Rachel Callahan

On Gray Matter and Parenting.

February 8, 2013February 8, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., It's Tough Being a Girl, Just My Luck

When football players get injured, they are medically required to sit the bench until they are officially approved for play by a doctor.

I can imagine that this would be frustrating for those players. However, I find them to be quite fortunate.

Because Mommies do not have this same luxury.

I’m pretty sure that I gave myself two concussions last week.

If I were on a football team, I’d get to be taking it easy right now, sipping on team-color-coordinated Gatorade while flipping channels in the Player’s Lounge.

But since I’m not, I’m not.

When mothers get injured, we are still required to tote children up and down stairs (who apparently fill their pockets with large cubes of cement right before we attempt to pick them up,) receive “loving” bonks to the head from our sons, have the brainpower to answer ridiculously complex questions that have no answer that doesn’t lead to another question, and, when leaving our car, balance seven grocery bags, a moldy sippy cup, an at-risk-of-squirting-out-the-sides dirty diaper, and a kid – in only two arms.

It all started last Sunday night. Chris and I have been slowly working our way through the 90’s television show Northern Exposure. I remembered it as a kid and knew that Chris would love it, and sure enough, it’s a favorite. However, that hasn’t kept us from taking approximately seven years to watch the whole series. Other things get in the way, like Downton Abbey and Project Runway. You understand.

Anyway. We watched the episode where Maggie O’Connell (the neurotic control freak) finds out about dust mites for the first time – and that she’s allergic to them. Actually, not to them exactly – she’s allergic to their feces.

“I’m breathing in poo!?”

“We all breathe in poo every day! It’s completely normal!”

She goes off on a manic research and cleaning spree, treating her whole house with dangerous substances that promise to kill dust mites, covering her couch with rubber, and endlessly vacuuming her mattress.

I would like to say the fact that I spontaneously bought us a new mattress the next day was completely unrelated. However, I did go to bed the night before itching like a scabies patient.

I originally set out to buy Ali a mattress, because my years-long guilt about her sleeping on my childhood mattress finally reached a tipping point. But the mattress store was having such a good sale…and delivery would be combined…and our mattress was nearly 12 years old…and the dust mites.

In twenty minutes, I had bought us both mattresses. Both on sale, with extra sale on top of that, and with a Groupon on top of that.

“But honey! Look at all the money I SAVED!!”

So we got two new mattresses with same-day delivery.

(When the delivery guys came, I asked them, “So is it true that used mattresses weigh twice as much as new mattresses due to body soil and dust mites?” They said no, but started looking around for a bottle of Purell.)

I clearly couldn’t take dirty sheets off of our old mattresses and put them back onto our new mattresses, I don’t like our spare sheets, and Ali’s blanket looked filthy…

So I set out a-washing. Frantically. I washed and I washed, and as I headed into the laundry room to change out the laundry, I noticed that the overhead cabinet doors were open.

This would have been a good issue to rectify, but I didn’t. Instead, I reached down into the washer to get the blankets and sheets, bent over to put them in the dryer, and then quickly stood up.

WHAPOP.

The corner of the cabinet door skewered my brain, acting as a spatula flipping my gray matter pancakes.

It was bad. Bad enough for me to run into the bathroom before I bled all over the good sheets.

(Where I was shocked to find zero blood, so maybe it was slightly less bad than it felt.)

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

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

Until Saturday night.

I had found two pairs of Noah’s socks in Ali’s room, possibly due to a misplacement on my part, but equally possibly due to a hoarding on her part.

(Once, I found two of his pacifiers tucked under her pillow. She claimed she had kept them in case he came in there and needed them, but I have other suspicions…)

I had just laid Noah down for his nap, so I placed the socks in the hallway floor outside of his door.

A couple hours later, at the end of naptime, I headed up to spring him. I saw the socks, so naturally bent down to pick them up.

However, my head injury from earlier in the week had apparently affected the part of my brain that provides the valuable service of depth perception.

When I stood back up, the exact same spot on the top of my head met with the side of the wooden “A” in “NOAH” that hangs on his door in such an impressive manner that it flung his door all the way open.

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

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

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

It’s been nearly a week, and I’m still alive. So I will assume that’s a good sign.

But I’d still appreciate some doctor’s orders and Gatorade.

The One That Hooked Me.

February 6, 2013February 6, 2013 Rachel Callahan Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore., I embarrass myself just for your amusement.

I have been impervious to temptation until now.

I bought Ali an iPad a year and a half ago, mainly to use for the purposes of school. As such, we have bought dozens of school and play apps. I have studied them, reviewed them, reviewed them again, and added and deleted as I saw fit.

But I never once got addicted. I was even surprised how little I personally desired to use her iPad.

Sure, I had games on my phone that I played for short spurts. Angry Birds, Bejeweled, and so on. But even those did not rule me. They did not force me to claw at my phone with the obsession of One Ring That Rules All.

