Archive for December, 2006
-image-Leaving 06
As we close out 2006, Jojo asked me to share with you some of his latest accomplishments… the ones I haven’t had time to brag about what with the holidays and just being a bad selfish mommy.
Yes, Jojo flies. What, your toddler doesn’t? Hmmph. Well, I’m sure he/she will someday.
So here goes. The list may not be comprehensive, but I’m positive you will be awed by his many talents and just how much the little pooper has grown.
Jojo points! Mostly at the refrigerator or bananas. Bananas on tv. Bananas in stories. If there are bananas, somewhere nearby lurks my son, pointing and then…whining and slapping at his mouth to indicate “shove those bananas in my mouth NOW NOW NOW!” He loves bananas so much, in fact, that he will attempt to eat the banana through its bitter skin.
Jojo can also walk backwards (and seems so proud of himself for doing so).
He also dances. His repetoire includes three distinct steps: the Circle Turn, the Bounce and the White Tornado. Ok, maybe not that fierce move (I realize I only linked you to the script from this BRILLIANT SNL skit, but shockingly, I could not find it on YouTube. This needs to be on YouTube. Steve Buscemi + mullet + White Tornado = Pee Yourself. In fact, please add “buy & wear Depends Undergarments” to that equation.), but Jojo also does The Right-Footed Stomp. Video footage exists; however, our uploading skills do not.
Besides pushing any and everything (seriously, he gets really pissy when he can’t push something, like, say my parked Corolla) in his path, Jojo also enjoys stacking, pulling and destructing (anything mommy builds). The kid moves constantly. No rest for the destructive.
When he’s tired, Jojo collects his binkies from around the house and stands by the stairs. Today, I’d somehow forgotten that he’d awakened a wee earlier than usual (4:44 to be exact. Not good.) so he’d need to nap sooner. Since mommy was tuned out, Jojo collected the binkies, came over to where I was parked on the couch (I know, I know), and put his head on my knee. OH the heartbreak. He slept for 3 hours. Except for last night, he’s now an excellent sleeper– going down without a peep at 7:30 and waking up anywhere from 6-7 am.
And the binkies? Lately, he’s been depositing them in this festering stankhole. Good times. 
Although we cannot really understand a word he says, Jojo does “talk” a lot. Especially when I pull the plug out of his mouth, which I do unless he’s getting ready for bed. He also gives fabulous kisses. Sometimes the excitement of kissing his awesome mom is too much and he bites me, but I think it must be genetic, as I like to bite Mr. Squirrel sometimes. Not in that way, just in a DAMN you’re so cute and delicious way.
And it’s not just me and his dad that he showers affection on. When he saw his cousin (who is 3 months older) at Christmas, he squealed with delight while running open arms to her. Sounds cute until she Heisman’d him. Not to be deterred, Jojo tried several more times to give some lovin’, and eventually his winning smile and sparkly eyes scored him a sweet hug. But the camera wasn’t working, so you’ll just have to believe me.
Let’s see…what else. I know there’s so much more that I’m missing — some of it boring (molars), some funny and some just so damn endearing that you’ll melt. Anyway, they’ll be plenty more changes and developments in 2007, and I can’t wait to share them with you.
Thanks for your friendship and support this year. Stay tuned for a new project I’m working on with another blogger…
I’m not a big “fan” of NYRE, so excuse me while I head to bed wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday and all day today. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish you a happy frappy New Year’s! So there! Yippeee. Hear the drummer get wicked, people.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
11:06 am |
-image-Christmas 2006 — A Recap (Part 2 of that’s about it)
We spent a lot more time in my parents’ basement this Christmas than any I can pull from my quickly rotting memory. More room for Jojo and his cousin to run free and push around several push/riding toys my mom scored from various garage sales and kind people.
But what do the adults do in the boring basement while the toddlers toddle and such…well, PING PONG of course. And sweet baby J do I suck at ping pong. Ok, I wasn’t THAT bad. I did beat my dad, after all, although he might have switched to play with his left hand. My brother wouldn’t even play me, though. I mean, I could rally for shit’s sake. He was just regressing to childhood turd-dom, I swear. Fine.
