Posts Tagged ‘kids’

11 Aug

There was a point in my life when I thought my mom literally had eyes in the back of her head

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Other. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Did your mom ever use the ol’ trick of telling you she had eyes in the back of her head to keep you from misbehaving when you were a kid? Well, mine did, and let me tell you, it’s probably the reason I’m not behind bars today.

Because I was super gullible, and like, 4, when she first pulled this on me, I took her warning literally, and was absolutely terrified I would accidentally catch a glimpse of this extra set of peepers while she was brushing her hair or something.

I imagined I’d be walking past the bathroom, minding my own business. All of a sudden, her hair would part a certain way, and … AHHHHHH! There they’d be: The Back Eyes. Staring me down, just daring me to do something they would see and could tattle to the Front Eyes about.

Eyes

(Image)

Of course, my imagination didn’t stop there. What if she actually had, like, 8 or 10 or 12 eyes back there, like some kind of weird hybrid spider head?!? And some of them looked like those eyes that are actually mouths??

I decided I should probably behave, because maybe if I did, The Back Eyes would no longer serve a purpose, so they’d shrivel up and disappear, their very existence no longer plaguing me.

Luckily, I wised up a few years months later and realized my mother didn’t literally have eyes in the back of her head, just some weird sixth sense moms have that alert them to even the most minor transgressions their children commit. At least, I haven’t accidentally discovered concrete evidence otherwise. Yet.

12 May

Squirrel Tips: The only cure for hiccups you’ll ever need

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Rants/Tips. Tagged: , , , , , , , .

I have decided to embark on a new series here on Squirrel Thoughts in which I share some quirky tips that will undoubtedly improve all your lives by at least three-fold.

(I’m going with that measurement because I’m not entirely sure what “three-fold” means, and I figure it’s probably pretty hard to measure life improvement by it, so no one can blame me later if my tips don’t work for them. This should head off any angry commenters saying their lives only improved by one- or two-fold, at most.)

(Also, I’ve only come up with two tips so far, so this series might only run once a decade.)

So here it is, my first Squirrel Tip … The Cure for Hiccups that Never Fails: peanut butter.

Peanut butter

Yep. Next time you have the hiccups and are within arm’s reach of a jar of peanut butter, just scoop out a big ol’ spoonful and eat it. Simple as that. Your hiccups will be gone momentarily.

Crazy, right? All this time, you’ve been holding your breath until you passed out or balancing upside-down on a chair while sipping water through a corrugated straw to try to rid yourself of those pesky hiccups. Well, your days of looking absolutely ridiculous are over!*

*In this scenario. I can’t help you with the rest of your life. I’m not a miracle-worker, folks.

 

My mom used this remedy on my brother and me when we were kids. Lucky us, huh? Can you think of a more delicious medicine than peanut butter? Sure beats Children’s Tylenol, aka that Nasty Grape-Flavored Chalk Crap. Anytime I got the hiccups, I’d get all giddy and run toward the kitchen, grab a spoon and a chair because I am was still too short to reach anything in the cupboard otherwise, and get me a big ol’ spoonful of the good stuff. I fantasized about discovering a way to purposely cause the hiccups, because being a grubby little ragamuffin eating spoonfuls of peanut butter is pretty much as good as it gets. That’s living the dream right there, kids.

Anyway, because of this, I grew up assuming this cure was common knowledge. But whenever I mention it to someone currently afflicted by the little annoyance, they look at me like I’ve grown a second nose. And if you Google “cure for hiccups,” you’ll get all sorts of nonsensical remedies in the results, but peanut butter rarely pops up.

Well, search no more, loyal Squirrel Thoughts readers! Now all you have to do is keep a jar of peanut butter in your purse or wallet at all times, and the The Cure for Hiccups that Never Fails will always be within reach. Hic-hic-hooray!

This badger clearly has the hiccups. Why else would he be eating peanut butter?

This badger clearly has the hiccups. Why else would he be eating peanut butter?

