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.

Beggars can't be chosen

Rowan and I are big fans of Shrek -- Rowan slightly more so than me.  (Only she calls it "Krek" because everybody's too polite to correct her.)

On the DVD menu for Shrek 2, Donkey jumps across a line up of all the fairytale creatures saying, "Ooh, ooh, pick me!  Pick me!"

Last weekend, as the menu screen came on, I turned to Rowan and said knowingly, "That doesn't work, right, Rowan?  They never call on you."

Or so I've heard.