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… a vocabularly lesson might go like this:

Parent: Can you say kitty? Kitty!
Kid: Kitteh!
Parent: That’s right! Good girl!

We have a different sort of discussion here at Jillian’s house.

Jillian[pointing at the TV]: Whut dat?

Me: Morrissey. Can you say Morrissey?

Jillian: Morrr… eee?

Me: That’s right! Morrissey! Oh, look - now there’s Bono. Can you say Bono?

Jillian: Bahhh noh?

Me: Good girl! Okay, this one is a little harder. This is Siouxie Sioux. Can you say Siouxie?

Jillian: Mumma!

Me: Er, not quite.

Lost starts up again tonight! As much as I would love to think that I am above TV-watching, I have to admit that I am not. I even watch American Idol. But Lost is the one thing that I will kill people for interrupting, so let’s not call my house while it’s on, ‘kay?

I am angry at chocolate. I need to figure out what the hell is wrong with the chocolate sponge cake I want to make into a jelly roll and why it’s too dry and WON’T ROLL. It breaks. I can’t figure out why. Working on it, though.

My child is currently on a serious waffle kick. She will eat waffles for every meal of every day if I will let her. I’m thinking about getting a waffle iron so I can at least put fruits and vegetables into the batter. However, I know that as soon as I buy or otherwise acquire a waffle iron, she won’t eat waffles anymore. SHE IS NUTS.

My father is currently not speaking to my mother. Apparently, he got pissy about something and decided to sleep in his recliner. This was two weeks ago. He’s still there, according to the email that I got yesterday. Even for our family’s standards, this is taking it a bit far, I think. I’m going to have to call him and ask him what’s up so he can launch into a litany of petty complaints about my mom. Then I’ll have to tell him that he’s acting like a dick and should really stop.

I love the fact that I can talk to my parents this way.

What else… what else…

Freddie starts his new job at his old company on Monday. He felt like he had gone as far as he could go with his current job, and as he started looking for something new, he contacted his former boss for advice and was offered a job pretty much instantly. Sweet. I think it will be a good opportunity for him, even with his trepidation about going back to his old company. We’re going to spend the weekend going through his wardrobe and shopping for clothes to add to it. He’s been able to wear jeans for the last two years, so his suit & tie collection suffered immensely.

I have to paint my living room. It’s really starting to wear on me. Unfortunately, the previous owners did the worst painting job I have ever seen and now I have to paint the damn ceiling, too. The ceiling would need to be painted ANYWAY, but I might have been able to get away with not doing it just now if they hadn’t gotten shit-brown paint roller marks all over it. Fuckers. I hate them.

I keep going back and forth about painting the trim or not. It’s white, and needs to be painted anyway since when it was installed, they didn’t fill in the nail holes and there are hundreds of wee little black specks everywhere. Of all the crazy crap in this house, that pisses me off the most. So it does need to be painted, but I don’t know if I want to paint it white or if I want to do something a little more dramatic. Decisions, decisions.

I suppose the trim color can be decided once I decide what color to paint the walls. I can’t seem to make a decision about this and it’s driving me nuts.

In other Jillian news, she is finally starting to grow some hair. You can’t see the outline of her skull anymore, so that’s a nice change. People have stopped asking me what my son’s name is. Of course, it helps that her winter coat looks like we killed a gay Muppet to make it, but even in the summer when she’s dressed in pink and frills and stuff, people ask me what “his” name is. Teehee.

Whew. I need a nap. I’m battling the beginnings of a cold and I really really don’t want it to escalate because instead of being inches from death for a few days with a quick recovery, I tend to be utterly miserable for months. Between Alka-Seltzer Plus (cherry flavor) and yoga, I feel pretty good today. I have hope.

Speaking of hope, didja see the trade the Mets did? DIDJA?

Whenever we go to playdates at one particular house, Jillian gets a hold of the Magna Doodle and only lets it go after a fierce struggle.

I never paid much attention to that until the other day when we were having Drawing Time (read: Eating The Crayons Time) and then the proverbial lightbulb went off over my head. Damn near singed my hair.

So today, when we were at Target for the eighth time this week because I am utterly incapable of making any kind of comprehensive list of stuff that I need, I decided to buy her one. Just the little travel size, so she can carry it around.

WHY didn’t I do this sooner? She has been happily doodling for the last hour instead of crashing into the pointy edges of the dining room table and/or asking me for snack. Or Jack.

This is the best toy ever. Today, anyway.

And really, anything that keeps her from messing with that godforsaken TMX Elmo is fine by me. I’ll gladly let her play with razor blades and a blowtorch if she keeps ignoring Elmo.

I promised myself I wouldn’t do it.

I didn’t think I would.

But it’s done now, and there’s no going back.

My toddler is planted in front of the TV.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.

After breakfast, we watch Sesame Street for an hour (during which time Jillian bops around the house and does 32 other things at the same time). Then we turn off the TV and we usually go for a walk or to the park or to a playdate or run errands. We’re busy people.

Sometimes, if the weather is icky or we just don’t have anything to do, we’ll watch Arthur, too, since it comes on after The Street. That’s all right because I dig the theme song for Arthur.

But then the TV goes off.

Unfortunately, a monster has been born.

