The Hauer Family

Look at me. I can hold my head up like a champ. Don’t worry, I’m not interested in rolling over yet. Taking my time. It’s kind of my MO.

It’s been an amazing summer *off*. After a few (okay, six) weeks of harsh adjustment of having two kids (who am I?), I found it quite enjoyable to be home. I enjoyed my maternity leave with Jack, don’t get me wrong, but I was too concerned with schedules, which side I nursed on last, germs, cloth diapering etc. to “do” anything other than run to Target or my mother’s house. So this time, I am pleasantly surprised at my semi-relaxed state — I was practically fearless; nursing in the lobby of Tire Discounters or a bench at the zoo, leaving the house without all of the “just-in-case” items.

Granted, Jack was only home on Mondays and Fridays, so I won’t declare that I’m a stay-at-home mom rockstar. For the record, you don’t really stay-at-home. In fact, it is the last place you want to be; unless you like your house wrecked.

Your days get filled ridiculously fast.

Between Violet’s schedule and attempting a nap anywhere from 1-4p for Jack, there are a few precious hours to do “what you want”. And, somehow it becomes a toss-up between lunch with a friend and a shower and a grocery run. Oh, and you want to do something fun with the 2-year old during the magical hour he isn’t behaving like he is two. The days are especially short if for some strange reason you want to impress your husband by having some semblance of a dinner ready and a “kept” home. The latter mainly involves frantically picking up at 4p in an attempt to mask the aforementioned rampages and various attempts at Pinterest activities.

Aside: It is perfectly reasonable to call your mother to “babysit” the sleeping children in the car while you run into stores to do errands. End aside.

We played with the water table, we discovered Super Why (to the book club!), there were endless games of baseball. We cuddled. We played with the iPad way too much. Talked, listened, screamed in frustration. We made sure Nana kept us company. Went to Trader Joe’s and Target more than necessary. Violet went along like the trooper that she is, cooing endlessly. We had fun. And we forgot to take pictures.

So it’s been amazing in that mundane, regular-life kind of way. I can do it. It is not easy, but it is possible (with the help of a loving Nana). I’m not ready to commit full-time yet, but it isn’t as scary of a thought as it once was.

Time flies. Or perhaps it’s just the second child. The pictures are fewer but I seem to remember the moments and days a bit more. Violet is pushing three months old so need to get these first couple months on the record.

One month old.

9 lbs. 13 oz. & 22 in.

Can’t complain about you sleeping through the night, I can count on one hand the number of nights where you’ve gotten up every two or three hours — you are a 6 hour sleeper for the most part. The swaddle/rock-n-play is amazing. As a result your days are a bit more in flux. You’re not really into the swing (gasp!) or the pacifier and would rather be held. And bounced. And jostled. You have mastered the furrowed brow and are quite particular. You eat very well, and it seems to show. Mama got a “good job” at your 1 month appointment!

Two months old.

11 lbs. 6.5 oz. & 23-1/4 in.

You’ve exercised your right to a witching hour. The right to not have the same things produce the same results. You have a flair for the dramatic. Very happy, very angry. On/Off. I haven’t figured out your cries, it sounds like the same scream. But have finally figured out that you do much better when your eating schedule is every three hours. You do “crunches” in the swing and rock-n-play as if you are trying to sit up. You coo. A lot. You have begun being startled — Molly sneezing gets you absolutely in a knot. You know your mama and your daddy. You look like your mama except your eyes are still blue 🙂

After realizing that you hadn’t gotten yourself on a schedule, the day came where force was necessary. August 22. I stayed home all day with the intention of getting you on a routine and sleeping in your crib. I hung out in your room all day, at the ready with the pacifier and a gentle tap on the back. 10 hours later, and 200 pages of Lincoln: Team of Rivals later, it seemed to have worked. Was able to revel in *my* accomplishment when you slept all night in your crib! And, whether by coincidence or not, since the routine was put in place, you haven’t had a witching hour. Perhaps you aren’t as finicky as I make you out to be.

Your brother has finally accepted that you are here to stay. He takes great pride in saying “my baby sister Biolet”. He loves to help you with your toys. And, I think, you like him back.

Keep growing little one. We can’t wait to see what you do next.

With this baby around my “first day of Early Preschool” picture was a couple days late. But here it is.