But my mom? She schooled me. She schooled Mr. Squirrel. She owned that table. I didn’t see her play my dad, and that may have been a close match. “Well, what do you expect? I played every day during lunch in junior high.”
Oh that’s right. I was THERE, so I should have remembered…back in the days when they called middle school “junior high” and I wasn’t alive.
Apparently skills such as ping pong dominance stick with you like riding a bike. Her way with the paddle reminded me way too much of this total nerdling from college who founded the Ping Pong club and carried his own personal paddles (yes, plural) and balls in a carrying case. But I digress. I should really be supportive of her success at this sport; and just think of the veritable boon of ideas for Christmas 2007 (embossed carrying case! ping pong attire! personalized balls!).
But what else amused us in the basement? Ooooh well, I should have seen this coming.
My parents’ basement houses two cedar-lined chests (I think some people call them hope chests). We don’t. They’re just the big ass chests in the basement which house some of our family’s heirlooms. And by heirlooms I do indeed mean old crap my mom can’t seem to throw away. All right, I’ll cut her some slack (but not much, because seriously, she showed NO mercy on the court…table, whatever), I’m glad she’s kept things like :
Of ALL the things from my childhood, you chose THIS?
Yes. It’s a head/sweatband. And I’m fairly certain the unfortunate and unattractive manner in which I’ve chosen to model it is the exact way I wore it in the early 80s. In public. Although I probably had either the Annie perm or 80s bangs to go with the hideous accessory. In case you can’t see it quite clearly enough, this grey, twisted sweatshirt material formed into an 80s headband made its way into our “hope chest.”
Pair this with these sexy frames from my middle/high school days and you have one HOTT Mrs. Squirrel. Instead of spending days lamenting not having a boyfriend, why didn’t I just friggin get a CLUE? As for my hottness, please don’t email naked pictures of yourselves to me. I can barely fend off my husband when wearing this one-two sextacular punch: 
I realize this is an extremely frightening way to end your 2006. My apologies.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
3:58 pm |
-image-Christmas 2006 — A Recap (Part One of Many)
I really thought I would have posted more during our trip to see my family. Several events conspired against me, however, so the one time I did post, I left out oh so much. But it’s not too late, right?
The Trip Home
And by “home” I mean, “where HollowSquirrel was born. Where her parents still live. Where embarrassment still reigns supreme.”
Last Friday morning at 3:30 am, Mr. Squirrel and I reluctantly woke up, showered and packed the car for the quick drive to the airport to catch the ungodly 6:10 flight to Detroit. We agreed to wake Jojo at 4:15, dress him up in something cute and comfortable, strap him in, then gogogo, hopefully lulling him back to sleep for an extra 20 minutes before assaulting his senses with the holiday hubbub at the airport.
Totally on track and about ready to pat ourselves on the back, I heard the firm and still-attempting-to-remain-in-control Mr. Squirrel announce, as he’s retreating from the stairwell back to Jojo’s room, “we’re starting over! we’re starting over!”
Vomit. Copious amounts. All over Mr. Squirrel, Jojo and our stairs. And then all over mommy.
He hadn’t ralphed for almost 2 days, so we were thrown for a loop. A smelly and chunky loop at that. My suggestions to cancel the flight were met with the evil eye. We all changed our clothing and resumed the trip, as if nothing had happened.
Once at the airport, everything got back on track. Mr. Squirrel grabbed some grub at McDonald’s, and I bought way too much food at a coffee shop to share with Jojo. We ran into a family from Lamaze class; the wife and daughter who I used to walk/talk with until we both were overcome with scheduling conflicts and their move to another village.
Jojo seemed fine– just tired. We settled into our bulkhead seats, nestled various beverages between our feet and/or thighs, cuddling Jojo between us. Still at the jetway, we decided (because we’re *bright*) to feed Jojo some yogurt. Two bites later, Mr. Squirrel cupped fresh vomit in his hands, and I turned into a statue. A wide-eyed, completely useless statue of inaction. A sharp plea from Mr. Squirrel awakened me from my stupor, and I jogged through first class to beg the flight attendant for some napkins as “my baby just spit up…” (’spit up’ being a slight euphemism).
