Rachel Callahan

On Creating a Reference Guide.

December 17, 2012December 16, 2012 Rachel Callahan Kids: The Experience., Quirky quirky quirkiness

I gave Ali a new notebook the other day. In five-year-old girl terms, this is roughly equivalent to gifting her with a mansion on a private island in the Caribbean with an on-site Frozen Yogurt bar and all of the Disney Princesses as attendants.

Okay – maybe not that great. But very, very close.

She immediately set off to fill it with useful information.

I didn’t see the notebook again until it was completed two and a half days later. She proudly showed me her work – a comprehensive reference guide to all of the shapes in the entire world.

She covered the basics first.

(Yes, Helmet Hair is a basic shape.)

Then she moved on to the shapes of technology.

Technology and candy are of equal importance in a child’s life, so she covered that subject next.

And then – these. Thank goodness for the explanation.

Some shapes showed her father’s influence in her life,

And others her brother’s.

One shape gave a hint to the fact that perhaps there is a daring free spirit buried somewhere beneath her intensely careful, OCD façade.

There was also an all-important informational intermission.

A few more important shapes were notated,

And then there was this page.

And now all I can picture is an episode of Dora the Explorer where she wakes up with four detached lamb’s feet in her bed.

The Holiday Gift Guide You’ve Been Waiting For.

December 14, 2012December 13, 2012 Rachel Callahan Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Shopping: A Girl's Best Friend, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

According to my inbox folder that is labeled “marketing pitches” (which oftentimes shares real estate with the one labeled “trash”), all bloggers are apparently expected – nay, required – to publish a “Holiday Gift Guide.” And since I never want to shirk my responsibilities to you, my dear readers, I decided that I better compile something soon before the season passed us by and you show up to your family gatherings completely giftless, all because you had been waiting on ME to tell you what your kinfolk wanted.

But none of these items can be found in the aforementioned stack of pitches. I have a strong suspicion that your relatives want something a bit more…unique.

Like, for instance, a decapitated teddy bear lamp.

Because nothing says “Sweet Dreams” like wondering which garbage bag received your new Teddy’s head.

Speaking of Garbage Bags. If they were on any of your relative’s wish lists, then you must buy these:

They’re called “Happy Sacks.” And I don’t know of anyone who wouldn’t be happier after using them.

For that significantly older (or just technologically challenged) relation that you’re trying to convince to come into the Cellular Age, buy this nifty and super-portable accessory:

That same person would probably also prefer their Twitter in paper form, so a must-buy gift is The Celebrity Tweet Directory.

This book, published in 2010, gives awesome and detailed information about celebrities and their Twitter accounts.

Like…their handle. And their following.

(Except that isn’t really Whoopi’s handle.)

(And Tom now has 5.3 million followers.)

(And Anne’s account has been suspended – most likely because it was fake.)

But other than that, I’m sure that every bit of the information enclosed is still completely accurate.

For your friends and family that have stalker tendencies, then this Twitter book is the gift for them:

For the record, “Follow me pleeeeeeeease” probably isn’t going to work, or Bieber would already be following 6.35 million tween girls. So hopefully that wasn’t their #1 piece of advice.

For your tailgating in-laws, I highly recommend a Bumper Dumper.

Then again, you might want to buy that for the potty-training Moms in your life, too.

If your husband likes bacon as much as mine does, buy him this:

Or rather, buy you that for him.

And then go buy HIM this:

By the way…the reviews on the above item are priceless. My favorite being…

I purchased my first of three bacon costumes after a suggestion by a woman in a fortune cookie costume. The bacon is only on the front, but don’t let that stop you. This costume saved my marriage.

Was the woman in a Fortune Cookie Costume his wife?

And how, exactly, did this costume save his marriage?

And if it was so great, why did he have to buy two more Bacon Costumes?

So many questions. SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.

The bacon doesn’t end there. I hear that cuts heal quicker if covered with Bacon.

Is anyone else as curious as I am as to what the “free prize inside” is??

