the growing cloud coverage below us.

The children, of course, were impressed. Or not.

To celebrate the pinnacle of our success, we managed to squeeze in family unit photography before (or while) the kids were begging us to leave.

And then all of the energy that the kids lacked going up flowed freely through their little bodies, causing us to have to chase them all back down the mountain.

The next day, we somehow found ourselves on another hike – to Grotto Falls. This trail was not paved, over twice as long (1.4 miles instead of .5), and had twice the elevation growth.

And it didn’t start out so great, as there wasn’t enough parking on its one-way road. So my brother had to drive over half an hour just to circle the parking lot.

We did not wait for them.

We began our ascent, and it was slow, treacherous (the trail drop-offs completely freaked me out), and long.

And it was the LEAST worthwhile hike we’ve ever taken.

The crowds indicated that it was The Taj Mahal of the Tennessee Mountains,

But the falls were a trickle and that trickle was impossible to photograph due to completely unjustified crowds.

Even Noah disapproved entirely.

After we made the 1.4 mile trek back down, we went on a Ferris Wheel ride to mitigate our anger issues.

And then our remaining disappointment in the falls made us believe this somewhat creepy sign,

where we ended up eating dinner. It was called Friendly’s, and it was a restaurant perched precariously above a waterfall which they were very careful to block anyone seeing from the road.

You know, because they’re friendly and all.

But for a 0.0 mile hike, their falls were SIGNIFICANTLY more impressive than Grotto’s.

Even though they took issue with nicotine-addicted dogs,

and offered this for the bathroom,

albeit outfitted with helpful accessories.

And lest you haven’t gotten the complete feel of this eating establishment, I present to you Toby. And his kitchen.

But they did have really nice waterfalls. And tasty french fries.

After three glorious days of being together, the cousins worked through all of the necessary iterations of goodbye hugs,

and then we posed for our annual family shot.

And did I mention that I saw a bear?

Because I did.

The Awkwardly Intense Busybody Club Goes Succinct.

August 21, 2013August 21, 2013 Rachel Callahan Awkwardly Intense Busybody Club, Kids: The Experience.

It’s been way too long since I’ve run across a member of the AIBC. I don’t know if it’s because Noah is older (they’re especially attracted to babies) or that I don’t shop enough anymore (which I highly doubt is the case.)

But I miss them, and that’s a fact.

I mean sure, every time I go to Publix, the elderly check-out ladies always comment on something I’m buying, or ask me if it’s good, or discuss my choices in detail with the person bagging my groceries.

(After which I’m always thankful that I wasn’t purchasing laxatives or Vagisil. Or both.)

But that’s to be expected. They’re told to be nice at Publix, and elderly ladies translate “be nice” as “ask lots of questions about the customer’s purchases!!”

But I still miss the true members of the Awkwardly Intense Busybody Club.

So much so that I almost purposefully went to a store I don’t normally go to after a friend tipped me off that she ran into the AIBC founder now working there.

(Because there were quite a number of people who knew exactly who I was talking about in those first two posts. Because she’s that dedicated to her task.)

But I haven’t, because that seems like cheating.

So I couldn’t have been more thrilled to meet a new member of the AIBC the other day. Sure, she’s got a lot to learn, especially in the area of really dragging out the questioning to a ludicrous level. But I found our conversation to be fantastic nonetheless.

It all started with this puddle of oil in the parking lot at Walgreen’s.

We had to stop by the drug store to get a couple of last minute items before our family vacation, and Ali noticed the above Eighth Wonder of the World.

She pretty much flipped her little lid about how unbelievably magically cool it was to find a rainbow puddle, even after I explained to her that it was caused by car drippings.

As we were walking into the store and by the young cashier, Ali was still gushing, and said with all the excitement that a blog-raised child could possibly muster,

“I SO wish I had my iPad with me so that I could have taken a picture of that rainbow puddle!!”

The cashier giggled, and we walked on to get our items.

We arrived to the counter to check out, Noah on one side of me and giddy about the vast amounts of candy within his arm’s reach and Ali on the other side still floating about that rainbow puddle.

They made an adorable little pair, I really must say.

And so did the cashier.

“They are SO cute!”

I laughed and said, “Thanks! I think so.”

Then she raised her eyebrow, stared me down and said pointedly, “Are they bad?”

:: blink ::

…because my six year old wouldn’t understand that you just asked if she was a bad person?

…because you’re in the market for new children and considering mine as an option?

…because they’re so cute that they can’t be good too or it would be an unfair amount of The Kid Lottery Luck for me?

I have no idea.

But I assured her that no, my children are not bad.