With the vomit rubbed in to our clothing and off our hands, the Vomit Family (as we should hence be called) flew the rest of the way to Detroit sans incident. Well, I guess that depends. Do you call a case of heinous gas an incident? I mean, the plane didn’t have to make an emergency landing in our case, but hot DAMN Jojo, he set the bar high on noxious butt fumes. Mr. Squirrel Vomit and I played our favorite game of “That MUST be a dump– your turn! Oh DAMN, no HotPocket this time? Crap!” The boy just shot stank the rest of the flight. And then we landed.
Crabby McStickUpThyAss
Mr. Squirrel awoke the day after we arrived with a sharp stick up his bum. We blame my parents’ guest room bed. While it appears inviting and comfortable, this DOUBLE (not a queen, a friggin DOUBLE) mattress and its ridiculously high pillows generate aching and funked out backs and cricked necks (which, for me, parlay into migraines.). Fortunately, Mr. Squirrel’s dark and ugly moods rarely occur, what with him usually exhibiting unbounding patience and that annoying thing…what’s it called? Oh yes, optimism. So when he DOES get crabby, it’s extreme. Or should I say Xtreme.
It was on this day, back in oh, last Saturday, when he felt the need to finish his holiday shopping with my father. Two men who hate shopping (one who is routinely grouchy, the other in an unusual foul mood) set out…without my husband’s wallet. So, thirty minutes later, they return to get the wallet. Because my husband, in his uber-crabby stage will not let my father pay for his purchases. I don’t get it. Suck it up. Let him pay. Pay him back. Done. But no.
So off they go AGAIN. And even though Mr. Squirrel’s stick pricked and poked him throughout the excursion, he wanted to and indeed purchased well over our $50 gift limit because “you’ve been SO good this year!” ?? People, he like threefolded our $50 gift limit.
But then I realized why exactly he bestowed so many gifts on me. NOT because I was “SO good.” Oh no, the splurge eased his guilt. What guilt? The guilt of TELLING MY FATHER THAT I HAVE A BLOG AND THEN REALIZING DUH DOUBLE DUH DUH THAT I DON’T WANT MY PARENTS KNOWING I HAVE A BLOG.
I know. You’re as shocked as I am at this blatant betrayal. Mr. Squirrel feigned surprise that my parents didn’t know, and I did not feign pissedoffedness. We’ll see where all of this leads, but my dad made no mention to me about my blog, so that’s a good sign.
Stocking Stuffers & The Best Picture EVER (or at least until later today)
I’m fairly certain these glasses, purchased by my father, found their way into my stocking back in the late 90s. My dad prides himself on silly stocking gifts (and lotto tickets– this year, I hauled in $11…but then forgot to turn them in. Nertz!) such as a tiny brown bulldog-shaped toy gun that yaps instead of shoots, the trucker cap donning a ratty black ponytail, pooping pig keychains, and Mr. Magoo glasses:
All that money on stocking stuffers could instead be spent on…hmmm…let’s see, perhaps a new tv for the basement. One that doesn’t need several strips of duct tape.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
7:27 am |
-image-It’s Tuesday, isn’t it?
I don’t know. I’m so far off my normal schedule– I have no idea what day it is. The lack of correctly set clocks in my parents house (either at all or that are set nowhere near the actual time here) AND the lack of snow on the ground just throws me off. Something strange is afoot in the City K. But, well, people tell me it’s Tuesday.
5 things I am grateful for:
1. this bloggity blog and the blogging friends I’ve made. I note this in particular on this date because it’s my blogiversary! A year ago today I typed up a little post-Christmas bitter rant and boy did it feeel good to vent.
2. No such rant exists this year, and for that I’m grateful. In fact, I do believe I only need to return one item for Jojo because of the sizing. Perhaps this is also due to our collective decision not to exchange gifts within Mr. Squirrel’s family.
3. I’m grateful that I showered, blew out my hair AND applied makeup before heading out this morning, as we ran into two people from high school and were introduced to several of my mom’s acquaintances.