But if you have especially accident-prone relatives who often have cuts deep enough to need a higher power, you can always go with these:

But let’s get back to Bacon. Whatever you get your husband, it will be better if wrapped in Bacon, which is why you probably need this Bacon Gift Wrap.

If your husband is more of an Egg Guy, then he’s probably the only one. But if he is that lone man, I recommend this:

After all, it might save your marriage. Apparently.

My favorite find this season (that I might have purchased for a choice person or two on my own Christmas List) is this very special coffee mug:

Who, incidentally, also gets the prize for the best staging photos. Because brown murky coffee doesn’t do it’s possibilities complete justice:

(As an aside, HOW can that dude look so grouchy when sipping from a commode?)

If you have anyone particularly odorous on your Christmas List, I ran across the perfect subtle hint:

If you’re trying to reach your child who is lost in the modern world, go for a book that speaks to them where they are:

Because no kid looks at the moon anymore.

But if you’re really more concerned that your kids just shut up, I recommend this effective tool:

And finally, for the person who has everything, you sometimes have to create a need they didn’t even know they had. For this, there are Handerpants.

Since I didn’t know that I needed these, I’ll let the manufacturer explain why:

So there you go.

You may now commence your holiday shopping.

Giveaway – Sifteo Cubes Gaming System!

December 13, 2012June 11, 2013 Rachel Callahan Giveaways and Contests

When Chris and I went to BlogHer this summer, one of our favorite expo hall visits was at the Sifteo Cube booth. They were the creators of a creative new gaming system – portable, small, simple, yet completely engaging.

(We kinda got addicted.)

Sifteo consists of small blocks that interact with each other when you touch their sides together. They require cognitive skills, but very little coordination, which meant that they’d be perfect for Ali.

(Poor girl. She can use her mind, but not always her hands.)

As suspected, Ali loves the Sifteo Cubes. They come with four games, all which have encouraged her to think spatially, something that I’m personally not very good at. All of the games also have cute intro stories that really excite her about playing, and she’s enjoyed using them both during her free time and for school play.

Our favorite game, Chroma Splash, consists of different colored dots, and you have to plan ahead and figure out how to erase all of them in the right order.

Another game, Word Caravan, has helped Ali be able to take individual letters and form them into different words. I like this game because most word scrambling games are WAY too advanced for her age, but this game’s simplicity allows her to learn how to think about how to form words from mixed-up letters.

Code Cracker is a math game, where you have to add, subtract, and multiply to unlock the secret code, and obviously, she enjoys that one as well.

The Sifteo Cube system is valued at $129.95, and it comes pre-loaded with four games. And they’ve generously offered to give a set to one of you!

If you would like to enter to win, simply leave a comment on this post. For extra entries, you may do one or all of the following:

Follow Sifteo on Twitter.
Like Sifteo on Facebook.
Like me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter.
Tweet, Facebook, or Blog about this giveaway.

Be sure to leave separate comments for each of your entries! This giveaway will be open until Wednesday, December 19. I will announce the winner Thursday, December 20 on my Giveaway Winners Page.

Good Luck!

Disclosure: I was given a set of Sifteo Cubes to review the product. My opinions are my own.

Virginia, Unedited.

December 12, 2012December 12, 2012 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, I embarrass myself just for your amusement., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Photographical Oddities, Shopping: A Girl's Best Friend

Last weekend, Chris and I flew to Virginia for a friend’s wedding.

(Really, we flew to Virginia to have a date weekend away together, and thanked the friend profusely for providing us the excuse.)

(No really. It was all for the friend. Not at all for us to stay in a beachfront hotel room and eat fancy seafood and TALK LIKE ADULTS all weekend.)

Anyway.

I love flying. LOVE IT. I love the excitement of the airport (including the denim watching opportunities), the SkyMall catalog, and the watching of cities far below. In fact, I usually get mad when flying on cloudy days, because it takes away part of the fun.

But as we were flying somewhere over the clouds of North Carolina, I saw a strange puffy cloud figure walking toward us. You can’t see it in this photo, but trust me – it was the only vertical cloud, standing atop an ocean of horizontal clouds, way off in the horizon.

