Rachel Callahan

Google Led Me To You.

August 1, 2013August 1, 2013 Rachel Callahan Dear Google: Thank you., I'm a Blog Geek, Weird Strange and True

Once a year, I delve into the murky waters of my Google Analytics search terms. This year, Google sent 128,531 people to my blog via 39,552 different phrases. Somewhere around search term #19,548 I realized that I couldn’t go on – my eyes were crossing and my brain was melting. So for the first year ever, I didn’t make it all the way through. Which means that there just may have to be a sequel this year – in a month or two when I quit dreaming in search terms.

(Bolded phrases are actual searches that led people to my blog. If I could infer where they ended up for their “answers”, I added a link to that post.)

When reading through search terms, I often find the pressing need to answer questions.

do you smock your 7 yr old girl – (post) no, that would be terribly painful. Plus, skin doesn’t pleat well until at least the age of 68. But smock your Grandmother all day long.

does a dog smell smock – (posts) Only if cats or other dog’s poop is embroidered on it.

are there cockroaches in dr.pepper – (post) Whether or not that is one of the 23 flavors therein, the visual you provided will definitely help me kick my Dr Pepper TEN habit (with an extra crunch in my step.)

do noses’ shapes correlate with the shape of one’s butt – (post) Count Chocula hopes not.

how much did jeans cost in 2000 b.c – Do you want that number in denarii or shekels?

driving directions – is west always to my left, and east always to my right? – (post) so actually driving west would be…right out. Lucky Texas.

broke nose. is it suposed to wiggle much? – (post) Not if you don’t touch it.

do you have to have permit to own minitaure giraff – (post) Yes. You pay me. Only $50 per giraff.

my son is throwing up, should i cancel his birthday party – is it at Chuck E Cheese? If so, then no – he’ll fit right in with their decor.

Speaking of which, Chuck E. Cheese statements showed up nearly as many times as people asking me whether Adam Richman was a jerk.

chuck e cheese is filled with vomit
chuck e cheese poop
chuck e cheese poor nutrition and gambling
chuck e cheese rides vomit
chuck e cheese stomach virus
chunky cheese stinks

Yes, yes it does.

There are times that I simply feel the need to direct their searches to a gigantic flashing sign that says

maternity catsuit (post)
nipple day (post)
grasping hoo
car snowstorm pee (post)
convince siri to be your girlfriend (post)
edgy adult onesies (post)
armadillo toe nail clipping art (post)
chocolate turd mold
country-fried placenta (post)
child leash “like a horse” (post)
christmas toe nail photo men (post)
how to make a baby rump cake (post)
“cast cheese” poo
cuss words wrapping paper (post)

Nature questions also seem to be a theme. I’m kind of sad for them that they found me as their answer.

a greasy chipmunk (post)
a raccoon poop in my pool chemistry
cat with wide set hips (post)
a turd in a fishtank (post)

There are always a plethora of former spelling bee champions.

hiw do i know if my jeans fir right (post)
relly great firttngjenas
the rivver chase galeriah mall scavengerhunt (post)
whats zulyli (posts)
blog why i wear sedigner jeans mom jeans
moost comfortable secy jeans
dora the igsorer (post)
does miny jeraph exist (post)
2-4-6-8 everybosy to thw umi shake (post)
coallge gairl sexy gap shaip
butt lift cacky pants
cnt find jeans to f my todler (post)

Some are just two words shy of a poem…

what is the best jeans if my anus is flat
entermainment books to read to elementary (post)
is halal meat killed definitely like to meet (post)
can a button be mived iver on pair of jeans
ecstatic waist jeans (post)
for what purpose we are marriaging

Some of the more spiritual searches can be the most disturbing.

crimson tide bedtime prayer
brian dunkleman moral issues (post)
free ford flex in jesus (post)
“amusement for other self-righteous conservative christian moms”
“kind, charismatic, gentle, and loving” horrible crime ephesians
christian socks with enemy under my feet

…Which, as an aside, reminds me of this product I saw at our local Christian Bookstore this week:

Every now and then, someone is actually looking for me.

Badly.

And by badly, I mean “What the hey that’s not what I’m doing!”

fumbling for objectivity (in my subjective life)
grabbing at objectivity in a subjective life
grasping for subjestivity
sesrvhing for objectivity blog

Apparently, I am a leading expert on Southern Generalizations. Or at least Google thinks so, as it sent all of the following questioners my way:

do southerners drink sweet tea in the winter
do southerners have friday fish
do southerners like apple butter
do southerners like bagels
do southerners like living in nj
do southerners put red wine in the fridge
do southerners put sugar in tea
do southerners still do their own wedding reception food
do southerners welcome minnesotans
do southerners not like corn starch

For those still needing the answers, yes, if it’s fried, heck yes, only when they’re still warm, probably not, no, way too much, sometimes, if they’re nice, and no, they do not not like corn starch.

I always get a lot of calorie questions. On some, I wonder if they burned more calories googling the activity than the activity itself.

carolories burned putting sheet on a bunkbed
how many calories are burned installing a car seat

On others, I would answer “infinity.”

calories burned bathing one year old child

Some googlers are extraordinarily specific in their searches.

10 year old with 6 itchy pimples body
big roach standing tall (post)
fat older woman wants jeans to fit that do not stretch out
flattering styles for 5 foot 3 and 170 lbs women size 14 16 – (I’m pretty sure I had this search request in every pound / height / size combination possible. People think the internet has everything.)
what is the best jean for a 50 year old man to accentuate his butt but not too tight in legs
but bama pumps with elephant on them and houndstooth print (post)

Some questions I pray were rhetorical.

did princesses poo (post)
do big feet look bad in skinny jeans
do i need new jeans? jeans keep showing my butt
does putting your wallet in your back pocket flatten your butt
hardest question dora has ever asked (post)
dress sense why do youths wear their jeans that show their arse what is the significance (I now feel the need to work “arse” into my vocabulary.)
how many times a day should a child bath (post) (emphasis mine.)
can a guys butt look girly?
am I a pretentious hipster (post)
can i ask siri who is my favorite cousin (post)
can i make chocolate breast milk (post)
can i ship milos sweet tea from florida to new york
can i sleep with breast pump on (post)
can necer find comfortable jeans
can someone suggest something to adam richman (post)
can weight define the size of your jeans
how to do stuff like this »-(¯`v´¯)-» . . »-(¯`v´¯)-» . . »-(¯`v´¯)-» – you just did it.