4. My sweet ass husband’s gift of a brand. new. blog. design! If you have any awesome designers to recommend, please leave the info in the comment section.
5. That I’m able to forgive my brother for being a mean jackass growing up & actually enjoy spending time with him and his family. Although seriously dude, please stop listening to Sirius Radio 80’s Hair Band music while we’re there. For the love. Because THAT, is unforgiveable.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
12:45 pm |
-image-Jojo
wishes you a Merry Christmas. Unless you don’t celebrate Christmas, then he says “Happy Monday!”
He’s feeling much better and enjoyed the day, but not because of the presents or anything really holiday related. The boy LOVES his cousin– screeching with joy and running to hug her. She’s repeatedly given him the stiff-arm, but Jojo remains undeterred.
Tomorrow, for the first time in years, my mom and I will venture out in the early a.m. to lock down some post-holiday bargains. December 26 also marks my one year blogginversary. What a year it’s been.
We here at HollowSquirrel hope you had a wonderful holiday (or day off from work, at least) with family & friends.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
7:39 pm |
-image-Totally NOT in the spirit of the holidays
You know how sometimes you keep your real feelings about a person deep inside of you because you don’t want to be seen as rude? Someone rubs you the wrong way, but they’re in your life now for the duration, so you try to make the best of the situation?
You try to step into her shoes and see the world from her point of view. You send nice emails to include her in your life and make excuses for her when you get nothing in response. You give chance after chance, and you receive nothing back, not even acknowledgement that you are at least making an effort in a delicate situation.
You’re offended on more than one occasion. And then something happens that leaves you outraged, hurt and confused. When you tell people to gauge their reaction (maybe I’m overreacting?), your initial reaction is confirmed– friends and family are in shocked disbelief that someone could be so thoughtless, insensitive and downright cruel.
And yet, you again put it in her perspective and attempt to be the bigger person. “Well, they were under a lot of stress. Maybe she didn’t mean to…”
And then something else happens… another slight that could be totally explained and excused away if it weren’t like the fifth time that I’m making excuses for you. In light of your history, the blinders are off. That was a total underhanded, shitty slight that SORRY… I’m not letting you explain away should you EVER cop to being the fucking bitch that you are. If did try to, which you wouldn’t, I’d have to finally take a deep breath, tilt my head, lower my chin and bellow buuuulllllllllSHIT!
I’m done. My hands are wiped. I’m sick of being the bigger person. My arm aches from extending the olive branch right in your face yet you pretend not to see.
I don’t like you. I don’t like you. I don’t like you, and honestly, if I never see you again, it will be too soon.
Goodbye.
I feel so much better now.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
8:16 am |
-image-Grateful Wednesday…
because yesterday just didn’t work for us. I did start a Grateful Tuesday post, I truly did. And I even thought up several things I was thankful for, despite the seven bouts of vomiting, four loads of laundry, two rotovirus-stank diaper blowouts and desperate attempts to entertain and distract my child from begging for food and drink that he would just return to sender. Not that I starved him, but I stood my ground and let his tummy rest for a good hour after his last upheaval before allowing him 5 ccs of Pedialyte every 10 minutes. Whew. Glad that’s over with.
Because really,
1. I’m grateful that Jojo shines, smiles and laughs, seconds after upchucking 
regurgitated bananas on himself and mommy. After the fourth eruption, some tears were shed, but they quickly dried up with a simple game of spin the stacking rings.
2. I’m grateful to work part-time and still have more than half of the week to spend watching my son grow, learn and enjoy life. We play games now, like point and name: Point to the big Christmas tree. Laugh when mommy says “Big Christmas tree.” Swing chubby arm to point at little Christmas tree. Laugh when mommy says “Little Christmas tree.” Repeat.
3. I’m grateful that Jojo naps long enough for me to do laundry, blog and take a shower. Because seriously, these should not substitute for a shower two days in a row. Some may even argue one day. Those people should zip it. Ok, so these aren’t the exact product I’m using…I’m not a friggin moron who uses insect repellent towelettes as a shower substitute. I think mine are “refresher” towelettes…apparently SO POPULAR they no longer sell them.
