Rowan: The 2011 highlights reel

Given her recent promotion to Age 3, now seemed like an appropriate time to release Rowan's 2011 highlights reel.

People say the two's are terrible but, Rowan, you make 'em look good.

On The Big Oh-Three and regifting

Yesterday we broke out the cupcakes and our best chocolate milk in celebration of Rowan's third birthday.   It was a festive occasion marked by a trip to library, lunch and ice cream at our favorite restaurant, homemade Elmo cupcakes, the receipt of a small Rapunzel Tower (which packed as much excitement as the big one we got for my dad's birthday), and a 45-minute tantrum sandwiched somewhere between all that.

Just to remind us all that she is not mellowing with age.

2008: The Original Birthday

2009

2010

2011

The small Rapunzel Tower was actually a regift of sorts, originally purchased for my dad's birthday back when my mom thought he surely would be open to receiving a more economical Rapunzel Tower if only he knew such a thing existed. 

Surely he was not.

(And for all of you who thought I was joking when I told you that my dad wanted the Rapunzel Tower for his birthday, I kidded you not.)

My mom explained that, apparently, it's the equivalent of asking for an Escalade and being given a Mini Cooper with the justification that they're both vehicles.

Which is how the modest-sized tower came to be thrown to the back of the closet and forgotten juuuuuust long enough to exceed Target's 90-day return policy.  So when Rowan's birthday -- which this year fell five days after her birthday party and two days into the start of Chanukah -- came around, my mom figured the little tower would be an acceptable (albeit modest and unrequested) gift. Only fitting for a time of year in which the glut of presents seems to make it  impossible for a preschooler to keep straight what they've gotten, who it's been from and what it's been for.

At least she's hoping that theory holds to be true, given that after much begging on my part for Santa to stop at our house this year, The Big Guy's decided to swipe a gift from our Chanukah pile to leave us by the fireplace on Christmas morning.

More pics from the 2011 celebration:

 

 

  

 

Pondering marriage

Although I have yet to turn five, over the past year or so I've received somewhat informal marriage proposals from two of my preschool colleagues. Which is perhaps why, as I stood at the bathroom sink on Sunday night brushing my teeth, my thoughts randomly turned to marriage.

In a voice that sounded concerned and deeply contemplative, I said, "But I'm not exactly sure who I'm going to marry."

My mom assured me that I have a LOT of time to figure it all out, to which I responded, "But I can't marry Daddy, right?"

She told me I could not and asked me if I knew why I couldn't marry Daddy.  To which I promptly responded, "Yes."

"Because he's old."

A tale of six monkeys

Rowan and her sidekick Monkey have a love that runs deep, dating back practically to her birth, which will be three years ago this Thursday.  At around the age of one, when crib luxuries like blankets and stuffed animals were no longer prohibited, Monkey became (and remains to this day) a sleep-time staple and constant school-time companion.

Even though he wasn't officially enrolled, Monkey was permitted to be a part of last year's class photo.

Around the time Monkey became the official sidekick, Mom quietly purchased a body double, who hid out quietly in the closet for those times when Monkey's whereabouts were unaccounted for.  And because you can never be TOO prepared, at some point, Monkey's body double got a body double, and the original Monkey became indiscernible from the others, but for emergency surgery in which a portion  of his head needed to be reattached to his body for reasons we can only assume were related to a little too much lovin'. And before long, all three monkeys were on active duty.

Then last month, tragedy befell our house when a) one monkey went off the grid for an extended period of time, and b) another monkey was assaulted with a pen at Rowan's school.  While the perpetrator was clearly an adult skilled at drawing monkey nostrils, the investigation never produced any solid leads.  But the two unfortunate events led to the decision to recruit even more monkeys to our household, so Grandma sent a triple pack. 

And while the Department of Common Sense sent a memo to my mom strongly suggesting that these new monkeys be put aside for an emergency, the joy of seeing Rowan's eyes the size of saucers at the sight of so many monkeys prevailed.

Rowan's response upon unwrapping a triple pack of monkeys: "It's too many monkeys!!"

For days after the receipt of three new monkeys, Rowan toted around one monkey in a Moses basket and the Box-O-Monkeys.

The resurfacing of Missing Monkey a few days later meant six monkeys on active duty. 

And so when it came time to select a theme for Rowan's Third Birthday, it seemed only too obvious:

In lieu of generic streamers and balloons, we decorated the party with a much more personal approach -- movie posters featuring Rowan and an unidentified member of the Monkey Pack. 

 

Nothing like sharing your birthday with a good friend.  Happy Third Birthdays, Rowan and Original Monkey.  Whichever one you are.

