The Easter Squirrel That Found Us

Easter Sunday. 

Kids running around, baskets in hand, hunting down eggs like their lives depended on it. When I look over to my husband and said "The kids said they see a squirrel." So I said "Okay leave it alone kids." Then our daughter says to me "Why can daddy hold it then?" I turned around and couldn't believe my eyes. Then I hear it...the inevitable discussion about how this flea-infested baby squirrel was coming home with us.😧

Here is the link to the last post about the squirrel/ animals. I figured I should tell you how she came into the picture.➡️https://navigatinglifewithruthie.blogspot.com/2025/04/turns-out-im-not-italian-but-honestly.html

I knew it. I just knew my husband wouldn’t be able to leave her behind. He might not look or act like it at times but he's a sucker for animals, especially baby animals.

So here we are. At home, with the baby squirrel. My husband gives her a D.E.(diatomaceous earth) dust bath, and just like that, no more fleas. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love animals. But let’s not forget that he works a lot, which means every pet somehow becomes my responsibility. And now, I’m forced to bond with this ridiculously adorable little squirrel.

 The next morning, she rode with me in my fanny pack, with a small piece of soft fleece fabric, while I brought the kids to school. She needed to stay warm from my body heat since it was such a cold morning. She even made a store run with me for puppy formula, which is what she needed (according to reddit), and electrolytes. She needed strength, and somehow, I had become her lifeline.

The name? Still undecided. Every day, I call her something different and then immediately change my mind. Hazel? Nope...too close to Diesel (our dog, who absolutely freaked out every time I said it). Munchkin, Peanut, Suzie (since she was found in Aunty Sue's yard). Nothing sticks.

After a few days, she was strong enough to run and climb, so we tried something. We let her climb a tree in the backyard, thinking maybe she’d want freedom. Maybe she’d run off. Nope. My husband stepped back, barely a foot, and she cried like an actual baby squirrel screech, then bolted straight down the tree after him.

I've never seen anything like it.

Now, while we can’t let her roam the house freely (thanks to four cats and a dog who love to investigate), she gets outside time daily and has her own cage when we’re not home. Oh, and she’s even made it onto TikTok.

So here’s the real question....what should we name her? Because at this point, she’s here to stay.

Turns Out, I’m Not Italian. But Honestly, That’s the Least of My Chaos...

 

Intro

Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about family, it’s that nothing ever goes the way you think it will.

For years, I confidently believed I was Italian. The traditions, the food, the slightly dramatic hand gestures. 🤌Then one day, I found out my mom was adopted, and BAM!! I was not Italian anymore. 

Turns out, identity is weird.

Turns out, family is even weirder.

I didn’t meet my dad until I was 25, so growing up, I never had the full picture of where I came from. And honestly? I’m still figuring it out.

But Forget Identity.....Let’s Talk About Survival Mode

At 31, I’m a stay-at-home mom managing two kids, full-time caregiving for my grandfather-in-law, and a husband who can’t resist adding to our household zoo—leaving me in charge of an ever-expanding parade of pets.

I swear, every time I turn around, there’s a new creature added to the family. He works full-time to provide for us, which means while he’s off being a responsible adult, I’m over here wrangling kids and feeding a small zoo.

At this point, I’ve accepted my fate. I am not just a mom. I am an unpaid caregiver, short-order cook, and now, a reluctant zookeeper.

Some days, I’m crushing it like a superhero. Other days, I’m sitting in my car, on the verge of tears, because the chicken’s still frozen, and dinner has officially become a mystery.

Caregiving teaches you patience (sometimes). It teaches you adaptability (always). It teaches you that love doesn’t look like fancy speeches. It looks like constant appointment reminders, making sure meds are given, and figuring out why the dog is suddenly limping,  why the cat started puking this week, or wondering if the newest addition (baby squirrel) will survive, oh and why there is a bat in my cats mouth, INSIDE THE HOUSE!

New "Rehabber"

BAT- that was safely released

It’s messy, exhausting, and deeply meaningful.

So, What Do I Do With All This?

I started writing.

I write about the traditions I’m holding onto. The ones that actually matter. I write about the ones I’ve let go of because, honestly, some of them were just stressful for no reason. I write about parenting, marriage, family, and the absolutely unhinged rollercoaster that is adulthood.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that family isn’t about who you came from, it’s about who shows up.

That’s the legacy I’m building. The one my kids will carry forward, the one that proves love isn’t about labels, heritage, or perfection. It’s about showing up, in whatever form that takes.

So, welcome to my corner of the internet, where I overshare, embrace the chaos, and attempt to keep my household functioning while living among a growing number of furry, feathered, and (probably someday) scaly housemates.