And then there are the people that seem to simply feel the need to share their TMI with someone.

dad makes mom walk around the house nude
she waved her fart into my nose
“afraid to be around all those scary people”
but picking out paint colours wouldn’t make my butt look better in jeans
the freakiest part of all – i remembered that the breast pump was a male
costco jeans smell
“i have been stalking you for almost a year now”
chemist blacklisted me on sudafed (post)
“cupcakes were a hit” “until i showed up with the camera”
butt smelling in low cut jeans
baby fires pooping while changing diaper (post)
boy standing on moms fat butt
big lady tickle spot
getting my husband to wear womens jeans
horses in the restroom

…and that was only half.

Monogramitis: a primer on Pinterexia Nervosa’s dangerous Southern strain

July 31, 2013November 3, 2013 Rachel Callahan Guest Post, Pop Post, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Utter Silliness

After I wrote about Pinterexia Nervosa a few weeks ago, people began contacting me to make sure I realized all of the different forms and debilitating symptoms associated with Pinterexia. This guest post is by Julie Bunkley, a wedding planner from Auburn, who felt that there needed to be a specific focus on one particular strain of this disease.

WARNING: This post pertains to an extraordinarily controversial topic, especially among southerners. (Perhaps more divisive than matching family beach photos or even smock itself.) Due to the nature of this post, the FCC requires I recommend that all readers proceed only after taking a deep breath, and all commenters count to ten before hitting publish. All opinions are that of the guest poster and not necessarily (but possibly) (but maybe not) reflect any opinion or lack of opinion of the blog owner.

In this age of over stimulation, nothing beats a good Pinterest bender. I admit that it has been a massive tool for my industry of wedding planning and design and also my various hobbies of celebrity fashion critique, haute couture gawking and personal home building. So, I can’t claim to be completely immune to Pinterexia Nervosa. However, I have wanted to save some of my Southern friends from a particularly dangerous strain of the virus: Monogramitis.

Photo credit: Monogrammed Minicooper by MyEyeSees, other products on Amazon here, here, here, and here.

While my personal Pinterexia Nervosa doesn’t seem to hurt anyone, I know that Monogramitis does actual damage. Particularly to my own eyes.

(Have you ever contracted eye strain from trying to untangle and decode someone’s initials? I have.)

So, I’m pretty worried about this strain. It is usually found in the Southeastern United States and can pop up on nearly any type of surface. The usual spots for Monogramitis to appear is on vehicle back windshields, purses of the homemade variety and various forms of mugs, coffee travelers and koozies (a serious offender that sneaks up on the most well intentioned among us.)

There are only a few items that don’t qualify as exhibiting Monogramitis. Stationery, linens and doormats are about the only items that can be excluded from the list of symptoms. Restrictions: Fluorescent colors and script fonts that include the letter “Z” such as Curlz do not apply here.

*Note: Monogramitis does not usually affect weddings. You are, in fact, celebrating two names coming together and creating a new name. So, don’t fear, wedding monogram friends! Your circumstances exclude you from the most dangerous aspects of Monogramitis. There are still rules as to how to use a monogram safely in a wedding (just ask Emily Post), but in general you are safe. Count your southern wedded blessings!

Here are some symptoms to help you determine if you have contracted Monogramitis:

1. If you are accessorizing and your first thought is to throw a monogram on it.

2. If you find yourself pairing monograms and cutesy bright colored prints together (polka dots, stripes and the most recent development, chevron).

3. If your kids grow up thinking that they spell their name with only three letters due to the labeling on their smocked collars, ruffled swim suits and otherwise already cute clothing items.

4. If you ever frame a monogram.

5. If you ever find yourself thinking that any animal print and monograms make for a good combination.

6. If you have actually paid to have your own monogram put on a coozie/koozie/hugger (depending on your jargon). *You know you can collect these things for free throughout life… monogram free*

7. If you can’t leave the house without some form of self-identification jewelry. Necklaces seem to be most common.

8. If you have ever bought any quilted accessory (usually a purse or tote) and immediately left it with the retailer you just bought it from to be stitched up with a loud/contrasting thread colored monogram.

9. If your vehicle’s back windshield is now categorized as dangerous because your vision is impaired due to a large curly-font vinyl sticker monogram.

10. If you have realized that your monogram’s letter line up is actually a bad acronym – or worse, a word – yet you still publicly display said monogram. I’m talking to you, “DUM”, “CUS”, and “SAD”.

11. If you actually have a Pinterest board dedicated to monograms. If such a thing exists on your account, immediately delete your Pinterest account. Recovery could take up to a year.

12. If you ever find yourself considering getting…a monogram tattoo.

As with many diseases, the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.

To get a jump start on your recovery, I have devised a strategy for you. Simply repeat to yourself every morning, “I already know what my name and initials are. I learned them when I was very young.” If you feel particularly monogram-lonely, include your actual initials in your mantra. Because saying them and printing them are two different things. The process is slow and at times confusing, especially on shopping trips. Just repeat your morning mantra and you will be well on your way to full recovery.

How to Take and Edit Powerful iPhone Photos

July 29, 2013November 3, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, I Love Birmingham, I Play at Photography, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Pop Post

So you might have noticed that I’ve been on a bit of a photography bender lately.

Mostly sunsets,

with a few kids thrown in.

All of my recent photos have been taken with my iPhone, and not my big, fancy DSLR with a bigger, even fancier lens. In fact, I didn’t even get it out during our last two trips.

I have been doing all of my photography and editing with these apps:

Camera+: photography and editing
ProHDR: photography and editing
Instagram: editing and sharing (I’m @ObjectivityRach if you want to follow me)
Big Lens: editing (specifically adding Bokeh)
Pic Stitch: square collages for instagram
Pic Collage: full size collages
Photo Eraser: Noise cleanup
iMovie: video editing and stitching

Please note that the native iPhone camera is NOT included in my collection – I try to never use it. Which brings me to my first tip:

1. I shoot all of my “regular” photos in Camera+ because of the higher photo quality and the ability to control Focus and Exposure, something you cannot do in the native camera app.

This trick is not intuitive – I didn’t know it until Jamie showed me (photogeek friends are the best.) When you touch your main focal point,

Click on the plus in the top right corner. It then gives you separate controls for focus and exposure, which allows you to have much better lighting without compromising the focus.

2. I use ProHDR when taking landscape stills – all of my sunset photos have been the product of ProHDR. HDR is an option that is in the native camera app, but the ProHDR app is much more intricate and gives you control over the brightness, contrast, saturation, warmth, and tint after shooting.