But this game. Oh, this game has done it.

It’s free.

It’s clearly for kids.

And it’s hooked me to the point of dreaming about it. Multiple nights in a row.

Oh yeah – and it’s a Fairy Game.

(I know. I am fully aware at how shameful this admission should be for me.)

We downloaded it a couple of weeks ago as a reward for Ali letting me pull her second tooth.

(Between The Lines: I agreed to get her a new game out of my guilt from coming home from a weekend of Mommy Vacation and immediately insisting that she let me pull her tooth amidst much protestations on her part. Also, I might have had a slight measure of extra guilt about the fact that I REALLY enjoy pulling her teeth. Have I mentioned that already? Do you have any loose-toothed-kids lying around that you want to send over?)

Back to the game. Being the analytical person that I am, I’ve studied the root cause of my addiction. The game brings back my childhood and blends it with my present. It has the RPG aspects of my favorite Nintendo game, Dragon Warrior, combined with the fashion design angle of my second favorite TV show, Project Runway.

(Which, as an aside for all of you loyal Project Runway watchers – have you noticed that This Season’s contestant, Daniel Esquivel, looks like he should be Casanova’s Weird Drunk Uncle?)

Back to the game again.

It has levels.

It has points.

It has pretty clothes.

It has pretty colors.

It has goals.

It makes you wait, thereby increasing anticipation.

It has ways to get more points by checking in every five minutes or so, thereby keeping your mind on the game. No matter what you’re doing in real life.

And it has much affirmation.

The first day after downloading the game onto Ali’s iPad, I declared it a “School Game,” because it was teaching Ali all sorts of great skills, like reading quickly, memorization, managing orders, profitability, and time management.

(Declaring it a School Game meant that we could play it as a part of our School Day. Which was helpful, since I couldn’t exactly…quit.)

The second day after downloading it onto Ali’s iPad, I grabbed it as soon as we got her in bed and began playing endlessly by myself.

I even [Shameful Admission #1] made an in-app purchase.

That’s right. I bought $1.99 worth of diamonds so that I could force my insect servants to sew clothes faster.

I detested myself.

But not for the in-app purchase – for the fact that I then needed more fabric. But I couldn’t justify another purchase.

So I had to wait, anxiously watching my tiny creatures sew their tentacles to the bone.

The third day after downloading it onto Ali’s iPad, I downloaded it onto my phone and began my own game.

EVEN THOUGH it meant starting from the beginning.

I even [Shameful Admission #2] updated the progress of my game in the car. And during dinner. And right now as I’m typing this blog post.

Although I enjoyed starting over with all of the proper knowledge and strategy of how best to save my pixie dust and diamonds and carefully use my fabric, I took pride in the fact that I did not and had not made any in-app purchases.

Nosiree. I was determined to play honest this time.

Even if I did wake up in the middle of the night to update my progress.

Until I [Shameful Admission #3] earned the right to have an honorable number of ten mannequins – and I couldn’t just leave them there, all naked and all!! So I bought $1.99 worth of my own diamonds – to hurry the process to clothe my shameful mannequins.

In my defense, I would like to point out that both of my purchases were at the lowest of tiers of possible purchases:

And I would also like to say that although spending $1.99 to make a game go faster is, perhaps, worthy of scorn and detestation, whatever developer chose to offer that $99.99 option is more evil than Mila, Laura Kathleen, Joshua, Bert and Ivy combined.

…and is a really good reason that you should never share your iTunes password with your child.

Or with me.

I am ObjectivityRach in the iPhone Game Center if you want to visit my boutique and gawk at my ridiculous obsession. But beware – it’s contagious.

Stuff I Like, Early 2013 Edition.

February 5, 2013February 5, 2013 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Stuff I like

Since we have two birthdays and Christmas all within three weeks of each other, we have a large influx of “stuff” all at once. And so, I typically find myself at this time of year anxious to share some new, helpful finds. No one asked me to talk about these things – they’re simply additions to my life that I just can’t keep to myself.

The Wet Brush – Ali has a sensitive head and very tangle-prone hair. As such, much of our daily frustration comes when it’s time to brush it. So I commented on my Facebook Page a couple of weeks ago about how sad I was that there was no such thing as a Magic Hair Brush.

And you ladies came through for me, as you always do.

Several people suggested The Wet Brush and a couple more recommended The Knot Genie, so I ordered both right away. The Wet Brush was perfect, and I swear it really is magic. Her tangles dissolve at it’s very presence, making both of our lives much more tenable. The Knot Genie didn’t work as well on Ali’s hair, but Noah sure likes it for a head-scratcher.

Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing – this children’s devotional is written by Sally Lloyd-Jones, the same woman that wrote our all-time favorite children’s Bible, The Jesus Storybook Bible. Her writing style is so beautifully touching, and she does a fabulous job of weaving the gospel throughout the entire bible. The illustrations are also stunning. The devotionals in the new book are at a bit higher of an intellectual curve than The Jesus Storybook Bible, which is excellent for Ali’s growing mind.

Noah’s Motorcycle – This ride-on toy is surprisingly stable, way more fun than any other toddler ride-on toy that we’ve ever had, and has become an absolute favorite around our house. I’ve never seen it in stores – I just happened to run across it on Amazon and think that it would be perfect for Noah.

Lisa Frank Stickers – Yes! Who doesn’t remember adoring these when they were a kid? And they still exist! I’ve started ordering them for Ali for school prizes and such, and she adores them as much as I did at her age.

Iwako Erasers – Speaking of school prizes, this is another favorite in “Mommy’s Treasure Drawer” – you all may have these in all your bookstores already, but they are such fun take-apart erasers. They’re so cute and great for girls who love to collect tiny things. Oh – and we never actually use them for erasing – just for play. They’re also in all kinds of other varieties now, such as Angry Birds.

Crazy Cups K-Cups – Chris and I have now had a Keurig for over 4 years, and are still loving it.

(Actually, we’re on our second Keurig. Our first died a sad and painful death.)

One of our favorite features is having a variety of coffee types and flavors, and the best way I’ve found to achieve variety is to order Crazy Cups. You get 35, 70, or 105 different K-Cups with no repeats. And you can order certain collections, such as Flavored or Decaf, to make sure you get what you want.

(By the way, if you want my complete K-Cup over-analysis and recommendations, you can find them here.)

Lego Educational Minifigure Sets – These are some of my best gift-giving moments for Chris (yes – my husband, not my kid.) Because we all know – the minifigures are the best parts of Legos anyway. I got him the Fairytale set last Christmas, and the Community Set this Christmas. I’m only hoping that they’ll come out with new sets before next Christmas!

CS Lewis’ Cosmic Trilogy (Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength) – my friend Nikki loaned this set to us, and we were both hooked. The parallelism and fantastical storylines are like Narnia for adults – reliving the wonder of discovering a CS Lewis imaginary world is priceless. Unfortunately, I hit the third book right as Christmas festivities heated up, so I got off track and never finished it, but I am definitely wanting to get back to it.

Hot Tools 1” Curling Iron – Months ago, I asked my Facebook Page how best to get big, wavy curls. My friend Renee has the exact hair I wanted, so I went with her advice. It was a good choice, because it takes no talent, 10 minutes, and the results were pretty much exactly what I was looking for:

Graham Webb Shampoo and Conditioner – I had been searching for a new Shampoo because my long-time favorite, Brocato, was getting impossible to find in discounted sets, and it was too expensive at full-price. One of the brands I tried was Graham Webb, which was much cheaper, and makes my hair soft and shiny.

Windows Live Writer – I wrote about this in my very first “Stuff I Like” post, and it’s important enough to mention again. Despite my extreme hatred of the Windows operating environment including but not limited to the ridiculous ease in attaining viruses and extraordinarily slow processing speeds, I will not switch to a Mac because of this one free download from Microsoft. Windows Live Writer makes blogging possible for me – it’s easy, it’s beautiful, it has great buttons, and your blog posts actually look like they’re going to look while you’re creating them.

It’s good enough to keep me married to Microsoft until someone gets off their butt and creates a like-featured program. So if you’re blogging and have a Windows-based PC and you’re not using Live Writer, you’re missing out on a life-changing program. So off with you – go download it and thank me later.

And last but not least, my new blog design!! It’s been in the works for a few months by Karla Archer of Archer Creative. She was awesome to work with – she listened to the ideas I had and translated them perfectly into the site. I’m excited about the more streamlined look, the featuring of my love of line art (I love the objectivity of that sort of art – bet you would have never guessed,) and all of the category headers and buttons to make navigation easier. Thanks, Karla!!

Okay – that’s it for me. What have you found lately that has been an exciting addition to your life? What are you looking for to change your life?

One Thorough Butt Wipe.

February 4, 2013February 4, 2013 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

It’s never going to end.

Ever.

Until we tear our house down to the slab and rebuild the whole thing.

It all began on November 5, 2012. A fateful day when my ultra-responsible firstborn child flooded her upstairs bathroom (and spent the next week explaining how she followed all the rules and did nothing wrong.)

That happened ninety-one days ago.

In the past ninety-one days, we have:

1. Spent nine days under the watchful care and deafening sounds of multiple ServPro Blowers and Dehumidifiers.

2. Had her bathroom completely ripped out.

3. Had our carpet padding ripped right out from under the carpet in adjoining rooms.

4. Had a Decapitated Duck on our kitchen ceiling for ninety-one days and counting, making appearances at a dozen holiday get-togethers, two kid’s birthdays, and many other events.