(If I had edited these photos at all, I would have an arrow pointing to it. But this post is called “unedited” for a reason. So you get what you get.)

It looked like a sky angel as it hovered over the cloudy sea, flying toward us gracefully.

But then it got close enough, and I realized it was just the Michelin Man.

But still. Seeing the Michelin Man atop a mass of clouds HAS to be the sign of a good vacation. Right?

As opposed to seeing this sign when walking into our hotel: perhaps notsomuch a sign of a great vacation.

But it turns out that the Michelin Man was right. We had a fantastic trip, enjoying gift shop oddities,

including gifts that are for a VERY specific clientele, like these wine bottle holders:

For all of the NFL fan, pointy-toed stiletto wearing, porcelain knick-knack collecting wine drinkers in your life.

Also.

We were in Norfolk, who apparently long ago adopted the Mermaid as their city symbol.

It was quite lovely – we saw the same mermaid at the airport, on the street signs, on the roads, on the carpet, in the gift shops, on the restaurants, on the hotels, and even here:

Norfolk: The city that always recycles their Mermaids.

But Norfolk (and Virginia Beach, where we hotelled,) were beautiful. I found it to be the perfect opportunity to play with the new Panorama feature on my iPhone,

again,

and again,

and again.

It’s a fun feature – what can I say? And it was much more fun to capture Virginia’s panoramas than my previous opportunities, which was…a football stadium.

We did a little shopping while we were un-strollered, giving us the opportunity to check out the Virginia fashion scene.

Unfortunately, they seem to have been bitten by the same printed denim bug that Alabama is ailing from – except possibly even worse:

Also unfortunately, The Ugg Era seems to have not quite died, and has only gotten sparklier.

(I hereby apologize to Sparkly Ugg Owners everywhere.)

But there was one store that stuck out the most in our shopping adventures: Love Culture.

They had some fascinating pieces, including these sequined French Hats,

Dangerous-for-hugging vests,

Oh – and would you like a bustier to go under that vest?

The shiny gold and silver snakeskin jeans ALMOST piqued my interest, but I put them down and kept walking.

…only to be accosted by Beetlejuice outfits,

Saved By The Bell meets Debbie Gibson pants,

And Madonna’s 1986 concert tour wardrobe.

Chris and I were highly enjoying our mutual fascination and horror at all of these clothes.

Until.

We came across this section.

A ridiculously large section of red, white, black, white, and HOUNDSTOOTH.

In Virginia. Which is like, what? Four states away from Alabama??

And we’re not talking just any houndstooth.

We’re talking Houndstooth’s super slutty friend.

And Chris was interested.

I’m a supportive wife and all, and I like for my husband’s football dreams to come true. But I was NOT putting those half-shirts on.

So we compromised and I chose two not-quite-as-skanky-but-still-committing-fashion-sins outfits.

Like leggings for pants – just for a minute.

But it was the second outfit he was really excited to see.

Unfortunately for him, the shirt was about 18 inches shorter than I was prepared for, and so I hadn’t picked out an undershirt to go with it.

And there was NO WAY I was walking out of that dressing room with my pillowy, lumpy, blindingly white, twice-sliced-open belly hanging out for all to see.

So I came out like this.

“What’s with the green??”

“It’s the camisole I already had on.”

“Why did you leave it on?”

“Why do you THINK??”

Although he may have still not forgiven me, I bought nothing.

But the next day, we dressed up in normal adult clothes and went to the wedding.

We enjoyed the sunset,

And then we flew home, finally crawling into our own beds after midnight Sunday night.

I headed to pick up the kids the next morning, who were, as expected, not ready to leave Gramamma and Pop’s.

…but were all too excited for a surprise visit to Daddy’s office:

It was time for them to come home, though, because they’d had nearly all of the fun, late nights, and special treats that their little bodies could endure.

And I knew this because for the first time ever, and I do mean EVER ever, I came into Ali’s room at the end of her quiet time to find this:

My kids do NOT fall asleep unexpectedly.

After I nearly panicked and watched to make sure she was breathing, I bent over and realized that she had actually fallen asleep in mid-play.

