Don't pass on the pacifier

Remember how my child likes bouncing? Well he prefers his pacifier more. Or me less. Both are fine.

Yesterday, I forgot his blue binkie, leaving it home while running errands 40 miles away. The drive was fine, the little tyke made hardly a peep. But when I took him to my office, he got antsy.

Just pick up a pacifier at the store, my coworkers said. You’ll thank us later.

But I didn’t listen.

My child is an an angel. His second love to bouncing? His car seat. He won’t need one, I thought.

Note: if you find yourself in a similar situation, be ye not so stupid.

Bouncing at the office did the trick, but that didn’t last through lunch, a feeding and a trip to the Ol' Wal-Marts.

It started in the canned vegetable aisle, he squawking as I analyzed the spice severity in chili seasonings. Cole cried in the cart, so I held him.

He also cried when I held him, so we bounced.

I got a few stares and several smiles. One Chatty Woman even struck up a conversation about her own children, but amidst the screams, those conversations are complicated to carry. I smiled when her lips stopped moving, but truly, I missed every word.

And of course, in typical small-town fashion, I ran in to people I knew. Sigh. People who were so excited to meet little Cole, but then fast-pitched him back to me when his cries turned to a sweet symphony of jackhammers and car alarms. 

Still, I thought I could handle it. He cries. I bounce. This usually solves the problem. So I bounced my bawling baby in the cereal aisle, debating between regular flavor or honey nut.

Chatty Woman returned. In my attempts to hear her, I stuck the knuckle in his mouth. Perhaps it was from the ringing in my ears, but she sounded like she needed a Sucret and some salt water. Good thinking, Chatty Woman. Again, I heard not what she said other than “finger” and “germs” but I didn’t care. Frankly, I preferred my rioting infant.

Chatty Woman sauntered towards produce as I ducked into dairy, but Cole’s one-man fire alarm remained sounding.

Fine, I sighed, resigning myself to the looks, stares and although infrequent, a few glares. Let’s book-it to baby.

As if she were a mosquito attracted to my knock-off perfume, Chatty Woman reappeared, lips moving AGAIN, and me with my mouth open and free hand upturned. We’re headed to the pacifier section, I hollered over my shoulder, ignoring the niceties I should teach my son to observe.

I may take my time choosing brands of breakfast, but I made haste in the baby aisle. In fact, I didn’t even waste time paying for the pacifier before I opened it. Like I'd already made the purchase, I tore the packaging, swiped the nuk with a diaper wipe and quashed what sounded like the high-pitch of a screeching microphone.

I’m not sure if it was one second later or two, but instantly, his eyes closed.

I fastened Cole’s car seat belt immediately, a trick I’d learned earlier that day. Strap him in when he’s kinda asleep to avoid waking him when he’s really asleep.

Dear Crystal: I owe ya one.

Although the awkward glances subsided, I hadn’t erased them completely. I chose check-out No. 12 because the associate there looked like she mothered children and maybe even grandchildren of her own.

According to the look on her face, she had neither.

Thankful for turkey and traveling this Thanksgiving

If walking in another woman’s shoes gives perspective, then someone should have thrown a strappy sandal at my head months ago. 

One of the benefits of nursing is the inability to do anything else. Honey, could you fix dinner? I’m feeding the baby. Telemarketer? Gotta go, feeding the baby. Oh sorry, religious-people-who-knock-on-the-doors-of-strangers, I can’t answer. Baby’s hungry.

And while that’s awesome, I give thanks for more than just a good excuse this Thanksgiving.

Although nursing limits the flipping of pancakes, it does not limit the flipping of channels. That’s how I came across such enlightening entertainment as “I’m Pregnant and Homeless,” a show about 29-year-old Misty. Misty and her husband couldn’t find work and couldn’t afford the rent. At nine months pregnant, the couple lived out of a tent and a van, washing in the river and peeing behind a tree. 

I guess all is well that ends well and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Sometimes I wish our burdens weren’t so heavy, but I always had shoes in which to walk. Some mothers, like Misty, have no shoes at all. 

Shame on me for ever feeling sorry for myself.

The year 2010 was the most life-changing ever, but with change comes challenge. 

My husband and I lived separately my entire pregnancy. After losing his home in the flood of 2009, Levi moved in with his grandmother in the country. I stayed in my one-bedroom, in-town apartment. It made little sense to move all my stuff to his grandmother’s and then move it again to our house, which was/is still under construction. Plus, imposing on an already over-generous woman seemed like sticking jeweled fingers into a charity basket. 