5. Waited three weeks for the insurance adjuster to find time in his busy schedule to file his stinkin’ report.

6. Had more tile pulled out of our bathroom.

7. Quotes, quotes, and more quotes from contractors and tilers and such.

8. Had a bathtub hammered into oblivion (you haven’t heard cacophony until you’ve heard a cast-iron tub being demolished – Ali hid in my office closet that entire day.)

9. Had a new bathtub installed.

10. Had new tile installed, taking three entire days of trying to still do school and other life around workmen obliterating our house with tile installation and an impressive layer of dust.

(But pretty tile. Very pretty tile.)

11. During those three days, we were blessed to have a toilet sitting in our bedroom floor.

11. Had new bathtub fixtures installed.

12. Fixed the leaky toilet (finally!)

13. Had ServPro come back out to finally reinstall carpet padding, clean the eighty-six-day-old-dirty-carpet, and tack the carpet back down.

And it was there that it all went, once again, south.

Because the carpet was deemed completely unsalvageable.

At the very moment that we thought we were almost done (“only to paint over the decapitated duck left, dear!”), they broke our hearts and broke our spirits.

“The backing has come loose from the carpet. There’s nothing we can do – it will just unravel. You’re gonna need all new carpet!!!”

He told me that last sentence with glee in his voice, expecting me to kiss him on the cheek with gratitude, since my insurance company would be paying for new floor coverings.

But I did not.

Because all I want more than anything in the whole world is to end my career as a Demolition Project Manager.

I came back downstairs with a downcast look of consummate despair on my face. Ali was drawing masks at the kitchen table, and looked up with alarm at my demeanor.

“What’s wrong, Mommy??”

“The carpet. It’s ruined.”

“What happened to it?”

“You flooded the house. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. Can’t they fix it? Like with superglue?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Wanna draw a scary mask with me?”

“Sure.”

“Wow, Mommy. That’s really scary.”

“It’s called therapy, honey.”

A few minutes later, I called Chris with the news.

He didn’t take it as well as I had.

“What?? One little bit of carpet is separated and they have to replace the whole thing? Surely not!!”

“The guy said he’s been installing carpet his whole life and there’s no way to fix it.”

“CAN’T THEY SUPERGLUE IT???”

“Ali already had that idea. And no.”

And then I found out exactly how desperate my husband was to be out from under the painful thumb of home repairs.

“I am NOT getting new carpet. I can not live another month of the house being taken apart and destroyed! They can put a foot of carpet in her room of a totally different color – purple – I don’t care. We’ll call it an accent piece.”

“I don’t want new carpet either, but I don’t exactly want to destroy our home value just because we’re so over all of this. We might as well do it right while State Farm is willing to pay for it.”

He insisted that I call our trusted friend George, the one who had helped us get such lovely replacement tile in the bathroom, to see how much trouble new carpet would be, to make sure that our insurance company wasn’t going to dump us, and in general to get reassured that all of his paralyzing fears weren’t going to come to fruition.

I did, and then I texted Chris many soothing bullet points, and he responded:

And I laughed. Heartily.

I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again.

Do NOT potty-train your kids.

A Day in the Life: A Breakfast Portrait.

February 1, 2013February 1, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Kids: The Experience.

Breakfast is an early time of day to make decisions, but yet, so many decisions must be made.

Like which car to bring to breakfast. It is best if they can match one’s pajamas.

Or for the ladies of the house, which of the crown jewels are most Breakfast-Appropriate.

Then there’s the food. Some prefer day-old pancakes and hot dogs. Others prefer artificially colored artificially flavored “fruit” cereal.

Moods swap manically. From hungry and sleepy,

to sleepy and exceedingly alert.

But food is always king.

Until one remembers that there are sisters to bug.

Sisters have quicker reflexes than they appear.

But should always be re-tested.

Just keep your eye on the hand.

The ultimate key to a successful breakfast is defining the boundaries.

And then everyone can attain happiness.

(Even if she does hold onto a slight measure of cynicism.)

Butterfly?

Oh dude. This is yesterday’s milk.

Yeah. It totally is.

Gaming the System.

January 31, 2013October 8, 2014 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Deception: A Parent's Best Friend, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore.

Sometimes I lie to Ali.

I say things like, “I’ve got a game for us to play today!!”

When the truth is that I’m banging my brain against the inside of my skull trying to hurry up and concoct an idea to make school into a game while she asks repeatedly, “What?? What is the game??”

Sometimes I get lucky and she totally buys it, and other times I don’t and she says “That wasn’t a game. That was just schoolwork.”

This lying pattern is most prevalent in my life on the mornings when it is apparent that she’s not excited about school. And yes – I know that one day, she’s going to have to learn that it doesn’t matter whether she’s excited or not.

But for now, I want her to at least think that learning is fun. So I’d prefer to lie to her and hope I can come up with something before she loses faith.