The Grandparent Effect: It can happen to you.

The Excruciation of Christmas Cards.

December 11, 2012December 11, 2012 Rachel Callahan Blogging: the therapy., I'm a Glutton for Adventure, It's Tough Being a Girl

1. Realize it’s November. And next comes December. Panic.

2. Try to choose a photographer. Too many great ones to make a decision like that. Panic.

3. Try to find a time that works for everyone involved. Curse Daylight Savings Time.

4. OUTFITS. Panic.

5. They must coordinate but not match. Colors! What colors do we look good in?? Panic.

6. Realize that half the family’s chosen outfits are of the summer persuasion and the other half belong to winter. Panic.

7. Try to find sleeves and jackets for an attempt at seasonal coordination. Panic.

8. Day of photos: realize that one’s own shirt isn’t the most flattering. PANIC.

9. Attempt a day-of wardrobe rework. Realize that coordinating four MORE outfits is more difficult than climbing the Cliffs of Insanity with the help of toothpicks. Panic.

10. Dig out shapewear. Hope it covers the evidence of Thanksgiving consumption frivolity. Admit that it probably won’t. Panic.

11. Assess the day. Realize that the day already has so much activity that the chances of the children cooperating for photographs is approximately .0004%. Panic.

12. Tell oneself that no matter what, photos will be over soon, and then The Christmas Card Process will all be downhill from there. Moment of calm.

13. Photo time arrives. Remember that toddler is in a state where getting him to look at the camera and smile at the same time will take an effort equal to that of tracking down seven horcruxes. Panic.

14. Photographer begins. Clearly, he likes children. And children like him. Moment of Calm.

15. Family photos….individual photos…perhaps we can get some of the kids together? They disagree. Panic.

16. Photos over. Shapewear removed. Breathing resumed. Moment of calm.

17. Time to think about the rest of the Christmas Card Process. Panic.

18. Need a return address stamp. Ooh! Cool ones on Etsy!! Oh – WAY to many cool ones to choose just one. Panic.

18b. Crowdsource stamp choice using Pinterest and Twitter. Moment of calm.

19. Photos back. Photos lovely. Time to design the Christmas Card. And pick…just…
one photo??? Or maybe five. Panic.

20. Design Christmas Card. Remember the issue of being gifted with nonexistent design aesthetics. Panic.

21. Send Christmas Card Design to tasteful friend. Receive back recommended edits. Realize one’s horrible abilities in design also means that one has to read recommended edits five times to grasp what to do. Panic.

22. Make recommended edits. Sit back in amazement at tasteful friend’s ability to make it look so much better. Momentary calm.

23. Upload to photo printing site. Which has three margins. Try to understand how to properly position photos. Panic.

24. Pull out last year’s address list. Realize many more people need to be thought of, tracked down, and added. Panic.

25. Have the Eureka moment of how fun it would be to send Christmas Cards to blog friends!! Excitement.

26. Realize that there’s no way of knowing how many blog friends would want Christmas Cards, and that one must make an estimate of how many to order. Panic.

27. Hit the Order Button on the Christmas Cards. And hope it’s all right. With no typos. PANIC.

28. Begin thinking about stamps. And envelopes. And whether the address stamp will make it in time. And ink pads. And whether the cards will make it out before the 25th.
Panic.

29. Realize it’s the middle of December. And three weeks were just spent completely focused on Christmas Cards. And they haven’t even arrived yet. And now there are two children’s birthdays and three Christmas Dinners and parties and present shopping and many other holiday doings looming near and begging for attention. PANIC.

And that’s where I am in the process. How about you?

Now that I’ve completely stressed you out, wanna see some photos?

These were taken by the extraordinarily talented Brian T. Murphy, who currently resides in New York but regularly visits Birmingham.

Noah was the first victim. He started off with a sneer, daring Brian to just try to get him to smile.

But in the meantime, inadvertently posed for some serious shots.

It took one minute flat. And he found his smile.

Ali and I tested out the next location, waiting for the men to catch up.

Ali enjoyed the idea of running and jumping onto the blanket, which resulted in a lot of shots like this,

And a few shots like this.