Holdout

So the good thing about having a dad who's still a kid at heart is that you tend to get a lot of really great toys.  The bad thing is that sometimes my dad thinks the toys are too great to actually hand over.

My mom says that one day when I'm older I should ask him about The Grape Ape piggy bank he bought "me" when I was a kid.  And then maybe he'll take it down from his closet and let me have a look at it.

The great skate

Last weekend, seven months of skating lessons culminated in my debut performance in the annual holiday skating show.  My family thought I did an outstanding job, and my teacher must have agreed because yesterday I was promoted to the next level in skating school!

 

Rock on

Last weekend Rowan and her BFF rocked out at their first concert together.  Sadly, their coolness quotient was significantly lowered by the fact that their moms drove them there and stayed the whole time.

Embarrassing.

You can stand under my umbrella

For a couple of months, I have been begging for an umbrella.  But living in The Windy City, my mom's not a believer in the institution.  So luckily when we happened upon a single Hello Kitty umbrella in a boutique shoe store a couple weeks ago, Dad was present to override reason.

Despite his overruling, the fact remains that 1 umbrella + 2 two kids is an unsolvable equation.  But a short spurt of sisterly togetherness helped us enjoy our find for at least a couple minutes.

Feel my pain

Rowan learned this weekend that sometimes empathy is the best medicine when Dad's ability to share in her pain suddenly cured her of the ill effects of walking into the coffee table.

No biggie

For the first nine months or so, Rowan was an easy-going kid.  A go-with-the-flow kind of gal.  'Round about the time that crawling and the subsequent steps of independence came into the picture, she began to be a bit more demanding in regards to where she was, who she was with and what she was or wasn't doing (depending on whether she did or didn't want to be doing it).

And although my mom constantly feels like she won the offspring lottery with both us, she admits from time to time that she didn't realize what an EASY kid I really was until the one who responds to ultimatums with non-action and a smug grin came along.

And so it has been my mom's expectation that the arrival of a baby in this house will not go unnoticed on Rowan's part.  She's prepared herself for a little friction with a side of regression.  She was not, however, prepared for it to start four months before BG3 (Baby G. III) even moves in.

And maybe it IS BG3 and maybe it isn't, but for whatever reason, Rowan has decided quite firmly in the last week or so that she does not care to get any bigger than she is right now.  This week (in the second of two similar exchanges) when Mom asked her if she wanted to take ice skating lessons next year when she's a big kid, she promptly responded, "No."

When my mom asked her why, she replied, "Because I wanna stay wittle."

Which I suppose will make her third birthday next month kind of a bummer in her book.  Hopefully nothing a little cake can't fix.

Falling back into the blog

My silence on the blog can only be attributed to the fact that my favorite season is currently in full swing.

The arrival of shorter days and Halloween lawn decor signaled the long-anticipated return of the Flashlight Walks, a tradition started last year with my dad.  After dark, we take to the sidewalks with our flashlights to enjoy the lights and giant inflatables.  This year, Rowan was old enough to come along, too.  And the fact that the first flashlight walk of the year coincided with the purchase of Black-Tie Strawberry Shortcake attire made for a tremendous photo opp.

And on Monday, we enjoyed the ultimate flashlight walk: Trick or Treating!  Rowan decided before we left the house that the walking portion of this tradition was not for her, and so she opted to sit in her stroller the entire time and send me door-to-door as her agent.  I dutifully collected candy and deposited it into her bucket at each house. 

It's kind of a pointless exercise, given that moments after we arrive home my parents dump our loot in the trash as soon as our heads are turned and replace it with leftover candy from our own house.  Cause apparently inspecting Halloween candy is a taxing process they'd rather not undertake.  Pretty sure this is the last year I'm gonna allow them to get away with it.

And although I've never openly acknowledged their trickery, I think Rowan caught wind of the protocol and therefore covertly opened and consumed a chocolate kiss before she even got her shoes off.

My mom marveled at her selection of perhaps the most easily tampered-with confection in the history of Halloween candy.

For the record, it's four days later and she's a-ok.

All about Jillian

Too small and illiterate to pen my autobiography, I have to rely on this fill-in-the-blanks format to tell the world (or at least my class) about the life I lead.  And next week in my class it really WILL be All About Jillian!

A week of sharing my favorite toys, games and food kicks off Monday with the release of my "All About Jillian" poster.  It's gonna be HUGE.

And to anybody who comments that my mom's penmanship isn't significantly better than my own, I'm supposed to ask when the last time was that YOU tried to write anything of significance with a fat crayon.