Which is what brings us to today: one of my rare wildly successful game attempts.

I made an Excel template for her multiplication tables to save myself the manual drawing of it. On a whim, I highlighted some of the squares pink before I printed it out. And it looked like a game.

“Mommy!! Where are you?? I thought we were starting school!”

“We are! I’m just…I’m just getting a game for us to play!”

“What game?? What’s the game??”

thirty minutes later…

“I WON!!! I WON!!! THAT WAS AN AWESOME GAME!!!! Can you call Gramamma and tell her that I beat you? Can you tell everyone on your blog that I beat you???”

So I am here to tell you: She beat me fair and square, and practiced multiplication while she was doing so.

Here’s how to play:

$Multiplication and Addition Math Game and Template$

All you need is a game board template (feel free to download mine, modify mine, or make your own), two pencils, and either a dice, number cards, or a number spinner.

(We used 1-10 number cards from another board game.)

Print out the game board and put the first answer in the middle. We were playing multiplication, so 5 x 5 = 25. You can totally play as addition, though, in which case 5 + 5 = 10.

Player One rolls the dice, draws a number card, or spins the wheel. Let’s say they get a three. They can choose to solve any problem that is three spaces away from the starting square:

The answer to the square they choose is their point value for that round, and the pink squares are worth double.

(For the pink squares, they still write the answer to the actual problem, but when figuring the score, double it.)

Player two then rolls, draws, or spins. Let’s assume they get a five. They can pick a problem five squares away from the last play. In this case, they have less options available to them:

If a player rolls, draws, or spins a number that is impossible to play (such as a ten, in the case above,) they don’t get to play that turn. This will come up more as the game goes on and more squares are already solved.

Play until the board is filled, or until you’ve played a set number of turns. We played until I could sense that Ali’s interest was about to downgrade.

While thinking we were totally just playing a game, Ali practiced multiplication in a way that made her think differently,

practiced writing numbers,

and practiced her victory gloating.

Here are the benefits I see to this game:

It puts the kid in charge: will they choose an easier square and make less points, or a harder square to make more points?
(It may also give you insight into their level of competitiveness.)
It breaks up the monotony of filling out a multiplication table, therefore making sure that the process isn’t rote.
The gameplay takes skill, but winning partially depends on the luck of the draw, therefore leveling the playing field between parent and child or between different aged children. I drew too high of a number to play several times, and Ali lucked into some good very draws.

Ways to adjust for other learning levels:

Easier: Use it for addition rather than multiplication.
Easier: Use a smaller board – for instance, only go up to 5.
Harder: Make the kid figure out what the double score would be.
Harder: Modify the playing board to contain multiple colors of squares for doubling, tripling, and quadrupling the points.
Harder: Have the kid add up the final scores.
Variety: Change the location of the squares.

Enjoy, and be sure to let me know if you get beat by a kid!

Short Stories of Motherhood.

January 30, 2013January 30, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience., Toddlers: The Experience

I’ve had a few photos and stories pile up lately – not good enough to make a post in and of themselves, but decent enough that I couldn’t trash them. So here they are, all thrown together and cooked into a Blog Casserole.

Winner Winner Typhoid Fever.

Noah discovered a glitch in the system.

Not only was this claw machine “Play Till You Win,” but it was also set on “No Quarter Required.”

He kept winning and winning, showing off his overly-adept motor skills.

Which would have been great if the contents of the machine didn’t look like this:

Not only were there pennies and a circa 1988 Diamond Jim’s coin to be found in the bottom sludge, but also a “Free Kid’s Buffet” coin was also available – from a different restaurant.

The kid was not at all pleased when I confiscated all of his valuable prizes that expired in 1991.

Earworm.

I was checking Ali’s multiplication table results, and couldn’t figure out what she’d written at the top.

So I asked her.

“Oh – I wrote ‘Let’s do the Umi Shake’ because I’d just written “2, 4, 6, 8” on the two line and I couldn’t help but think of that song from Team Umizoomi.”

And now I can think of nothing else myself.

Detective Work.

On one particular Sunday afternoon, while Chris had Ali feverishly laboring for Ingrid,

she and I also discovered treasures in the driveway. Silver treasures, surely left by indigenous Alabamian Pirates hundreds of years ago.

I fondly remember finding mysterious treasures as a kid, so I made a huge deal out of it, telling her that she had an amazing mystery to solve and untold valuables.

She dove into action and decided that the most important key to discovering the origin of these items would be to narrow down what they would fit into.

Ultimately, the mysterious items ended up in one of her many treasure boxes, in hopes that one day the mystery might be unveiled.

But I’m pretty sure I still have at least one mystery object from my own childhood, so the chances don’t look so hot.

An Ounce of Prevention.

It was The Dreaded Bath Night. Noah’s bathpooing average was 100% over the last three bathing attempts.