Then the family photos. I very nearly went with this next photo for our Christmas card because it was so very realistic – Noah is never not in motion.

We tried to get shots of the kids together, but as soon as Ali would reach him, he’d be off again.

There was one – one beautiful photo of the kids cooperating simultaneously.

But Ali can’t be blamed for the low number – she did her best work trying to restrain her brother.

Also, being the older, more responsible child, was more than willing to pose with those who gave her life.

Noah preferred the solitary look.

It ended up being a great experience, one during which I was able to put down my panic for a few minutes to look at least partially calm.

Which is a mighty fleeting feeling during the holiday season.

So. Want some IRL mail?? If you’d like to exchange Christmas Cards this year (or just get one from me if you’re skipping the stress and not sending them), email me your mailing address at graspingforobjectivity@gmail.com. They may arrive just barely before Christmas (or by June if you’re out of the country), but they will go out – my sanity hinges on the successful completion of this process.

I’ve Always Cried Ugly.

December 10, 2012December 9, 2012 Rachel Callahan I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year

{Fair Warning: There will be blood.}

On Thanksgiving Day, we discovered Ali’s first loose tooth.

This was a crucially important family moment, because her nearly two-year-old brother has developmental milestones on a daily basis. But at the age of nearly six, Ali is at somewhat of a developmental plateau, and mightily jealous about her status.

So I was beyond elated about this happening, because it gave me the opportunity to make a ridiculously big deal out of her.

She, too, was pretty thrilled.

Two weeks later, the tooth had taken on a Leaning Tower of Pisa stance, and was clearly hanging on by a single thread of nerve.

Having never pulled a tooth, I wasn’t sure where to begin. So I did what I always do: I searched Amazon for the proper tool.

Tooth Pulling Pliers…surely someone has come up with the perfect gripping yanker.

But no. Amazon had nothing of the sort.

We have Naked Baby Cake Moulds available to us, but Children have had teeth falling out for thousands of years and no one can invent a single tool to help the process out??

(If one of you could hurry up and invent one, it will be more popular than Elf on a Shelf. And WAY more useful.)

So I moved on to Plan B: ask y’all on Facebook.

Plan B never fails.

The immediate consensus was that a napkin provided the best solid grip. I looked up from my phone – there was a napkin, sitting innocently on the coffee table in front of us, as if it already knew of it’s appointment with destiny.

This was my chance.

I asked Ali if she was ready.

“Nooooooo!!”

“But it would be more comfortable…it wouldn’t hurt to eat anymore…”

“Tomorrow!!!”

“Just give me one shot today.”

“Okay…one shot.”

Shocked at her sudden burst of bravery, I quickly grabbed the napkin, reached in, and popped it out.

No wonder there’s no tool – it’s that easy.

But Ali was not as impressed with my dental skills.

Was it cruel to take a photo in the midst of her pain and angst?

Possibly, but I come from a long line of cruel photographers.

…and she comes from a long line of ugly criers.

But she perked up quickly, forgave me a few minutes later, and was ultimately thrilled with her loss.

So, of course, we had to make the rounds of FaceTimes and Skypes to show off her new smile.

When she called Chris, he showed a due amount of Fatherly excitement, then asked,

“So what did Mommy bribe you with?”

“What does bribe mean?”

“Didn’t Mommy promise to give you something if you’d let her pull your tooth?”

“Um, no….”

Later, I thanked him for his confidence in my Motherly Persuasion Skills.

And then there was the matter of The Tooth Fairy.

She still refused to believe that the Tooth Fairy existed.

And despite my own misgivings about lying to my child, I had an inexplicable and seemingly innate need to get her to believe – even if just for a moment.

So I suggested that she put her tooth under her pillow – you know, just in case. An experiment, some might call it. For the good of humanity.

She got excited about being a Fairy Scientist and asked if she could immediately take a nap to see if she would come.

“No, sorry – the Tooth Fairy only works the night shift.”

And then she started bargaining about other facets of the upcoming exchange. She wanted to keep her tooth in one of her many boxes of miscellaneous treasures, where I was confident that it would get lost beneath a piece of cardboard she found on the floor at Target and a “pretty” rock.