I am in Mrs. Duffee’s class. Her classroom is on the top floor with all the big kids, so I have to climb the stairs all. by. myself. slowly and carefully, stopping every once in a while to hang on the rail like Fireman Sam. My mom LOVES the fact that it takes 20 minutes.

My 2-ness hasn’t quite enamored Mrs. Duffee and Miss Brianna yet. I’m working on it, if only I could get out of time-out (confession: my name is Jack and I throw things). I’m cute though, and pretty funny, so it’s only a matter of time.

I came across an unpublished draft from August of 2012. The draft contained the title “Food Related.” and the following body text: The Bowl. Mmmmm. Moo. Breakfast. 

Amazingly, I remember the stories associated with three out of the four, so approximately a year on, here we go…

The Bowl.

I made dinner and served it up like I did every other night, or at least I thought I did. The minute the bowl touched the tray of his high chair, Jack started crying. We went through the usual laundry list of questions — too hot? need milk? want a fork? a spoon? water instead? — but nothing stopped the crying. Instead, he moved to shrieking. In true parenting genius, we dug in our heels and made him sit there and cry his snot into his food until he ate at least a bite of it. We thought we were strong. 20 agonizing minutes later, Bill grabbed the bowl of food and dumped it in another bowl. Silence. He wiped away the tears and started eating. It was the bowl. The bowl!?!? Turns out he didn’t want to eat out of the “big boy” bowl but his own plastic bowl. Sigh.

Mmmmmm.

Every time a commercial with a hamburger comes on, preferably Hardees or Rallys, you know the messier the better, little man smacks his lips and says “mmmmmm”. Sorry marketers, it doesn’t work on his mama. Gag.

Moo.

Bill and I decided we needed some food, and we weren’t going to cook it and we wanted it fast. Enter Penn Station. I don’t know about the Penn Station’s by your house, but the one by us seems to be the slowest sandwich-making shop ever. As a result, we called our order in. With Bill on the telephone, and in mid-sentence of ordering the Philly Cheesesteak, Jack starts mooing. And doesn’t stop. Yes, thanks child, point taken. Hush.

Breakfast.

I’m not sure what I was going to write about breakfast. He likes it. He has a bowl of oatmeal with molasses and wheat germ every day. And he doesn’t complain one bit. Bless.

I’m still finding my voice, in the meantime, here are some photos from my first photo shoot when I was four days old. I wasn’t a fan at the time, but I think I made it work. And it’s already obvious Mom and Dad love me; Jack got stuck with the hospital photographer and I got Rachel Barnes.

It started innocently enough, Laura (now affectionately known as Roona) andNick bought Jack a baseball tee for Easter. Then he got a hat when we went for Opening Day (tradition still intact!). Then the weather turned nice and it was something we could play outside. It has culminated in true infatuation.

Conversations about baseball go something like this: Baseball game. My hat. My glove. My bat. Hit it. Run the bases. Home run Jack. Play baseball? Set it down, don’t throw it. (in reference to the bat). Go Redlegs. Joey Votto. Jay Bruce. Ryan. Play baseball?

At any given time in the day you can find him with his glove on and throwing a ball — which, because it is in the house, is either a ping-pong ball or a small soft soccer ball. At first we needed the proper gear but within the last couple of weeks anything can be made into a bat and ball. Wayward crayons, dinner napkins, play-doh and on and on.

I would try and convince him there are other sports, but it keeps him occupied, and, more importantly he truly does enjoy it. He actually sat through 9 innings of Reds baseball with his Grandpa and Dad one Saturday afternoon which is more than I can do. Granted, that particular game saw the Reds winning and with more than 10 runs scored.

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Now if only we could convince him to pitch left-handed.

A baby GIRL.

Violet Jane Hauer was born on Sunday June 9 at 10:23 am. She is named after Bill’s grandmother, her Great-Grandma, Viola and carrying on the tradition of “Jane” as the middle name for a first-born Stothard girl. She weighed 8 lbs. 0.9 oz. and was 20 inches long. Her eyes are blue. Her hair blondish brown and barely there. Her complexion English. With round chubby cheeks and a furrowed brow.