In case you wondered, HDR stands for “High Dynamic Range”, and is a beautiful facet of digital photography where your camera or phone takes two or more photos of the same scene at high and low light, then stitches them together to simultaneously prevent overexposure and underexposure. The benefit is a much more realistic, deeper image.

Here are two photos shot at the same time to show the difference:

3. The scenes and effects in Camera+ are fantastic when used in moderation –

unlike Instagram or ProHDR filters, which are all or nothing, you can control the amount of effect that you want in Camera+ (but not the scene, so you have to be a bit more selective with your choices there.)

There are also 36 effects available, offering a wide range of choices for your photo.

When it comes to the scenes, you’ll find that some work well in some settings but not in others. For instance, on landscapes, I often use the “Clarity” scene because it adds such crispness, but I never use it on people, because it just looks freaky.

4. I have learned to watch for great lighting – This applies mainly to photos of my kids. When I look into their eyes, I can tell whether the lighting is going to be good or not based on how “cloudy” their eyes look. I have also learned to get Ali to turn in a circle as I follow her around to find the best lighting.

Noah is not nearly as cooperative (he’s actually quite anti-photo right now), so I just have to catch him when I can. Such as when he’s busy eating my jewelry.

5. I stare at the sky a lot.

Sure, sometimes it’s obviously beautiful,

But other times I wouldn’t have noticed before my sky-obsession.

Also, sometimes the sky is more magnificent if it encompasses almost all of the shot.

6. I take hundreds of pictures to get keepers.

I got photos of many empty seats and blurry Alis to get these three shots.

But since they were all taken in Camera+, I could delete the ones I didn’t need before saving them onto my main camera roll, preventing further junking up of my iPhone.

7. I try to find a spot where my foreground and background are equally interesting. Both of them having equal lighting is usually due to the help of the aforementioned ProHDR.

Although Ali is perfectly happy to strike a still-enough-for-HDR-pose,

Noah usually just gets a regularly-shot photo, and on a good day, it comes out well.

For toddlers, being quick is your most powerful photography tool.

8. I try to shoot above the noise.

This photo was taken in a very crowded parking lot, but I angled the shot upward so you can’t see any of the cars – except for an annoyingly high Jeep-top.

I can often be seen holding my phone with two hands above my head, John-Cusack’s-boombox-style.

9. The Big Lens app adds a very controllable Bokeh (blurred) Effect. I have even been known to import my DSLR photos into my phone because Big Lens gives me more control than Photoshop.

I used it on this DSLR photo to lightly blur everything but Chris, Noah, and their respective cars:

10. I try not to overdo filters, scenes, and effects, but every now and then, a little drama goes a long way.

We passed a spooky factory on a dreary day, and it begged to be turned into an antique.

And this photo, of a bird on a wire, looked so much like a painting already that I didn’t feel guilty making it a little more so.

When photographing water, using highly contrasting filters and effects nicely catches the movement of the moment.

11. I’ve embraced less-than-ideal clarity.

The weather doesn’t always cooperate with photography. But sometimes that rebellion can be turned into a haunting photo – especially when using ProHDR.

12. Sometimes, a little magic is called for.

Noah LOVES this photo. He asks me to see the photo “where I fly”, and will occasionally look in the sky and ask “can I fly up there, Mommy?”

Here’s the raw photo:

I saw his posture and “jetpack” and imagined what it could be, so while still on the beach, I found the Photo Eraser app. And I made this photo a thousand times better by erasing my husband – something I shouldn’t be allowed to say too often.

It really was that simple – lasso Chris and hit “Start Processing.” I did two touch-ups, but the whole process took less than five minutes, and Noah was soaring, an experience he didn’t have but will never forget.

What are your favorite tips and apps? Also, please let me know if you have any questions!

Theories Behind Tire Explosions.

July 26, 2013July 25, 2013 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, It's Tough Being a Girl, Just My Luck

I got sideswiped by The Knight Bus yesterday.

And really, it had to happen to someone. Have you seen its ludicrous speeds and maneuvers?

No, I guess you haven’t, since it’s invisible to Muggles, and I’m pretty sure that Hermione and Harry aren’t regular blog readers.

(But Luna Lovegood totally is.)

So. I was coming around a blind curve in an exclusive, older neighborhood where I am positive that many witches (if not wizards) reside.

Yes, there was a brand new curb alongside the road, and yes, the sharp edge of that new curb even had a bright orange cone to help one not be able to miss it.

(Or not be able to hit it, as the case may be.)

That brand new curb might have been exactly what caused The Knight Bus to swerve at just the wrong time and sideswipe my tires, causing a rather impressive explosion.

And if you look closely enough, you can see Knight Bus evidence.

What? You can’t see it? Perhaps if I adjust the saturation a bit and compare it to the perpetrator…

Case closed.

I’m assuming the only company that would insure The Knight Bus would be Lloyd’s of London, so I’m on hold with them now.

But while I listen to British hold music (Florence and the Machine is so bizarre), I’ll tell you the rest of the story.

It was mid-morning. The kids and I were in our swimsuits with clothes over the top (which takes approximately ten times as long as either clothes or swimsuits as standalones), lunches packed, library books gathered, and summer reading logs fully filled out – so basically the triple-trifecta of Motherhood Accomplishment.

I was driving along in the safest female manner imaginable when I went around a rather sharp curve on a road that was receiving fresh sidewalks. All of a sudden, we felt a huge bump and explosion, and the right side of the car shifted down several inches.

Of course this two-lane, blind-curved road didn’t have a nice shoulder for us to rest upon (just those rudely sharp curbs), so I pulled into the next multi-million dollar house’s driveway, thereby blocking their Maserati from descending into The World of Mundanes.

(Lucky for them, The Knight Bus was in the area if they needed a ride.)

I pulled out my insurance card and called State Farm, straining to hear the automated “helper” over the backseat’s repeated inquisitions as to why we weren’t at the library.

I finally got a human. I read her my 256-key encryption of a policy number.

“My system shows that you do not have Roadside Assistance.”

“My card clearly shows an ‘H’, and when I turn it over, ‘H’ notates ‘Emergency Roadside Assistance.’”

“Well I’m going to have to charge you, and you can call your local agent to get it refunded.”

I meticulously screamed my credit card number over the growing cacophony of the backseat.

