Message in a bottle

This morning we went to the backyard to open messages in sand-and-seashell-filled bottles that arrived in the mail for us.

They sat unannounced in the corner of the kitchen while my mom searched for the motivation to go upstairs and retrieve the good camera in order to document their opening in a way that didn't require you to squint and cover one eye.  Apparently, motivation can be a tricky thing to find, cause the searching lasted almost two weeks.

Luckily for all parties involved, it was a cheerful greeting from my Yaya and Papa's trip to Florida and not a request for rescue.

America IS Great (the photographic evidence)

America IS Great (Part II)

Tuesday my dad and I headed to Gurnee for the epic annual outing that is Great America.  We started the party early with a 10:30 am drop-off and went full force straight through to 7:30 pm.

In an effort to waste not a moment of our time at the park, my dad studied the height and weight requirements of each ride prior to our visit to determine which ones they would let me on.  And to further maximize our time, my dad got us Flash Passes -- or Budge Passes, as we called them, since they let you budge past everyone in line.  Which is why I ran up the aisle to each ride yelling, "Budge!  Budge!  Budge!"  Which you would think would get old really fast, but surprisingly does not.

And you know what else doesn't get old too fast?

The Demon.  My new and absolute most favorite ride at Great America.

And before you ask (cause EVERYBODY asked on Tuesday), I am tall enough, heavy enough and juuuuuuuust crazy enough to ride the Demon.

More than 20 times.

As my dad's head started to throb after the fifth time time through, he quietly cursed the Budge Pass (not to mention that other upgrade he bought that let us stay on the ride for two cycles without getting off) and encouraged me to take a whirl around in a tea cup.

Alone.

Which I did. Shortly before making a mad dash back to the Demon.

For the record, I did take a break from my new beloved ride just long enough to check out The Dark Knight (on which I established the rule: No lights, no Jillian), take a few passes down Logger's Run (and some other rides), pose with a few of my friends and eat the world's only $15 chicken tender meal served in a plastic basket.

The only thing that could have made this year's visit more incredible?  Maybe a heavier breakfast and an extra 5 inches.

(My mom hasn't uploaded the pics and video yet, but for now, I'll leave you with these choice shots of The Demon.)

Bumpy ride

Not to make your accomplishments from last week seem insignificant, but I rode a turtle.

Bareback.

Tie, dye and goodbye

I've got good news, and I've got bad news. 

So, the bad news is that my confidante in matters pertaining to biting, hitting, scratching and all other frowned-upon forms of social interaction moved away.  To Indiana.  

The news prompted a deep and important discussion with my mom about what it is to move.  I filed it all away carefully into my 4-year-old mind before marching into school and informing everybody who would listen that I was moving to Florida. 

Now onto the good news.  Right before she left, Miss Megan treated me to the raffle prize I won last winter at the Purim carnival -- a date of tie-dying and cookie eating.  Because these were activities best enjoyed in warm weather, Miss Megan gave me a certificate earlier in the year that I squirreled away in my treasure box.  And three whole months later, I pulled it out and proudly presented it. 

And as if tie-dying and cookie consumption was not enough of a sell, Miss Megan made it a Cubs-themed date, including a cookie from my favorite bakery. 

I'm not saying that it's because she reads the blog, but she reads the blog.  Amen!

Now that she's gone, I've got a couple shirts, 15 pictures and two years of wonderful memories to remind me of her.  Oh, and the rumor that she'll be back one day to visit me. 

And not because I've bitten anybody on the face.  Not that I'm saying that that ever happened. 

Tree climber

A study recently came out revealing all kinds of depressing statistics about how kids don't play outside like they used to.  Among the findings was the fact that only 1 in 5 kids has climbed a tree.

In an attempt to keep alive the traditions of the olden days (i.e., when my mom was a kid), I took to the trees a few weeks ago when my Grandma and Poppy came to visit.

 

 

Rowan explored her options, but instead opted to climb the tree vicariously through me.  Which I'm pretty sure only 1 in 10 kids has done. 

 

And here's the rest of what we were up to (or at least some of it!) when Poppy and Grandma slept over.

 

 

  

  

 

Working it out

Yesterday morning I hit the gym with my dad.  For those of you wanting to know the secret to really seeing results from your workouts, here it is:

A trainer that really pushes you.

I mean literally.

Playing nice

Despite being at kind of a dicey age for appreciating the fine art of sharing and taking turns, Rowan and I do a pretty respectable job.  Sure, sometimes we squabble, but lately my mom's been encouraging us to try to work out these arguments on our own by using our words, and most of the time we're successful.

And in those moments -- those times when we decide to give in and give up a toy we're really enjoying for the happiness of our sister, or maybe a friend, my mom feels like surely she must be doing a few things right.

Like today, when we were playing down the street at our friend Maddie's house.  Rowan was sitting in the car Maddie wanted to use, and when my mom asked her to give Maddie a turn, not only did Rowan immediately vacate the car, she even helped Maddie get in and close the door.

When Rowan was ready for another turn a few minutes later, Maddie happily complied.

And just as my mom finished remarking to Maddie's mom about what a great job the girls were doing with sharing, Rowan sat down in the car, turned to Maddie and shouted in her most dramatic voice, "Don't bother me, AGAIN!"

And in that moment, my mom felt like surely she must be doing a few things slightly wrong.

Hand, Foot and Mouth

During my slightly-more-than-brief hiatus from the blog, Rowan spent several days at home with Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease.  For those of you who have never heard of it, it seems to me to be a condition in which your hands, feet and mouth are incapable of remaining dormant.  (WebMD mentions something about contagious blisters, too, but they're kind of a secondary symptom.)

This condition would explain why on Day One, Rowan came home "sick" from school in the morning, promptly threw on the Rapunzel ballgown and Cubs hat and skipped in circles around the family room, alternating between kissing my mom's knees and singing a song she penned right then in her own head about a pirate princess. 

This went on for about an hour.

Day Two, all the busyness entailed in staying home "sick" from school caught up with her, and Rowan fell asleep in her high chair after lunch.  And refused to be moved.

Fifteen minutes of this neck-straining discomfort accounted for the only naptime Rowan consented to take in three days.

Day Three involved an outing to a doctor's waiting room, where for a little more than an hour, everybody that came and went had the opportunity to appreciate the outfit that my dad Rowan dressed herself in, including an Elmo track jacket that fit appropriately maybe 9 months ago, and a pair of hot pink Hello Kitty socks carefully coordinated with her metallic gold sandals.

While her outfit may have been a bit "loud," Rowan thankfully was not.  In the past few weeks, she has mastered the fine art of waiting quietly.  A very underrated toddler milestone, according to my mom.

By the time Day Four rolled around, my mom was quite relieved to take Rowan's hand, feet and mouth back to school. If for no other reason than the finish on our wood floors (and perhaps my mom's patience for hyperactive toddler) was starting to wear a bit thin.