As I got him undressed, I instructed him sternly.

“NO NO poop in bath. No poop in bath. NO NO NO NO poop in bath. No poop in bath. Okay?”

He got a sincerely grave look and said, “Okay, Mommy.”

And then he peed on the floor.

Just to make sure.

Tech Support.

A while back, we were at the library, and everything was down, and had been for three days.

Thank goodness I brought an expert to diagnose the problem.

The Computer Whisperer

But by the time we left the library, the computers were functioning again. So maybe…

A Sinking Ship.

Noah heard that I was annoyed at his leaking sippy cups, so he tried to plug the hole.

First with a Wagon Spoke and Wheel,

Then with a sucker,

And then he went all out and used both.

I bet you guessed that this didn’t help my problem.

Had a Very Hiney Nose…

Noah got into my makeup while I was getting ready and managed to find something fabulously brown and smeary.

So I named his artistic installation for him:

“Rudolph In the Workplace: the Brown-Nosed Reindeer.”

The Font Fairy.

Ali lost her second tooth (okay I made her let me pull it – I’ve recently discovered that I get a sick pleasure in tooth-pulling,) and so she wrote another note to The Tooth Fairy:

Because she had issues reading my last note, I changed my Tooth Fairy Font in my reply:

And all that she said was, “But it’s not in pretty fairy writing!!!!!”

I can’t win.

Purina.

After not eating for a week, Noah has been in a serious recovery mode for the past two weeks. He stands at the open pantry door all day calling out in a pitiful voice, “NEEEEEEEED!!!”

It doesn’t matter how much I give him, he goes back for more.

So one day I decided to take a Dog-Owner’s approach and just leave a plate out for him, overflowing with everything he could possibly want.

The plate included Apple Jacks, Cocoa Krispies, Dried Fruit, Nuts, Bud’s Best Cookies, and it also included a side of Graham Crackers and Gummies (not pictured.)

(And this was just to satiate his between-meal NEEEEEEEEDs.)

He ate.

He gorged.

And he approved.

A few hours later, this was all that was left:

And that’s all that I have.

Oh – except….

2, 4, 6, 8, Let’s do the Umi Shake!!

When Life is a Fairytale.

January 28, 2013January 28, 2013 Rachel Callahan Blogging: the therapy., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Toddlers: The Experience

Once upon a time, a Mother, a Father, a Son, and a Daughter lived in an old house on a suburban hill surrounded by lots and lots of other houses.

One day, The Son was scouring the pantry to find something to eat, and he found Magic Pancake Mix.

“Make Pancakes!! Make Pancakes, Mommy!”

“Are you sure you want Pancakes?” said the Mother.

“NEEEEEEED pancakes!!!” said the Son.

So the Mother agreed to make Magic Pancakes for lunch and said, “Who will help me make these pancakes?”

“Me! Me!” said the Son.

“Me! Me!” said the Daughter.

“Groan,” said the Mother.

She knew that the recipe would need milk and eggs and oil, so she located all of the ingredients.

“Who will help me measure this milk?” said the Mother.

“ME!! MEEEE!!” said the Son.

“No! MEEEE!” said the Daughter.

They both held the measuring cup and splashed milk all over the Mother.

Then the Mother realized with great foreboding that it was time to crack the egg.

“Who will help me crack this egg?”

“ME!! CRACK THE EGG!!” said the Son.

“Not me. I don’t like getting messy.” said the Daughter.

The Son cracked and smashed and shattered the egg, proudly and loudly.

The Mother shook the yolk off of her hands and out of her hair, then took the oil from the counter. “Who will help me measure this oil?” said the Mother.

“ME!! ME!!” said the Son.

“ME! It’s my turn!!” said the Daughter.

The Daughter held the measuring spoon, as the Son knocked it out of her hand in a jealous rage.

Then it was time to mix the batter.

“Who will help me whisk this batter?” said the Mother.

“ME!!!” said the Son.

“NO!! ME!!” said the Daughter.

And so they took turns, each getting a little impatient with the length of the other’s whisking.

The Mother, being somewhat wise, decided not to ask for help with the hot pan.

She melted the butter and poured the magical pancake batter and flipped the pancakes, all while The Son and The Daughter begged to help.

“Who will help me get the paper plates?” asked the Mother.

“ME!!” said the Daughter.

“PATES!!!” said the Son.

They got the plates and knocked the rest of the plate stack into the pantry floor.

The Mother stacked the plates high with deliciously smelling warm and buttery magic pancakes, and then cut them into squares.

“Who wants syrup with their pancakes?”

“ME!! ME!!” said the Daughter.

“suuuuuuWUP!!!” said the Son.

The Mother gave them each a puddle of syrup for dipping. The Mother set their plates in front of them, and then asked,

“Who will help me eat these pancakes?”

“Not me!! I’m not hungry. AT ALL.” said the Daughter.