Images: Wikimedia Commons

19 Feb

In which I school a small child at my beginners’ ski lesson. Kind of.

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me. Tagged: , , , , , , , , .

When you've forgotten how to ski, they start you off with the wee ones.

When you’ve forgotten how to ski, they start you off with the wee ones.

Sometimes, I’m a bad Montanan and forget to go skiing for 15 years. Which is mostly my loss, because it’s one of the few ways to actually enjoy the five-month-long mini Ice Age known as “winter” here.

So, for the first time since an eighth-grade field trip, I decided to unforget how to downhill ski one weekend and took a beginners’ lesson up at the local mountain. I assumed the other people in my lesson would be first-timers — kiddos, mainly — and I planned to totally school these pint-size fools on how to pizza and french-fry.

Skiing basics, courtesy of this site. Which probably got it somewhere else.

Skiing basics, courtesy of this site. Which probably got it somewhere else.

I got to my lesson though, and it was just some punk-kid instructor, “Landon,” and Zoe, a 7-year-old girl who had apparently been abandoned by the rest of her family so she could learn how to ski while they gallivanted across the mountain.

Now, I’d like to say I schooled Zoe in our lesson. But after “Landon” had trouble hiding his frustration and impatience with her as she struggled to master the basics after our first run, which prompted her to start crying because she missed her mommy … well, that would just seem kind of mean.

Things started out all right. I was pizza-ing and french fry-ing like a pro in no time. Zoe did fine on the bunny hill, and we went up on the lift after just two practice runs.

This is when Zoe fell apart. Her french fries led to speed she just couldn’t handle. Speed she just couldn’t handle led to falling. Falling led her to point her skis down the mountain instead of across it. Pointing her skis down the mountain instead of across it led to her to slide down it instead of pushing herself up. Sliding down the mountain instead of pushing herself up led to her scarf falling off and her coat coming unzipped, which I helped her reassemble after it became clear “Landon” wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it.

(I use quotes not because that wasn’t his real name — it was — but to help convey the appropriate amount of disdain you should feel for  him. It’s not that he was mean to her on purpose, per say; more that his tone was better suited for one of his brahs than a first-timer tyke.)

We got to the end of the run, and it was clear “Landon” was not particularly impressed with either of us, and was downright fed up with Zoe and her pizza-french fry issues. So we decided to take a break in the lodge to warm up. We sat down, and I tried to make conversation with Zoe to help her feel more comfortable. (“Hey, want to see a picture of MY BUNNY?!” — my go-to conversation starter with every child I encounter).

This is the point when she burst into tears (which I hope doesn’t reflect poorly on me or Pancake). I ran over to her side of the table, asking what was wrong. She missed her mom, who was God-knows-where on the mountain. Luckily, shortly after she started to cry, an adult she knew (I think) came by and consoled her. “Landon” took this as a cue to head back up on the lift, and that was the last we saw of Zoe on the slopes.

(Moments later, it occurred to me that I may have just let Zoe get kidnapped by a sexual predator. Don’t worry though! I saw her with her family as we were leaving the mountain, and she looked happy as a clam and had apparently moved on from any lingering abandonment issues.)

(It just now occurred to me that the man from earlier could have been some sort of weirdo cult leader who led Zoe away to join him and his cult brethren in the woods, and she’s probably performing  some bizarre marmot-sacrifice ritual as I type. Zoe’s family, if you’re reading this: I’m really sorry about the cult thing. I should have seen that coming.)

So, yeah … considering she started crying for her mom and may or may not be sacrificing a marmot in the woods right now, it seems a bit harsh to say I “schooled” Zoe at beginners’ skiing. But I since I didn’t start crying for my mommy, I think it’s fair to say I had the better time.

Sadly, Zoe could have used this info, "Landon."

Sadly, Zoe could have used this info, “Landon.”

12 Jan

My triumphant return to Apples to Apples!