“5…6…7…7…”

“HEY ALI!!” <nasty wet raspberries>

“QUIT SPITTING AT ME, NOAH!!”

“8…7…2…1…”

“QUIT SPITTING AT ME, NOAH!! MOOOOOOOMMMY!!!!!”

“6…1…1…1…”

“MOMMY I WANNA GET UNBUCKLED!!!” <raspberries hitting the back of my neck>

“8…2…1…8…” *

“I’M SOOOOOOO BORED!! WHEN ARE WE GOING TO THE LIBRARY?? AND ARE WE STILL GOING SWIMMING???”

“Okay ma’am, I will now need your complete billing address.”

I envisioned stabbing a call center clerk somewhere with a dull pencil as I slowly gave her the address that I am positive she already had on her screen.

…Then with a ballpoint pen when I had to re-spell my last name and repeat my phone number.

She thanked me, calling me by the wrong name, and said that there would be someone out to change my tire shortly.

(Yes, my father taught me how to change a tire when I was sixteen. No, I didn’t want to attempt it at thirty-one.)

While I waited, I decided to risk getting out of the car to check out the damage.

Which is when I realized that both of my tires were blown, and that State Farm sending out a spare-tire-putter-oner was not going to add value to my current state.

Stupid Frickin’ Knight Busses.

I returned to the Monkey House that was the inside of my car, waited until my spotty cell phone service returned, and called State Farm again, this time reaching Tristan. I explained my situation, and he agreed that I would need a tow truck.

“Okay. Since I cancelled the prior service call, the computer has automatically refunded the payment that you made earlier. But I need to charge you the exact same amount for the tow truck. So can you please tell me your credit card number and billing address?”

It was at this moment that I attained a steering wheel imprint on my forehead.

Chris left the office to come get us.

The tow truck was on the way.

I had made the unfortunate decision of unbuckling Noah so that he could see the flashing lights of the police car that stopped to check on us.

Fortunately, we had Library books, and before he strew them throughout the car, he spent a beautifully quiet thirty seconds reading what he informed me was “Don’t Let the Bus Ride the Pigeon.”

After an hour and fifteen minutes of car prison, the tow truck arrived, and in a way shorter timespan than I desired, had the victim ready to go.

…as I stood on the sidewalk, holding my shoeless two-year-old (while wondering where he hid them), squeezing the hand of my six-year-old, fully aware that my phone said “no service”, and hoping my husband would arrive soon.

Mister Tow programmed the destination into his TomTom, and I knew he would be leaving.

But, like all superheroes, Chris arrived just in time.

(At which point Mister Tow hopped out and told me, “I wasn’t going to leave you here alone, ma’am.”)

(Would’ve been nice to know when I was waiting to be left alone, but hey, chivalry isn’t dead – just uncommunicative.)

Chris took us home and helped me settle down from my emotionally-harrowing adventures, then my Dad called. He answered with,

“Were you texting while driving?”

“No! My phone was in my purse on the other side of the car. I can run over a curb all by myself, thank you very much!”

(I would’ve told him the truth about The Knight Bus, but I was in no state of mind to explain all seven books.)

But if it wasn’t The Knight Bus, Ali’s theory is pretty solid, too. As we waited for our tow, she had investigated the driveway we were blocking.

“Hey Mom – do you think that mailbox could have anything to do with our tires exploding?”

“No – why?”

“Well look at it – it has a big shooter below the box.”

Stupid Frickin’ Mailbox Bazookas.

The Rest of the Trip.

July 25, 2013July 24, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Toddlers: The Experience

I wrote about Disney (or the lack thereof). I wrote about LegoLand. But there was a lot of space on either ends of those experiences that deserve documenting. So here is, albeit late, my last accounting of our trip to Orlando.

The best purchase that I made before we left was this method of transporting my two year old.

Until you’ve carried a three-foot-tall human being that wriggles like a maggot or Jillian Michaels doing doing plank-jacks (which is pretty much the same motion) through an interminable airport, you don’t realize how FANTASTIC it is when you can stick them atop a suitcase and roll them.

This is the number one reason that I recommend all parents invest in luggage that rolls omnidirectionally. And that you roll it at speeds high enough to make your toddler intensely afraid of abandoning ship.

(Until you get to the moving sidewalk. That’ll keep them scared enough to allow you to stop and take a picture.)

And honestly, I kinda want to take that suitcase everywhere now – because it doesn’t matter how much energy he needs to burn, he always ends up in my arms. And the added bonus will be unlimited storage space. My shopping production will be exponential!

Noah also got some seriously adult opportunities by flying. Such as drinking out of a Southwest cup.

And being searched by TSA.

Yes, my two year old did get a complete pat-down by airport security. And no, I didn’t get a picture.

(Which is unequivocally my biggest regret of the trip.)

(But the angle would’ve been all awkward because my arms were out straight out while I was also getting felt up. Because apparently he and I were accomplices.)

(And TSA agents would probably have swarmed me and confiscated my phone and shattered it into a thousand iPieces for taking a photo of them giving a toddler a pat down.)

(But would it not have been EPIC??)

Outside of the airports, the kids most appreciated the non-Orlando-specific parts of our trip.

Such as the Hotel Pool, which we could have totally supplied them in Birmingham.

…except for the fantastic Pirate Ship that housed an internal water slide that Ali non-negotiably refused to consider trying, therefore striking “Water Park” off of our list of possible Orlando destinations.

On a whim I suggested we spend one afternoon introducing or children to Mini-Golf. And I was hailed a hero by all. This photo portrays an eager-to-learn, rule-following young golfer.

Which would be a lie. He is actually an overly efficient, shortcuts-are-our-friends young golfer. And he finished the par 2, 18 hole course at 18 under par.

But lest you think he cheated and dropped the balls in the hole, that is not the case. He just had very strategic teeing off points.

Ali was a much more conscientious player, and did express some concerns with her brother’s speedier advancement.

But ultimately, she got to experience the exultation of achievement, while he just kept getting his butt stuck in every crack.

No mini-golf experience is complete without watching strangers feed alligators with hot dogs,

And mining for gems. Which actually ended up being the best value in Orlando.

Nine dollars bought Ali the mining experience she’s always craved,

(I promise – she was happier than she looked,)

And scored the kids TWO bags of supposedly precious stones and arrowheads, along with a chart that kept Ali busy for the next hour while Chris did The Daddy Thing and drove us around looking at pretty houses.

That rock chart saved our afternoon. I am sure of it.