“NO PANCAKES!! ALL DONE!!” said the Son.

After encouraging and insisting and cajoling and bribing them unsuccessfully to eat the magical pancakes, the Mother gave up and calmly inserted their pancakes into a very muggle Ziploc bag and put them in the fridge.

That night, the Father came home from work, peered eagerly into the refrigerator, and said, “Oooooh! Pancakes!! Can I have some?”

“Did you help me measure the milk?” said the Mother.

“No.” said the Father.

“Did you help me crack the egg?” said the Mother.

“No.” said the Father.

“Did you help me measure the oil?” said the Mother.

“No.” said the Father.

“Did you help me whisk the batter?” said the Mother.

“No.” said the Father.

“Did you help me get the plates?” said the Mother.

“No.” said the Father, by this time crestfallen at his unworthiness to enjoy the magical bounty.

The Mother looked at him with fairy godmother eyes.

“Thank you. I need no more help. In fact, I need no additional helpers. You may eat these magical pancakes, as long as you promise to not make any more helpers.”

The father looked at her with narrowed eyes, and looked back at the tasty cakes with slightly burnt buttery edges that melt in your mouth…

And the mother, the father, and the two children lived happily ever after.

THE END

Circus Dreams and Ambitions.

January 26, 2013January 26, 2013 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Kids: The Experience., The Blissfulness of Life

The last time we went to the Circus, Ali had just turned four, and Noah was a very impressive five weeks old.

For the last two years, Noah has been bitter about the fact that the only time we ever allowed him to experience such, his eyesight wasn’t developed enough to see the row in front of us, let alone the elephant’s tramp stamp(s).

So we felt that it was time to go back.

This year, we were able to go in early, seeing the arena in an eerie, quiet, calm-before-the-story kind of way.

It was pretty thrilling.

They also had a Ringmaster wardrobe available. Ali had not had her customary thirty minutes of warm-up time to de-shy herself, so she wouldn’t try any on, despite the fact that they were colors that had previously only existed in her dreams.

Her Father, however, was not so shy. He enjoyed playing the part of Evil Emperor.

I decided to join in the fun, hoping that possibly it would tempt Ali to get over herself. I begged. I pleaded. I bribed.

But she’s a hard sell. This was as close as she’d get to the beautiful furry fabulousness that she could have experienced.

(For the record, I distinctly remember being just like her as a kid. So chances are, one day she will find that the safest way express herself will be at the safety of the keyboard.)

Chris and I got to meet our favorite hometown celebrity, The Best Meteorologist in The World, James Spann.

After that, nothing else could be as exciting for Chris.

…except for maybe walking on the tightrope. With help.

Ali relaxed quite a bit when we found our seats, where we could watch the clowns from afar and buy Cotton Candy that came with it’s own hat.

Noah, however, had issues with both the hat,

and the cotton candy.

But once the show started, he was hypnotized,

(After all, Traffic Cone Stilt-Walkers look a lot like they belong in the Cozy Cone Motels from his favorite movie,)

And Ali had her last moment of silence for the entire show.

After that, she made herself hoarse pointing and screaming “LOOOOOOK!” in my Mom’s ear at least once every other second.

She was especially amazed at the guy and girl walking upside down.

But she had her first ever Circus-Anxiety-Attack on behalf of the girl on the chair on the pole between two bicyclers on the tightrope.

The whole arena was silent out of respect for her concentration.

Except for Ali. Who involuntarily screamed in terror. Quite loudly.

I’m pretty sure one of the bicyclists jerked just a bit before I clamped down on her mouth.

Noah did well for the first half, but due to a short and early nap, he was exhausted, and kept trying to lay down across all of us. Luckily for him, we had come in two vehicles, prepared for that contingency.

Ali, however, was at the perfect age to stay up late, stay focused, and love every moment of screaming “LOOOOOK!” at every. single. act.

The trampolinists convinced her that she wanted to take up Gymnastics again,

And the dog act made her desire a dozen alternately-colored canines.

I, too, was taken in by the dreams of the Circus.

The elephants dancing to Gangnam Style made me once again wish that we had a real football mascot for Alabama halftime shows,

And my favorite act totally reminded me of my intense need build a giant duel hamster ring in my backyard.

In summary, Noah’s Circus Bitterness no longer has justifiable cause, Ali’s career goals are now more focused, I will become a lobbyist for a University of Alabama Elephant, and Chris got to meet James Spann.

What more could you want?

Disclosure: We were given Circus Tickets, but were planning on attending anyway. I was not asked to blog about it – we just enjoyed ourselves. Also, I gave away two four-packs of tickets for others on my Facebook Page – follow me there for completely random thoughts and so that you don’t miss out on future opportunities for fun free stuff.

On Prophecies and Swearing.