We have been DVR’ing episodes of Jack’s Big Music Show because duh - music + puppets = genius. It’s a really cute show with lots of singing and musical instruments and songs and goofing around and stuff. Jillian loves it.

I mean, she LOOOOOOOOOVES it. And with her ever-growing Toddler Vocabulary, she is learning how to request demand it.

Yikes.

She will point at the darkened TV. “Jack?” At first it’s a question.
“No,” I tell her. “Later.”
She gestures again to the blank screen. “Jaaack?”
“Not right now, sweetie. Later.”
We go back and forth like this for a little bit, then it becomes a demand.
“AAAACKKK!!!” We tend to lose the ‘J’ when we’re mad.
“FINE.” And away we go.

She then spends the next 20 or so minutes clapping her hands and dancing around as only a combination of my and Freddie’s genetic material can. As soon as it’s over, she smiles at me with all her teeth. “Mo? Peesh?”

How can I resist that?

It could be worse. It could be Barney.

I use to think Dooce was exaggerating her tales of what her daughter must have in her bed in order to sleep.

Now, I’m pretty sure she’s telling the straight-up truth.

Today Jillian napped in her crib with the following things:

Yes, dried apples. She loves these things, but refuses to eat them. Instead, she carries the bag around with her throughout the day, occasionally passing by wherever I am to point at it and annouce “Aaaaah po!”

Yes, Jillian, apples. Perhaps you’d like to eat one?

She’s in that … stage … that all toddlers go through where she will eat only a few things. And for Miss Jillian, those things are beige things. Cheerios, Teddy Grahams, pears, waffles, pancakes, wheat bread, turkey, chicken… beige things. Beige? She certainly doesn’t get that from MY side of the family.

She does eat broccoli, on occasion.

This alarms me only minimally, since I know she’ll get past it someday. After all, my brother even eats sushi these days and he grew up on Cap’n Crunch, Nestle Quik, plain hamburgers, and various potato forms. So there’s hope for Jill.

Contrary to what some of you may wish, I am not dead.

I am not terribly busy, either, so I really have no excuse as to why I’m not writing here these days. I think I’m just being lazy, as I am wont to do come January.

We could talk about stuff, if you want. You know, we haven’t talked about my boobs in AGES, so why don’t we start there? After years and years of being more or less flat-chested, I am now sporting a 38 D rack. Fifteen years ago, this would have been great news. Now? NOT SO MUCH.

I am trying trying trying to get on some kind of running schedule. I have a treadmill in my basement, along with my iPod and basic cable hooked to the TV down there, so the only thing stopping me is… me.

I did get on the treadmill today, which was a nice change. I wouldn’t call what I do “running” per se… it’s more like “hoping I do not die in my funky basement.” I suffer from exercise-induced asthma, which sucks, but will be easier to manage as I get into better shape. IF I get into better shape.

I am, at heart, lazy. No duh.

It helps that I am the proud owner of a very wacky toddler. We spend a great deal of our day dancing around the house. If it’s not too cold, we go walking around the neighborhood. So I do get some exercise, but it’s not enough to make a dent in my fatty fatness. Thus the treadmill.

Tomorrow night, I start yoga, which will be nice. I like doing yoga, but suck at doing it myself because I can never tell if I’m holding the poses correctly. Taking a class tends to be a bit on the spendy side, but this one is offered through the county parks system and is cheapy cheap.
And it will probably suck, but doing something is better than doing nothing.

As for why I’m not writing - there is little to write about. It’s winter and the days are short. There is a remarkable lack of DRAMA! in my life. While that is a great and fantastic thing, it does not make for much blog fodder.

And I can only talk about how fascinating my child is for so long before people start to get even MORE bored than usual………

See?

I had a lovely post written out on the subject of forgiveness, and how I don’t do enough of it so that’s one of my New Year’s Resolutions this year. To forgive. Others and myself.

But then, something happened that is sorely testing me.

Over the past weekend, the cemetary where Freddie’s uncle, grandparents, and great-grandparents are buried was heavily vandalized. I cannot even bring myself to link to any of the news reports because seeing the aerial footage is so disturbing.

In a nutshell, the vandals knocked over 499 gravestones.

Four.

Hundred.

Ninety-Nine.

I know this isn’t the first time the cemetary has been vandalized, nor will it be the last (God knows), but the magnitude of it is shocking.

We don’t belong to the synagogue that the cemetary belongs to, but Freddie’s family belonged there for many, many years. Freddie spent the better part of yesterday evening on the phone with the temple and his family, trying to make sure everyone was aware of it. The synagogue told us to email them the names of the family members who are there and they would try to get some information to us as soon as they can.

I hope a lot of the stones are able to be repaired. Someone I know whose father works in the granite industry said that stones can be repaired with epoxy and the cracks will not be terribly noticeable. Some of the stones were really a mess, though, and will probably have to be replaced.

The police are classifying this as “criminal mischief” and not a hate crime. How is it NOT a hate crime, I wonder? Because they didn’t spray swastikas on everything after knocking it all down? Is that what kept it from crossing that line? I… don’t get it.

I really hope they find whoever did this, but I’m sure they won’t get much more than a slap on the wrist. What a shame. I feel bad for their parents.

Which brings me back to forgiveness. Is something like this forgivable? I can pity the perpetrators and hope that they get whatever help they so obviously need, but forgive? I just don’t know if that’s possible.