She had 13 days of extra boarding and she’s forever grateful her mama didn’t evict her any sooner. And her mama is forever thankful to Dr. Schweitzer. Willing to endure the ever-increasing uncomfortableness in hopes that I could deliver without drugs, I kept requesting “a couple more days” at each doctor’s visit. At 10 days past due date, he finally said, “I can give you 4 more days, then we will have to induce”. Even though I had resigned myself to an induction; she had her own plan which was a whole lot better. About 24 hours before I was set to go into my induction appointment, labor began.

Contractions started in the middle of the night, but they were consistently 10 minutes apart and not getting more intense, so we waited it out until morning. We left for the hospital about 8:15a with Laura following behind us. Sunday morning at Baptist East is empty. I gave both Bill and Laura instructions not to tell anyone we were headed there until the nurse checked me out — considering contractions were still only 7 minutes apart, I was convinced it was going to be a long day. Little lady had other plans. Just like with Jack, I got to the hospital already 7cm dilated. And when the on-call doctor came in and said he’d break my water (and declaring that “this ones a good size” — sigh, things not to say to someone when they are about to give birth sans drugs)…things started getting serious. I suppose the nursing team though it’d take more time, as they left the room and said they’d be back to check on us. Bill had just enough time to turn some music on and I said, I need to push. With the nurses and doctors called back in; she was in our arms in no time. Barely an hour an a half after we arrived, and some wonderful coaching from Bill and Laura, we had a baby girl to call our own.

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Oh, and if you are wondering where the announcement was about this second pregnancy — you didn’t miss it. It got lost in the morning sickness times a thousand, including a fainting spell in Goodwill whilst shopping for ugly Christmas sweaters, that was the first half of my pregnancy. I don’t think I can forget the days and weeks on the couch and over the toilet — but I will choose to revel in the fact that the sickness was the blessing of a healthy baby girl.

After months of exclusively watching Postman Pat, the same 13 episodes on Netflix, I finally decided that I would like something else just as much: Curious George. At first Mom and Dad just read me the books, but then I convinced them that watching it on the “big TV” was acceptable. As a result, Curious George is on my mind a lot.

Case in point:

Me: “Where’d Daddy go?”

Mom: “He went to the movies with a friend.”

Me: “The man with the yellow hat?”

Case in point:

I didn’t want to wear the large sombrero at Fiesta Time while they sang Happy Birthday to me — UNTIL — Mom told me it was a big hat. “The man with the yellow hat?”, “Yes, just like the man with the yellow hat.” she said. I’m beginning to think she lied.

Case in point:

The nurse giving me my shots at my 2-year appointment was wearing Curious George scrubs. I quickly forgot about how shots are supposed to hurt and told her everything I knew. Including my best Donald Duck impression (ask my Granda).

Case in point:

“I’m a good little monkey”

Preface: Jack got invited to his best buddy Ben’s birthday party about a month before. It was at All About Kids (a local gymanastics)  and he had a blast. The party coincided with Jack’s new learning of “association”… as a result all birthdays or mentions of birthdays were known as “Ben’s birthday”.

Fast forward to May 4. The Derby was on, the menu was Mexican — celebrating Cuatro de Mayo, Bluth style — and we were ready to celebrate. And, since everyone enjoyed the menu last year, Mom and Dad made it easy on themselves and just ordered up the same. Down to the fabulous banana/chocolate cake from CakeFlour.

Considering we were already dubbing the day Cuatro de Derby, we thought we’d do the little man a favor and open presents before dinner and the race. So this happened:

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In rookie fashion, we had Jack open the gift from Nana and Granda first — they were Postman Pat books. And thus, the next gift opened received the disappointed welcome of “not Pat” from the Pat-obsessed kid. There were musical books, regular books, train sets, cars, a tool set, an art table and clothes. He truly is blessed to have such giving family and friends. And, its a good thing the playroom is up and running 🙂

After the race, in which, for the first time ever, a non-Hauer won the pot (nice work Johanna) and a quick singing of Happy Birthday in which his eyes lit up as he soaked up the attention (video available on request); I kept the video camera rolling…

Jack thanks everyone for coming out yet again. Perhaps next year his parents will be brave enough to invite some folks his own age. As long as there are beer margaritas and Lillies it’ll be just fine, right?

Fast forward another two weeks, and his actual birthday was celebrated with the arrival of a kitchen set from IKEA. For. The. Win.