Cause to celebrate

Last week, my Nannie celebrated a big milestone birthday.  And her timing was perfect because Rowan and I hit a very important milestone, as well.

Although it may be hard to believe, I was born a pro at going out to eat.  For the first four or five months of my life, my parents would throw me in the baby carrier and head out to eat, and generally regardless of the venue or hour, I would patiently/quietly sit/sleep.

Then we hit a rough patch that lasted approximately 57 months.  A period of time in which we have become one with take-out because the concept of entertaining me and/or Rowan long enough to order, eat and pay left my parents with not much of an appetite.

On a whim last weekend, my parents took us out to lunch, and guess what.  It wasn't terrible.  WE weren't terrible. 

And so the milestone celebration with Nannie last week was kind of twofold.  Our newfound ability to sit like civilized people at the table, make conversation and even (*gasp*) eat what we ordered was not lost on anyone.

And the gigantic arrangement of fruit-on-a-stick certainly didn't hurt our cause.

With three or four trips to restaurants under our belts in the last week or so, we are on a mission to cram in as many public dining experiences as we can before life hits the old reset button with a new member of our family who will probably care not for buttered noodles and napkin-wrapped utensils. 

Enjoy the break, our beloved take-out menus.  We'll be back before you know it.

Don't quit your day job

Although I try to avoid using my blog as a platform for braggary and general showoffiness (words that do not, in fact, exist but make you marvel at the fact that my vocabulary truly knows no bounds), I cannot share the details of this posting without making it clear that Rowan and I are politically connected. 

It's true.

Earlier this year my cousin Aschley got a new job working for The Government.  While we have no idea exactly what her job is, we do know that it entitles her to rent out the White House bowling alley.  What else could we possibly EVER need to know about this job?  It is quite clearly The Greatest Job in the World.

Some people visit DC to tour great historical landmarks, monuments and buildings.  When we go one day it will be to visit the gutters!  And while the arrival of our baby bro or sister has surely pushed back the anticipated date of our visit, Aschley refused to leave us empty handed in the interim.  Not too difficult when the organization that employs you has a GIFT SHOP!  (As if the bowling alley wasn't enough!)

So several weeks ago a box arrived on our doorstep containing official White House baseballs. One for me, one for Rowan, and one for my dad. We were quickly educated about the fact that some balls are not suitable for throwing indoors OR outdoors. Confusing.

And because Aschley assumed that our little unborn friend cares not for baseballs (regardless of whether they can or cannot actually be thrown), he/she received a White House onesie.

But it turns out there were even MORE perks to this job, because The Government sent Aschley to China just so she could send us this postcard:

 

 

And while the excitement we experience in receiving mail is likely equivalent to the excitement the average person would experience bowling at the White House, we still remain focused on making it there one day.  In the meantime, don't quit your day job, Aschley.

No, seriously. Don't quit your day job.

Working it out

In light of the basement lower-level renovations, our home gym has been temporarily relocated to a small corner of the family room.  While inconvenient for actually working out (there's only room for two pieces of equipment), it's presented me and Rowan with more opportunities to squeeze in some quality cardio with Dad.

Saturday we fought over whose turn it was to ride the giraffe bike first.  About three minutes into my ride, I started to suggest that perhaps it was Rowan's turn.  When my mom said that Rowan needed two more minutes to finish her breakfast, I pedaled a bit longer before suggesting again -- this time a bit more insistently -- that it was, in fact, Rowan's turn. When my mom responded again that Rowan was not yet done with breakfast, I finally admitted that I was tired and needed to get off.

Turns out even in a gym no bigger than a corner, it's still kinda embarrassing to quit out of exhaustion only four minutes into your workout.  A big thanks to my mom for botching my graceful exit.

In the meantime, with the project at its midway point, thought I'd give you an update on the NEW gym.  And, of course (and more importantly!) the new playroom.

My mom says there's still one more month of work to be done before the new playroom is officially open for business, but Rowan and I are simple people.  I think all we really need to warm up the space is a nice area rug.

And maybe a broom.

Playroom 

Gym Entrance (west side) 

Gym (north side)

Gym/Wet Bar (south side)

Gym (east side)

Guest Room/Office

Bathroom

Trendsetter

In much the same way that some people wear sunglasses indoors or sweatbands when they're not exercising, Rowan is making it cool to wear rain gear any day of the week.

Rowan says weather forecasts are for ninnies. She dresses for the unexpected.

And me and the new Strawberry doll are still tight.  Here we
are getting ready to go to school together.  Again.