So I suggested another idea.

“How about this: why don’t you write the tooth fairy a letter and ask her if you can keep your tooth. But instead of putting it in one of your treasure boxes, we can put it in Daddy’s Body Part Box.”

“Daddy has a Body Part Box?!?”

“Oh yes, your Father has a collection of all of our body parts. He has my foot bone, your’s AND Noah’s rotten withered belly button stumps, hair from your first haircuts, and he even tried to keep my Gall Stones, but the doctor forgot to save them.”

“Oh. Well that sounds like a PERFECT place for my tooth!”

And so, during her afternoon quiet time, she penned this work of literature:

I bet the Tooth Fairy has never gotten a note quite like that.

After Ali’s bedtime, I spent the evening scouring Pinterest and strategizing about my brand new Fairy Role. After giving up the idea of writing a tiny letter and somehow crafting a tiny stamp (thanks, Pinterest, for the inferiority complex,) I finally decided that I would leave her a full-sized note (and money) in response.

Oh yes – The Tooth Fairy did make a typo. On her very first tooth excursion.

When I woke up the next morning, I went in to check on Ali’s belief system.

The note was unfolded and laying on her bed.

“It’s from the Tooth Fairy, but I can’t read it – I think it’s in cursive.”

So I read it to her. Then asked, “What do you think this sparkly stuff is at the end? Do you think it’s pixie dust?”

“No, it’s just Glitter Glue.”

But I could tell – she was storing all of these things in her heart.

And she might just believe – at least for a minute.

Death by Sippy Cups.

December 6, 2012December 5, 2012 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Parent of the Year, Toddlers: The Experience

I have a hate/hate relationship with sippy cups.

Okay – I do love that my kid can take in liquid without creating a cleanup catastrophe worthy of an oil spill relief crew, but I mostly hate them because NO sippy cup manufacturer in the free world seems to know how to make a truly drip-free sippy cup.

I think we can all agree that when it comes to baby products, the only thing worse than The Sippy Cup Stage is The Baby Food Stage.

When Noah came Of Age, I decided to go with Nuby. They were the only soft-tipped sippy cups I could locate in the vast aisles of brightly colored drinking implements, and Noah was having trouble grasping the concept of traversing the great divide between bottle and sippy.

I’d had trouble with Nuby cups leaking when Ali was a baby (but then again I’d had trouble with EVERY brand leaking when Ali was a baby), but Nuby’s packaging screamed throughout the cup aisle all of these flowy exclamations about “new and improved!” and “leak-proof!!”, so I decided to give them a second chance.

But most importantly, they said “Easy to clean with no valves or removable parts!!” and that really sold me. There’s nothing more dreadful than taking apart sippy cups, getting each piece situated carefully in the dishwasher so that none of the sippy organs end their lives sizzling on the heat element, and then reassembling while simultaneously trying to keep one’s toddler from climbing into the dishwasher and chewing on the mechanisms or, if the dishwasher is freshly cleaned (which it never is), sizzling on the heat element himself.

So I bought a few.

Noah finally figured out how to use them, and being that he is quite the heavy drinker, they became the annoying photobomber of every shot I attempted.

They worked okay and didn’t leak, so I showed my consumer confidence by investing more heavily in Nuby product.

(Because I’m a firm believer in the impossibility of having too many sippy cups or jammies – they are the sole controllers of how often you have to wash dishes or do laundry.)

Soon after my second stock up, the first ones began to drip.

Every time Noah turned the cup sideways or upside down (which was always), they’d leave a little trail on the floor.

Drip, drip, drip.

Fortunately, my OCD one year old enjoyed this, feigning horror and screaming, “MESS!!! WET WIPE!!!”, and then, upon being rewarded with the gift of a moist towelette, would laboriously clean his trail.

Unfortunately, the excitement and intrigue of cleaning his own trail only lasted approximately 4.35 days.

And then it was all about ignoring his mess and, when I wasn’t looking, giving the sippy an extra shake or two to enhance his burgeoning trail.