The last “new” experience for the kids was a Greek Taverna. Despite our extensive supply of Greek Restaurants in Birmingham, we do not have a single napkin-throwing, bellydancing, opa-yelling one.

As we were leaving, Ali scored a gigantic stack of Throwing Napkins from a waiter, and went around blessing everyone in the restaurant with paper fibers in their food. To minimize the risk of getting yelled at, I limited my photo taking to her barrage of our own table. But imagine this happening with unwarned, mid-eating diners.

While she slowly worked her way through six hundred napkins, one of the bellydancers tried to invite Noah to dance.

But he assumed from the outfit that she was Potipher’s wife and fled quickly.

So to bottom line the trip. Did we get our “money’s worth” out of Orlando?

Perhaps not in the traditional sense, as didn’t make it past the gates of Disney. But our kids left blissfully happy.

And, according to the letter that Ali wrote a friend as soon as we arrived home, we experienced enough Disney for her.

So I’m going to go with yes.

On the Pondering of Offspring.

July 23, 2013July 22, 2013 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Parent of the Year, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Toddlers: The Experience

I yearned for children for six years before Ali was born, and two of those years were spent desperately trying to get pregnant, then a few years later, we spent another year trying to get pregnant with Noah.

But. Had I known then what I know now, there are things that would have helped me pass my time of waiting with a wee bit more patience.

So I thought it would do the world a kindness to share these things. To help young couples to be patient. And to set realistic expectations.

For instance.

♦ When young couples yearn for the experience of parenthood, I don’t think that they put enough thought into the relative size of baby boogers, baby nostrils, and their own pinkie fingernail. Because Infant Booger Extraction is perhaps the most necessary yet impossible task ever required by the human race.

♦ Also. Do people ever consider the number of times that they’ll have to shove a rectal thermometer into a toddler’s butt to dislodge a stuck turd? Because some kids panic when things make it halfway out. And that’s where you come in.

♦ There are two words that should, but don’t, strike fear into every human on the planet. Swim Diapers. Swim Diapers alone should add a year onto one’s child-free life.

♦ Have they thought about the fact that they’ll never hear another song that overuses the phrase “all night long” and not think about a colicky baby? Because it’s not nearly as much fun to party all night long with an infant. But it actually does occur, as opposed to the implication of all of those songs, which also happens to be what creates those babies that actually do keep you up all night long.

(Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?)

♦ Limo Glass. Or Taxi Glass – whichever you want to call it. Once you have kids, you will wonder at least once a week why all cars are not outfitted with soundproof glass to separate the front and back seats.

♦ Once one’s toddler has, on the stairs in a high-traffic downtown building, leaned down with lightning speed and licked a black spot, one can never look at the floor in the same way ever again. Or a toddler’s mouth.

♦ CRS. Or Continual Repeat Stage. I have recently been exposed to CRS-C for the first time, and it is a dangerous strain indeed – it is when the toddler in question makes repetitive statements in a completely unchanging monotone that is loud enough to be unignorable, but quiet enough to chip away at deep, subconscious levels of sanity, AND DOESN’T QUIT WHEN ANSWERED OR SATIATED.

Example:

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

Yes.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy? Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

YES SON, THIS IS THE EAGLES SINGING SEVEN BRIDGES ROAD.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

YES.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

I SAID YES.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

STILL YES.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

DON’T ASK AGAIN.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

NO. THE SONG HAS ENDED.

Is this Seven Bridges Road Mommy?

STILL NO.

Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy? Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy? Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy? Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy? Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy? Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy? Can you turn on Seven Bridges Road again Mommy?

I HOPE SEVEN BRIDGES ROAD BURNS.

♦ I wonder if young couples spend any time pondering the fact that brain cells formerly occupied by thoughts of their own will now be occupied entirely with trying to find all matching pieces to toys, trying to keep up with the various identities and characteristics of your child’s imaginary friends, and wondering what’s really going on between The Man With the Yellow Hat and Professor Wiseman.

♦ I wonder if people desiring to be parents realize that one day, their innocent flower of a child is going to pick up a heavily used athletic cup at the Thrift Store, and only after studying it for a minute and a half, turning it over and over in their plump, soft little hands, will bring it to your attention to ask what it is and why it’s so greasy.

(For the record, I did that one to my Mom. And I still remember the complete inescapability of that greasiness.)

♦ And finally, I wonder if young couples realize that no matter how many times a week they do CrossFit, they cannot possibly be in shape enough to wrestle an unbroken Wildebeest, which is the skill required to clip a male toddler’s toenails.

So. Are kids worth it?

Every single stinkin’ (literally) moment.

But it never hurts to have a realistic vision.

50 Restaurants in Crappy Photos, Round Four.

July 22, 2013July 21, 2013 Rachel Callahan 50 Restaurants in Crappy Pictures, Actually Possibly Informational, I Love Birmingham

To recap, I’m on a mission to visit fifty restaurants I’ve never been to and report back to you with honest reviews and crappy photos.

Prior research can be found here, here, here, and here.

11. 26. It would have been much more literary had I waited for restaurant #26 to visit 26, but I’m glad I didn’t. 26 is one of those restaurants that we were immediately regretful that we hadn’t visited earlier in life. We waited so long because we thought it was expensive, but that would be Ocean, it’s sister restaurant. We found 26 to be shockingly reasonable considering it’s local food sourcing and gourmet pairings.

It’s in Southside next door to Mellow Mushroom. Chris and I had to park around the block and down the street, but the walk gave us the opportunity to see some gorgeous Old Birmingham architecture that we’d never been slow enough to notice before.

Also, the streets around there were pretty awesome, seemingly sliding from their appointed posts.

26 has outdoor seating, but the interior is so fantastic that I would feel like I was missing out on part of the experience if I sat outdoors.

Modern and eloquent, it has the feel of a trendy Atlanta restaurant, something I’ve only experienced in Birmingham at Dodiyos and Hot and Hot Fish Club.

We are not sushi people, but not for lack of interest – simply for lack of opportunity. So we took the opportunity to start our meal off with an attempt to increase our experience points.

Chris ordered a Soul Roll, which had tempura fried Alaskan King Crab, Jalapeno, Cream Cheese, and carrots.

And he ordered me (yes, he ordered FOR ME! Are we in the 1950’s or what?) a smoked salmon roll with Alaskan King Crab, Avocado, Cucumber, and Sambal Aioli, whatever that is.