4. I’m grateful Mr. Squirrel returns home tonight. We miss him.
5. I’m grateful that Mr. Squirrel’s brother did not marry his ex-fiance. It’s really good for everyone, especially her girlfriend, but for me? I don’t have to feel bad about chucking the throw she bought us a few holidays back because the damn thing sheds like the hairest, sheddingist chenille dog in the universe…and washing it because it’s covered in vomit? Um. Yeah. Didn’t think that one through because holy disgustingness, guess who was unclogging the downstairs skanky tub with her bare fingers because the sheddings created furballs of clogginess causing overflow and disgusting skankness of the cloggy variety. I need a thesaurus. And after two washings, I chucked everything except the blanket (which went wet into the trash) into the dryer, thereby creating the Worlds Largest Lint Ball…seriously. The size of Newborn Jojo. I took a picture and will post it 2 weeks from now when you’ve all forgotten this forgettable tale. And now, while attempting to fold the now dry laundry, and after inhaling a cloud of finer lint shedding particles from said (evil) throw/blanket that were left to haunt us on the rest of the laundry, I’m heading downstairs to throw this load into the wash again, hopefully remove the remaining lint. Because CHRIST.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
6:34 am |
-image-barfarama
The stomach bug has infiltrated our home. Two of us have spent the morning either covered in barf or changing in and out of clothing.
The other? Left for a work trip after starting a load of stinky pinto bean vomit covered laundry.
Gooood times. Anyone know how long these bugs last? Please tell me we’ll be able to fly on Friday.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
4:37 am |
-image-Jojo Shoe Revue
If you have a baby, I will buy the baby these. I can’t help it. It’s a sickness. I heart Robeez. They make the perfect baby gift AND serve as the perfect shoe for tiny, developing feet. Robeez also offers adorable clothing now, too. I’m screwed. Don’t tell Mr. Squirrel.
My friend, Terri, mother of FOUR girls (within 5 years, I believe) sent Jojo his first pair (thank you again, Terri!!)
followed closely by a frog pair (gift from family…and they’re no longer offered. sad.) that looked similar in coloring to this pair (which Jojo now wears since the frog pair is too small):
Jojo rotates the dinosaur pair with the ones below, depending on outfit coloring. My question to you, reader: what is that on the shoe below? It’s obvious, you state. They’re _______. I ask because here’s a conversation between my mother and me when she visited last month.
My mom: Put on his little chick shoes.
Me: what?
My mom: the ones with the chicks on them.
Me: uh, they’re not chicks, mom. They’re helicopters.
My mom: Oh, yeah, I was wondering where their heads were.
Yeaaahhh. It’s not their head I’m worried about.
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
2:25 pm |
-image-I must not have heard you…
because I KNOW you did not just say that you gave away my favorite childhood albums. Dad? Right? What?
My dad actually LAUGHED when I expressed outrage and incredulity at his thoughtless actions. “Why would you want them?” Um. BECAUSE THEY ARE AWESOME AND MINE.
Like this TOTAL GEM:
Mind you, not having the album won’t prevent me from belting out “Dumb Dog” whenver the mood strikes.
And THIS ONE:
ok, in truth, I wasn’t so sad to hear he got rid of this one when he revealed that I had written a bunch of embarrassing things on the jacket like “Hollow Squirrel is a pro!” in that hideous 4th grade valleygirlesque bubbly handwriting. Thankfully, he Sharpied out my name. And “pro what?” you ask? I think we meant it as pro-fessional. I know. So incredibly embarrassing.
But really? This one?: 
Hello? Cute little tiger. Normal-ish looking Michael Jackson. THRILLER. Dad. THRILLER. The album. What were you THINKING?
And this. For shame, Dad! How could you? Ok, so the Captain & Tennille record was mom’s, but had I known you were going to sell ALL OF OUR RECORDS for a paltry $12.50 (“oh your records? I just gave them to the guy. He really only wanted the Johnny Cash and Sinatra albums.”) I would have lovingly packed them in my luggage last time I visited.
Anyone know where I can score some coal for my Dad’s stocking?
Posted by Mrs. Squirrel @
9:04 am |