I began to think evil thoughts toward Nuby.

I began to allow myself to dwell in nasty daydreams about Nuby.

And, as my floor took on a permanent sticky sheen, I began to hate Nuby.

But my uncomely hatred created a window for Nuby to hate me back.

As I was unloading a dishwasher full of Nubies, I happened to look at the underside of one of the lids.

Um.

No. No that’s not.

Is that…. mold?!?!?!

I looked closer.

The sippy cup was screaming through a megaphone for the world to hear,

MOTHER OF THE YEAR RIGHT HERE, FOLKS!

Between the rubber lining and the lid (pieces that were not, according to the directions, supposed to be taken apart) – a repulsive, vomit-inducing layer of black mold had taken up residence.

And my precious baby had been spilling drinking from that cup.

I looked in another. And another.

They all had it, in some quantity or another.

Horrified, I figured out how to remove the entire rubber lining, then put them all back through the dishwasher, now completely disassembled.

(Because nothing is worthy of hand washing, including but not limited to delicately knit sweaters, children, sequined garments, my great-great-grandmother’s heirloom tablecloth, or sippy cups with fungal parasites.)

They came out clean, so I reassembled each one with no small amount of difficulty.

But THEN.

The leaking reached new heights.

Now they all let loose a steady waterfall when held at the slightest of angles. The seals were broken (previously held securely in place by fungal friends), and their ever-so-marginal good behavior was a distant memory.

In a fit of uncontainable anger and malice toward Nuby, I rashly bought great quantities of sippy stock in the first alternate sippy cup brand I could find.

And they’re already all leaking.

I hate sippy cups.

Word to My Mother. {An Apology}

December 5, 2012December 4, 2012 Rachel Callahan Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

Dear Mom,

Sometimes I write long and wordy blog posts, taking much care to define things, link to explanations, or otherwise clarify references for those that might not understand.

But most of the time, I go with subtlety, assuming that my reading audience will pick up on my references and find them more amusing if not explained.

The latter, although my preferred method of communication, can often result in relational Confusion and Delay between you and I.

(In case anyone missed it, the “Confusion and Delay” was from Thomas And Friends, or, more specifically, Sir Topham Hatt.)

But this is my fault, not yours.

I am your daughter.

It is my God-given responsibility to ensure that you are informed on the latest pop culture trends. You should know that Ke$ha is spelled with a dollar sign, that the actress who plays Lady Grantham on Downton Abbey is also in a rock band, that Princess Kate is pregnant, and that Lady Gaga might or might not be a man.

And if you don’t, then I’m clearly failing you in an unforgivable way.

So I shouldn’t have laughed at you when you asked in reference to yesterday’s post, “What does ‘Ice, Ice Baby’ mean?”

I shouldn’t have looked at you with the expression of bizarre fascination similar to the countenance of a small child at the zoo upon seeing a brightly colored Baboon Butt for the first time when you followed up with, “Is it a song lyric or something?”

I shouldn’t have scoffed at that question. After all, you always told me that no question is stupid – only not asking is stupid.

(Okay, maybe you didn’t say that. But someone did.)

Nevertheless, it was wrong. And I’m sorry.

I also shouldn’t have laughed at your attempted defense of, “Your Father didn’t know what it meant, either.”

And I shouldn’t have snorted when you turned to my 85 year old Grandmother and defensively asked her, “Do you know what it means?”

It was wrong. And I’m sorry.

Also.

I probably shouldn’t have shared this astounding bit of news on my Facebook page, therefore giving my readers the opportunity to make more fantastic references that you will likely never understand.

And finally, I probably shouldn’t have made my apology public.

So I’m sorry for this post, too.

I’ll make it all up to you by buying you this vintage collectible for Christmas:

Be sure to check out the hook while the DJ revolves it.

Sincerely,

Your Very Repentant Daughter

The Moral of This Post Is: She who teaches her daughter to write may one day get written about.

Waxing Poetics.

December 4, 2012December 3, 2012 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm No Videographer, Kids: The Experience., Toddlers: The Experience

Micropoetry, from Ali:

Hey Mom!