Thanks to my Mom who let me eat raw steak as a kid, I am not squeamish about uncooked (or in this case lightly smoked) things, so I really enjoyed my sushi. I tried Chris’, but liked mine better. He felt the same about his, so clearly he ordered well.

This visit upgraded my Sushi Experience Level to “Interested But Not Addicted.”

I ordered the Grouper with local vegetable succotash over cornbread. I adored the vegetables and cornbread, but the grouper was just okay.

Chris got the Creole Cornbread Crusted Shrimp with smoked gouda cheese grits and Andouille sausage. He was a very happy man.

The Truffle-Scented fries with house-made ketchup was too tempting to pass up, so we got them on the side. They reminded us of the fries we had at Anthony Bourdain’s former restaurant, Les Halles, in New York City.

(Except much cheaper.)

For dessert, we tried Banoffee. I don’t think I need to describe it – just show it.

It was perfect.

The only disconcerting moment was the intense confusion I experienced when I attempted to go to the bathroom. Three doors, one which was sliding and seemed only semi-private, and zero markings.

Of course I walked into the guy’s. And I can’t pee with a urinal watching me.

12. Sol’s Sandwich Shop and Deli

Sol’s Deli is significantly older than me – born in 1968 in downtown Birmingham. So clearly, I have no excuse for having never been there. Also, it’s owned by the same three brothers that own my favorite Birmingham salad destination, Slice.

And? They’re Lebanese. I can barely call myself the expert in all things Birmingham-Mediterranean without having gone here.

I took Noah downtown with me to meet Jamie for lunch. Noah loved it before we ever entered the restaurant because he got to fill the parking meter with money (I let him pay them a bonus of ten cents because he was having so much fun.)

(You’re welcome, City of Birmingham.)

Also, it’s right next to the coolest tunnel in Birmingham.

Getting him out of that tunnel and into the deli proved to be my biggest challenge of the day.

But they served him a generous helping of chicken and fries, so that helped revive his tattered soul.

I ordered a turkey wrap with tabbouli and hummus. It was good, but I found myself wanting more hummus to dip it in.

Jamie ordered a fried green tomato BLT and adored it. I will definitely be trying that in the future.

(She got both halves – we just were thinking too much about food and too little about photography.)

Noah keeps begging me to go back to the tunnel restaurant, so it can be notated as kid-approved.

13. Mr. P’s Deli

I’m even more embarrassed to admit that I’ve never been to Mr. P’s. It’s right down the road from my church, and has always been the appointed hang-out. Having been a member of said Church for 18 years, I’m pretty sure that this qualifies me for dismemberment.

I went on a Saturday after hiking just down the hill at Red Mountain Park with my friend Amanda, and it was unbelievable.

After figuring out the unusual ordering system and ridiculously extensive menu, I requested the Jennie B, which included a half-pound of chicken and turkey, bacon, mozzarella cheese, and house honey mustard on a very soft whole wheat bun.

The only thing that could have made it better is if they had a female version of the menu, calling it 8 ounces of meat instead of a half-pound.

I quickly brought Chris back, and he ordered some sort of sausage-fest that brought glee to his soul.

Because it is the place to see and be seen in our Church, we ran into friends, who were kind enough to photograph their beautiful sandwiches as well.

Although the sandwiches were pretty noteworthy, the most fantastic part of the meal was when my friend Nikki, who was sitting next to Noah, turned to him and said in an adoring voice, “You are just so cute I could give you a smooch!!”

I personally had no idea my two-year-old knew the word “smooch.”

But he took that as an invitation and launched toward her, mouth open and tongue sticking all the way out, sandwichy bits of saliva dripping forth.

Nikki lurched away from him but was abruptly stopped by the pole attached to our booth, thereby making an impressive gonging that might have been mistaken for a call to prayer.

And she did not escape. Noah made full contact, leaving her looking like Newman when he took the dinosaur venom to the face.

She took a few moments to de-saliva herself, but apparently didn’t realize the extent of the damage, as we had this text that evening:

So that has nothing to do with my review of Mr. P’s except to say: mind the pole.

Bonus Feature: Unique Dishes.

We go to Nabeel’s and Silvertron all the time – they’re basically our top two choices. But I’ve recently gotten addicted to a new dish at each that is truly a one-of-a-kind experience.

At Nabeel’s, it’s the Yemista – Greek Stuffed tomatoes. It’s been on the special board for a while, but just made it to the main menu. I never tried it because it didn’t sound filling enough for me. But one night, I wasn’t too hungry, so I ordered it.

The tomatoes are stuffed with intensely flavorful rice mixed with feta cheese, olive oil, mint, diced potatoes, and strong herbs. It’s topped with a basil leaf that I always cut up and mix in. It’s summer comfort food at it’s best, and much more filling than it appears.

At Silvertron, my new favorite is Pork Shanks and Sweet Potato Fries.

I surprised myself when I ordered this, because I am not a pork-on-a-bone kind of girl. Not because it grosses me out, but because I don’t want to look like a Barbarian while eating (or anytime, really.) But this pork fell off the bone, and the sauce, a creative (to say the least) blend of sesame seeds, candied apricot, raisins infused with white wine, and spicy mustard was just as good on the fries as on the pork..

And the winner of round four is… 26. With an honorable mention to Nikki.

If You Give a Girl a Stress Test…

July 19, 2013September 30, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Dysautonomia, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck

There’s really nothing that starts a doctor’s visit with more flourish than to get to answer this question on your paperwork.

And no, I wasn’t consulting for a boob job. Or an anti-boob job. Or even a Mammogram. It was for a stress test.

And, I suppose, making a woman write her bra size in full view of a waiting room stocked with 67 year old men looking angrily over the top of their trifocals at the 31 year old woman who is clearly invading their gang territory (I believe they go by “The ‘Rhoids”) is a great way to get off on a stressful foot.

Or boobs, as it may be.

And let’s talk about the wording.

Who says “What size bra do you wear?”

Shouldn’t it be “What is your bra size?” or “What size of bra do you wear?” or even “What bra size are you inaccurately wearing because did you hear that only 10% of women know their true bra size? And even if they did know it six months ago, it has probably changed by now because boobs are a constantly fluctuating force of nature. Oh – and don’t forget that if you want to support the girls in a proper way that won’t cause you to have back and heart problems and land you in a waiting room with 67 year old men staring angrily over the top of their trifocals, you really need to spend at least $75 on a good bra, which will only be accurately fitted for six months. So what size did you say you think you wear?”