January 25, 2013January 25, 2013 Rachel Callahan Delicious Greekness, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Storytime, Weird Strange and True

My Granddad was a giant of a man. I was never that impressed with Fezzik, Gulliver, or Goliath, because they couldn’t measure up to my Granddad’s height and girth.

He was born to a Greek Immigrant and a Alabama Woman – a couple who had gotten married before he could speak English or she could speak Greek, which led to a colorful marriage, from what I hear.

Granddad had a stern, raspy voice, drank Ouzo on holidays, and used “dammit” as a qualifier for anything.

In fact, both my older brother and I learned that word from him, and tried it out on separate occasions to see if it would stick.

My dammit attempt was a particularly fateful occasion when we were headed to my cousin’s house to spend the day playing. They had fabulous woods and empty streets that were perfect for exploring and bike riding. As we drove up to their fantasyland of a house, I saw that my brother had left his bike there at our last visit, and I simultaneously realized that I had no such apparatus.

“DAMMIT!!”

Dad slammed on the brakes, skidding our white Ford stationwagon sideways on my cousin’s driveway. Mom’s head whipped around faster than puke centrifuging forth from a 1985 playground merry-go-round.

“What did you just say???”

“Dammit. John Chris has his bike out here and I don’t.”

“We don’t say that word.”

Despite my parent’s decision not to punish me for my experimentation, I spent the entire day cowering under my heap of self-loathing, completely forgetting about my lack of wheels, because I’d lost the will to live, let alone play.

My brother was less guilt-ridden about his use of dammit. He had tried it a few times and had been told that if he said it again, he’d get his mouth washed out with soap.

(Clearly my parents had also watched too much of A Christmas Story.)

But John Chris also had another penchant – one for drinking bathwater – which he had been instructed not to do, with the reasoning given “because it has soap in it.”

So one day as my mom was passing by the bathroom door, she heard my brother in the tub.

“Dammit!!” (gurgle, gurgle, gurgle) “Dammit!!!” (gurgle, gurgle, gurgle.)

Self-Punishment. He was always the more inventive one.

Granddad and Grandmother lived in Hollywood, the historic and highly sought-after neighborhood of Homewood. Any modern-day upwardly mobile yuppy couple would have been thrilled to pay half a million for their house, only to gut the history and replace it with brand new “old-world” fixtures.

But my Grandparents were quite proud of the fact that they had paid less than the price of any car in their neighborhood for that house (many decades ago,) and also quite pleased with it’s many historical accuracies, including the attic’s orange shag carpet that sprouted up to my knees, the oft-appearing ghost, and the bathroom radiators that regularly burnt us grandchildren as we forgot what they were and used them to hoist ourselves up onto the antique toilets.

But what I remember best about my Granddad was his phrase for me. He was a complete softy when it came to his grandkids – especially us girls. He still had his stern, raspy voice, but it was used to say things like. “C’mere, little girl, and sit on my lap.”

I would excitedly launch myself up into his continent-sized lap, and without fail, he immediately responded:

“Dammit girl, you have a bony butt!”

For years, I thought this was just another Granddad phrase, like dammit but fleshed out a bit more. I assumed that he said this to all of his grandchildren, never really noticing that my cousins did not get the same exclamations, nor did he refer to them as “Bony Butt,” as he often did me.

“Hey Bony Butt – go get me a glass of water.”

Years later and after my Granddad had passed away, I began hearing the same phrase from my husband. Not the demand for water – the bony butt part. We would find ourselves in a crowded room short on seats, and so I’d perch atop his lap. Or I would just sit in his lap because he was my husband and, well, that’s what you do.

About three minutes would go by, and then he’d say it.

“You have the boniest butt! It feels like a Tyrannosaurus tooth back there!”

“Do you want me to get up?”

“No, let me scoot you over and see if I can pull your pitchfork tines out of my legs.”

Dejected, I’d find my own seat, thinking to myself what a great Granddad Chris would make someday.

But I was still blind to the fact that I had a more uncomfortable derriere than a typical person.

That is, until after birthing my second child.

Somehow, Noah managed to rearrange the bottom portion of my spine even more unfavorably, leaving me with a pogo stick at the top of my butt and a rotator saw blade beneath each cheek.

And now I know: I have an exceptionally bony butt.

It’s not that it’s necessarily small, it’s just that the bones are so sharp they can cut through any amount of flesh, whether it be mine or someone else’s (or both.) If I could find a diamond big enough to challenge my butt to a duel, my money would be on the butt.

And thanks to Noah, I find myself at a place where I can’t even sit on my own butt for very long without having to rearrange so that I’m propping myself up on my legs, effectively making a human hemorrhoid doughnut to shield myself from my own pickaxe maximus.

And sometimes, on days when it hurts especially bad, I whisper a tiny “dammit” … quiet enough so that my Mom’s eagle ears can’t hear, but perhaps loud enough that my Granddad can.