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Apples to Apples

I don’t play Apples to Apples often. Whenever Zach and I go to a get-together involving party games, I have to warn the host that if we play it, my husband will literally flip the f*ck out.

This weekend, I went over to some friends’ house for sushi and games, sans-Zach. Of course, one of the first options everyone wanted to play was Apples to Apples, because it’s America’s favorite party game, and what kind of psycho doesn’t like it, anyway?

It’s a damn shame I don’t get to play it more often, because I’m awesome at it. I can use my Jedi mind-trickery to persuade just about anyone to pick just about any combination, no matter how absurd. Even though I was a bit rusty, my green cards quickly piled up, and I was declared the victor. Everyone found this quite touching because of the aforementioned psycho-husband-fun-hater thing.

OK. So it was Apples to Apples Junior. Up to a third of my competitors may or may not have been adorable children.

And it’s possible that at one point, I tricked convinced an 8-year-old girl that she should pick “horrific surprise party.” Because what if you don’t really like surprises and you went to a surprise party and the surprise gave you a heart attack and you DIED? Horrific, indeed.

But I also convinced a grown-ass man to pick “quick hamburger,” which really required me to ramp up my persuasion prowess. It was between that and “horse,” the more logical option, clearly. But if you order one of the most popular options at a McDonald’s drive-thru, what are you going to get? That’s right: a quick hamburger. Booya.

And then I just got damn lucky with my winning card. My friends’ 9-year-old son drew “best” for the green card, and the stars aligned, as I had “Legos” in my hand. I admit, I was sweating bullets as he weighed my card against “bacon.”

I quietly celebrated my victory with an inconspicuous  fist pump and subtle “YESSSSSSSS!” Everyone was truly happy for me.

The 8-year-old, whose four green cards also had her on the verge of victory, seemed only mildly disappointed. I’m pretty sure she didn’t cry herself to sleep. Pretty sure.

24 Apr

Easter egg hunts = humanity at its worst

Posted by Allison | Squirrel Thoughts in Funny Things That Happen To Me, Life and Such, Politics/Society/Seriouser Stuff, Rants/Tips, Squirrels/bunnies/mascots. Tagged: , , , , , , , , .

Probably because you pushed him down, you little shit.

“I’m gonna push people out of the way and run over them.”

That’s what a 5-year-old at the egg hunt I planned said to a newspaper reporter yesterday. Apparently, these are the sorts of values I’m instilling in our young people by putting on this event.

I mean, I’m not really into the whole Jesus thing, but I’m pretty sure “pushing people out of the way” and “running them over” weren’t what he had in mind when he sacrificed himself for the good of  the order, or whatever.

And it’s not just the kids who have this mindset at the Eggstravaganza. Many of the parents aren’t afraid to block or push other kids out of the way just so their offspring have a better shot at getting some crappy Easter stickers and diabetes-inducing candy (and, some years, inappropriate tattoos). And apparently, before I took the helm, organizers would put the bike-winning coupons in special gold and silver eggs easily distinguishable from the rest of the field, and — I swear I’m not making this up — some parents would bring binoculars so they could spot these special eggs beforehand and tell their kid where to run.

Simply put, mass Easter egg hunts bring out the worst in humanity.

As you can imagine, this incites some conflicting feelings for me. On the one hand, I’m indoctrinating America’s future with the values of greed and selfishness. On the other hand, it pays the bills. (And hey, at least a convicted sex offender wasn’t arrested at MY egg hunt …)

Fortunately, yesterday’s event was the last that will cause this crisis of conscience plaguing my mind. That’s right, I have  a new job! Well, sort of. One of my co-workers is retiring, and I’m transitioning into her strictly writing/editing position that involves only minimal participation in events. We’ll hire someone else to replace me, and I’ll transfer this crisis onto that poor unsuspecting soul.

I hope whoever that is has the best Easter of their life this year, because it’s going to be a long, loooooong time before they enjoy it again.

Newer Entries »