But oh. If that had been the only invasion of my chest space for this Stress Test. If only.

Next, a nice young man (Again. Why are all Nuclear Technicians young, unmarried males?? I guess it doesn’t really matter since they’re usually treating 67 year old men) took me to my private spa room and did this to me.

And those are only four of the ten – because they’re the only ones visible to the unnaked eye.

While he applied my patches and hooked me to his Villainous Control Panel, I desperately tried to put out a subliminal Batsignal. Or Superman signal. Or whatever the heck hero would save me from The Evil Doctor Boobcutioner. When that didn’t work, I distracted myself by thinking about how much easier I had to be than his usual clientele.

Because the first of three times I’ve been hooked up to an EKG this month, I actually did have a rare female nurse, and she told me all about the typical EKG hook-up.

“Oh girl, you jes’ have no idea. These men come in here so hairy – all over their chest!! I try to part the hair to make a big enough spot for the patches, but sometimes partin’ just doesn’t do it. Then I have to get in there with the razor and shave crop circles all over ‘em. This one time, I had a man that walked right out on me! He refused to let me shave him – said he was goin’ to the beach the next day. I just said “You have fun!! And don’t you go havin’ a heart attack.” But I guess at least he’d have his chest hair in tact.”

Thankfully, no shaving was required.

After Dr. Evil got me hooked up to the EKG and blood pressure cuff, he called in a lady tech to spear me for an IV.

Because that was where he drew the line on invasion of my feminine privacy?

Once everyone had their shot at me, I looked like this.

I know. You don’t have to say it. I clean up real nice.

And before you ask, let’s talk about the blue jean shorts.

I knew that this stress test would involve treadmills and running, so I planned to dress accordingly, mentally making a note where my tennishoes were collecting dust. But the night before, as I was attempting to fall asleep, I realized something terrible: I had zero athletic shorts.

Zero!

How could that even be possible?

I exercise! Don’t I?

No, I guess I don’t.

There was that one walk with Chris. What did I wear there? Oh yeah – I felt like an idiot jogging in blue jean shorts.

And so again, I felt like an idiot showing up to a stress test in denim.

(You will be glad to know that I have since rectified this situation and plan on running a weekly marathon now that I have the proper attire to inspire me.)

After a long passing of time while attempting awkward conversation with Younger Male and Older Female Nuclear Technicians, a doctor finally arrived. Another young male.

He explained to me what the test would involve and reassured me that he didn’t think I’d have a heart attack while running, then started the test.

And he stayed.

And worse than staying, he leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, staring straight at my every leg thrust.

Did I mention that the doorframe was behind me?

So yeah. Female IV Controller was in front of me, staring. Male EKG Manager was to my right, staring. And young doctor was behind me, staring and asking the occasional question as I was busy wondering whether I had thoroughly shaved behind my knees.

“Do you smoke?”

“Are you an exerciser? Because some people who exercise can go FOREVER on this machine.”

“How many kids do you have? Tell me your entire life story while I stare at your thighs at point-blank range. Speaking of which, I’d really love some Peach Jell-O right about now.”

The treadmill started out flat and at a walking pace. Every three minutes, the incline lifted and the speed rose. Had I not been wearing enough medical equipment to safely allow the cutting of a baby out of my abdomen, it would have been an easy enough endeavor. And even so, it wasn’t hard. I mean, I was only walking.

Yet at around 7 minutes, they exclaimed how great I was doing.

“Most people only make it to about six minutes before they’re done!!”

Seriously? People can only walk for six minutes? No wonder they’re at risk for a heart attack.

By nine minutes I had to start running, and the slope was fairly uphill. They kept reminding me every ten seconds,

“Don’t forget to tell us when you’ve only got a minute left. We need to inject you with radioactive dye that probably won’t cause any problems. But still be sure to drink a good amount of water for the rest of the day to flush your system of the carcinogenic poison.”

Okay, they didn’t say it quite like that, but they might as well have.

They were getting a bit frantic for their smoke break or their lunch break or something, so at 11 minutes, I told them that I had a minute left.

(Which was a lie. But who am I to keep medical professionals from smoking.)

(And eleven minutes of having three people watch you as you try not to trip over the dozen cords coming off of your every inch is enough stress for any test to detect.)

She inserted a syringe the size of a small wiener dog into my IV, and I felt the cool tingling of Chernobyl pulsing through my veins.

I ran for another minute and a half and told them I was done. I could hear their collective sigh of relief.

The doctor said, “Next you’ll spend 15 minutes in the scanner, but I’m pretty sure it won’t show anything. I’ve only seen one or two people run longer than you did today.”

That’s right, folks. My 12 minute and 25 second run was almost record-setting. And it could have been the record – if only I hadn’t been sensitive to their impatience.

Because my heart is FANTASTIC.

And I still have no idea what that has to do with my bra size.

(Pan)Cake Balls: The Breakfast/Dessert Mash-Up.

July 17, 2013July 17, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Can I get a copy of that recipe?

About six months ago, he asked for “Burnt Butter Pancake Cake Pops” for his next Birthday. Something that, as far as I can tell, did not exist – but he’s a dreamer. I laughed at him and reminded him what happened the last time I attempted cake pops.

I’m pretty sure that his Utopian vision included me and His Cake Pop Fairy Godmother Jamie working together in coordinating, brightly colored aprons. Me making his beloved pancakes, then flipping them across the kitchen where Jamie would magically transform them into her lovely cake pops.

But between his request and birthday, Jamie fired cake pop making from her life. Which meant that it was solely on me to make his fantasies come true.

So I decided to attempt it alone, but only with the compromise of ditching the sticks – after all, they were where most of my angst originated last time. But a man can’t whine about getting (Pan)Cake Balls when he asked for (Pan)Cake Pops – that would not end well.

But no one (that I could find) had ever attempted such a thing before, so I was left to my own imagination to decide of what, exactly, (Pan)Cake Balls consisted. So I bought a bunch of experimental ingredients and decided to make a few variations, hoping that one came out edible.

My final creations included:

1. Pancakes + Cream Cheese Icing + Butter Pecan Syrup coated with White Chocolate,
2. Pancakes + Nutella + Butter Pecan Syrup coated with White Chocolate,
3. Pancakes + Cream Cheese Icing + Butter Pecan Syrup coated with Semi-Sweet Chocolate, and
4. Pancakes + Nutella + Butter Pecan Syrup coated with Semi-Sweet Chocolate.