I killed something so you could see it.

Look! A Yellow Ladybug! Isn’t she so pretty?

I killed her because she was running away and I wanted you to see her.

I think she was scared of me.

Micropoetry, from Noah:

…And yes, I do realize that I may need to have a talk with him about plagiarism.

Alabama Fashion Report: 2012.

December 3, 2012December 2, 2013 Rachel Callahan Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, Gameday Fashion, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Photographical Oddities

You might have noticed that Alabama has won a lot of football games over the past few years.

In fact, as of last Saturday night, they will, yet again, be in the National Championship.

From what I’ve heard, there are some people, somewhere out there (cue Fievel), that do not like this development. Some people that grow tired of Alabama playing in this game, time after time (cue Cyndi).

And that’s okay.

As a football wife, I understand “tired.”

But I’m sure that those people are none of you.

So with that in mind, I am here, with the plethora of photos I took at Alabama Games this year, to help you prepare your wardrobe for January the seventh, on which date I am confident that you will be cheering for my husband’s* beloved team.

And you won’t be in bad company – many, many new fans have joined the Tide Ranks during this new era of winning.

Hello Kitty, for one, is now an Alabama fan.

Also? God.

…Because it’s not at all presumptive, disturbing, and otherwise completely sacrilegious to screenprint a HOUNDSTOOTH CROSS.

Mickey and Minnie have come around to the ways of the Elephant,

As well as Taiwanese Farmers that happen to reside in Alabama.

So now that we’ve established the prevalence and therefore legitimacy of your newly appointed fandom, here are some options for you.

Accessories are the building blocks of your outfit.

So let’s start with a purse. Houndstooth flowers are the perfect way to show your blooming team spirit. For appropriate proportions, your flower should be approximately 78% of the size of your head.

This should not be hard to measure, because it is a completely foregone assumption that you will have a hat. A Houndstooth Hat. A Bedazzled Houndstooth Hat.

Your other option is a nice crochet, also available in – you guessed it, houndstooth.

And of course your children will need proper BBTTH’s**.

Boots are expected.

You can go with the 2012 Standard Issue Sorority Girl Boot,

But the Standard Issue changes quite frequently, and as such will only last you for one season.

(For example, note the 2010 Standard Issue Sorority Girl Boot.)

So instead, I recommend that you choose something more classic. More timeless. More loyal to your team.

If you don’t wear boots, the consequences are grave.

You will be tied down, blindfolded, gagged, and involuntarily issued a real Alabama Tattoo.

So we’ve got your accessories covered. Let’s move onto pants.

Which, as opposed to your accessories, are completely optional.

But if you do choose to wear pants, definitely go with something printed or embroidered.

And never forget: the more rotating team symbols you can get embroidered onto your butt, the more expensive it looks.

When it comes to shirts and dresses, you should always strive to match your friends.

Because there’s nothing that shows team solidarity than grown women in identical clothing.

It’s guaranteed to make the players play better.

Really.

Let’s move on to prints.

Houndstooth, of course, is the standard print.

But your loyalty can’t be really proven unless you pair your Houndstooth with Houndstooth.

If you want to be different, try Chevron (the New Houndstooth),

Othello,

Bucket,

Or Spandex. Because when worn tight enough, it’s absolutely a print.

No outfit is complete without the proper vehicle.

One hot item is a motorized, custom-painted Alabama Tricycle. Best when paired with a Crimson Roll-Hawk atop your head.

If you don’t have enough room in your fancy Alabama car for your friends, you can always add on.

And of course you can’t go wrong with classics,

Slightly newer classics,

classic wannabes,

or motorized football helmets.

Clown Cars, when painted well, will also compliment your outfit nicely.

If you have a pet, you will need to be prepared to increase your accessories budget.

As well as your tattoo budget.

But if all of your wardrobe intentions fail, then by all means just show up in your Snuggie and you’ll be fine.

* My husband is not Nick Saban. Nor is he AJ McCarron or Mal Moore or Bear Bryant. But those facts do not get in the way of his passionate ownership of his team.

** Bows Bigger Than Their Heads.