I was by far the most shocked member of our family when all of the variations worked, didn’t give me any lip in the process, and came out quite delicious (and only slightly ugly, but a chocolate kind of ugly is not really ugly at all.)

I do not now consider myself an expert in the Dark Art of Cake Pop/Balls (If you want details on making successful cake pops, check out Jamie’s Fantastic Cake Pop Guide), but here’s my recipe, after being slightly scaled down since I accidentally made…um, seventy cake balls.

(Pan)Cake Balls

~ 3 cups Powdered Pancake Mix, or however you like to prepare pancakes (I use Aunt Jemima Original Mix.)
~ 2 1/4 c. Milk (or as needed per your pancake directions)
~ 3 Eggs (or as needed per your pancake directions)
~ Butter. Lots of Butter. (2-3 sticks)
~ 1/2 c. Cream Cheese Icing (I used Pillsbury Creamy Supreme but feel free to be impressive and make your own)
~ 2 tbsp. Butter Pecan Syrup
~ 1/2 c. Nutella, the basis of any good recipe
~ 24 oz. White Chocolate Bark
~ 24 oz. Semi-Sweet Chocolate Bark

1. Make pancakes by the box directions. Be sure to cook your pancakes in an insane amount of butter, and let the butter get a little brown on the edges, thereby giving it the husband-pleasing burnt butter flavor.

(I justify this butter usage by the fact that I’m not slathering butter on the pancakes again before eating them. So it’s all good.)

2. Once you have a pretty stack,

tear them up and throw them in the food processor,

blending until you have fine crumbs.

3. Once you’ve gotten all of your pancakes crumbled,

get another bowl to divide out specific batches (if you’re planning on making more than one variation.) I put three cups of crumbs into each batch, which made 24-30 cake pops. You should have about two batches’ worth.

Cream Cheese Variation:

4. Add approximately a 1/2 cup of Cream Cheese Icing and 1 tablespoon of Butter Pecan Syrup to the three cups of crumbs. Mix well with a spoon, past the point that you think it’s all mixed in.

If your batter is too wet to roll into balls, refrigerate for a few minutes.

(Note: the amount of icing mixed into cake balls is a matter of personal preference. (Pan)Cake Balls will be less sweet than Cake Pops. If you want to add more icing to make it sweeter, feel free – you will just have to refrigerate your dough longer to get it ready to ball.)

5. Roll your dough into small balls, then refrigerate again for a few minutes.

6. While the cake balls are chilling, slowly warm your white chocolate bark. Cover a baking sheet with wax paper or aluminum foil, then roll the cake balls in the chocolate one at a time.

If you want sprinkles (we used ours for color coding), have your kid add them before the chocolate coating dries.

(Also, if you’re making more than one batch, have your kid write down a sprinkle-color legend.)

After all balls are coated, refrigerate again until hardened (about 30 minutes), then store refrigerated in a sealed container.

Nutella Variation:

Repeat the above steps, except substitute 1/2 cup Cream Cheese Icing with 1/2 cup Nutella.

Semi-Sweet Coating Variation:

Coat your Cake Balls with Semi-Sweet Melting Chocolate instead of White Chocolate.

So that’s it. And yes, my husband was well-pleased.

Oh – in case you wondered which variation is best, I prefer Cream Cheese/White Chocolate, Ali prefers Nutella/Semi-Sweet Chocolate, Noah prefers whatever I give him, Jamie prefers Nutella/White Chocolate, and Chris prefers all of them served on a plate together.

So that clears things up.

Ironic, With Children.

July 16, 2013September 24, 2013 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Kids: The Experience., Musically Speaking, Rachel's "Brilliant" Marketing Ideas, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously.

So Alanis Morissette and I are basically best friends.

Photo Credit – Alanis: AKM-GSI; Me: my iPhone; both used with permission.

…Or at least we had sons six days apart, both have long dark hair, and sometimes wear stripes.

(Same difference.)

Because of our deep relationship, I took the liberty of rewriting my favorite Alanis song to represent our joint stage of motherhood.

“Ironic” was my high school anthem, despite the fact that the song actually portrayed bad luck and coincidence that she called irony. Which was, ironically, quite ironic. My friends and I sung it endlessly, happily screaming “it figgers!!” at the shrill-top of our teenage lungs.

But parenthood – oh, parenthood is the ultimate lesson in irony. Like when your kids wake up earlier than ever on Saturday, then sleep in on the one day you must get them up early. Or when they scream about getting in the bath, then scream louder when it’s time to get out of the bath.

So I channeled my inner Morissette and asked my husband to do the same (because he’s the songwriter of the family), and this is what we came up with.

So work on your angry-Canadian accent and proper pronunciation of the word “figures.” And if you really want to feel it, hit the cute little play button below to be accompanied by the original version while you sing our parenthood version over the top.

[sc_embed_player fileurl=http://www.graspingforobjectivity.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/01-10-Ironic-Album-Version.mp3]

Disclaimer: Some events in this song might be based on actual events, but nothing in this song should be construed as serious.

Ironic…With Children.

A little man turned two point eight,
He pooped in the potty, and pants the next day.
It’s a black fly on your high chair tray,
It’s an airline barf bag two minutes too late.
And isn’t it ironic… don’t you think.

It’s like stains on family picture day,
It’s a slip n’ slide when they’re already bathed,
It’s the birth control that you just didn’t take,
Who would’ve thought…it figgers.

Mr. Hates the Bath was afraid to try,
He grabbed his tub toys and kissed his pants goodbye-yi.
He fought his old man’s wife for half the night,
Then as he wouldn’t get out, she thought,
“Well isn’t this nice…”
And isn’t it ironic… don’t you think.

It’s like stains on family picture day,
It’s a slip n’ slide when they’re already bathed,
It’s the birth control that you just didn’t take,
Who would’ve thought… it figgers.

Well kids have a funny way of sneaking up on you,
When you think everything’s okay and everything’s going right.
And kids have a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything’s gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face.

A toilet jam when you’re already late,
A no-poking sign on their birthday cake,
It’s like ten thousand shoes when all you need is a wipe.
It’s like finally finding my dreams,
And then hearing a bad dream cry.
And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think.
Or maybe not ironic…and, yeah, I really don’t think…

It’s like stains on family picture day,
It’s a slip n’ slide when they’re already bathed,
It’s the birth control that you just didn’t take,
Who would’ve thought… it figgers.

Kids have a funny way of sneaking up on you
Kids have a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out…