Because pregnancy is so demanding, the dads traditionally spoil the moms-to-be. Boys carry the groceries, tie the lady’s shoes and make midnight Taco Bell runs followed by a 2 a.m. stop for pickled ice cream.

Living alone, those luxuries were foreign to me. And even if we’d lived together, I’d have still carried my own groceries, fastened my own laces and driven myself to the drive-through. Suffering from a herniated disc, my husband was in more pain than me. 

The pain was so bad, he couldn’t work. And with no work comes no paycheck.

Concerned about finances, I fretted about every scenario. As I saw it, to pay our bills on time ever these were our options:

* Levi work and hurt himself further = husband in chronic pain and more hospital bills

* Levi take off work, watch the baby and I’ll skip maternity leave

* Levi take off work, I’ll take maternity leave but work part-time anyway

* Levi take off work, I’ll take maternity leave and then when I go back to work, also find a part-time job to make up for lost wages ---> as the days progressed, that seemed one of the best, yet most heart-breaking options. If I worked 12 hours a day plus a 1.5 hour commute, when would I ever see my new baby?

Despite all the help from family, friends and coworkers (and we had a lot) our under-construction house had no heat, no running water, no appliances and only a few unpacked boxes as my due date approached. We were close to move-in ready though, I can’t complain about that. Nine months pregnant, I slept on the floor of my apartment after my coworkers helped me and my mangled husband moved every piece of furniture. 

Baby’s time in the NICU was almost a blessing. Cole could stay in a hospital with good care and running water while our family and friends moved the rest of my stuff out of my apartment, unpacked boxes and made our house a home. They did all that while Levi and I stayed in Bismarck, waiting as our son recovered. 

Levi and I returned to our unfinished house and I did, indeed, share a home with my overly-generous grandmother-in-law who never seemed to tire of our company. So long as she could hold the baby, she seemed even happy about it. 

The first nights with the baby, I spent them alone although the house was full. Determined to figure it out myself, I wouldn’t let my mom, in town from Colorado, rock the screaming infant to sleep. That was my job. And the job of my husband... but given his state, sitting felt like steak knives from his rear to his ankle. He couldn’t even sleep in a bed and instead, slept on the floor with his knees propped on the couch. So I paved the primary nights of parenthood alone, sobbing along with the baby into the monitor for Levi’s help when I resigned myself to the conclusion that I needed it. 

A week after our return, our house had water and most of the major appliances. We were in. We slept in the living room, so Levi could rest on the floor, and Cole slept in a swing borrowed from good friends. 

It wasn’t ideal, but we were home. Under a roof. With walls and heat and water that ran through a faucet.

Life got better for Misty too. 

Her husband traded work for temporary housing. She’d lost 15 pounds during her pregnancy because of poor nutrition, but her baby weighed more than Cole at birth. She and her family struggle to make ends meet, but they too are together. 

If every closed door opens a window, than the window unlatched for me belongs to a little house in Colorado. Given my maternity leave and Levi's disability, neither of us is working, so neither of us need worry about scheduling holidays with our employers. Cole's uncle and maternal grandparents can spend six days and a national holiday with their only nephew/grandson. And I can enjoy the extra time with my family.

Perhaps our situation isn't ideal, but this Thanksgiving will be. For that, I am thankful. 

Car-buying advice: Don't let the dealers drive all over you

I don't know anything about cars, but I do know a lot about research and a little about bargains.

I bought my car whilst with child, and wanted a safe, dependable vehicle that would allow me to still afford diapers once baby arrived. 

Before my purchase earlier this year, I researched the beejesus out of autos, deciding what kind was best for me. I also solicited the advice of experts I trusted: former used car salespeople, mechanics and the mother father of all barterers: my dad.

Note: a friend called today, seeking my car-buying advice. That made me feel important. The truth is, I've done this only once. I'm no expert. I did save myself about $2,500 off sticker though, so with any hope, one or two of the tips I learned can help you too.


Before you buy:

* Determine what type of vehicle is best for you using sites like ConsumerReports.org. Since I live in the great white wilderness and drive daily on gravel, I wanted something with good tires and 4-wheel drive. Despite the Consumer Report ratings, I chose a Jeep Grand Cherokee after numerous owners I knew reported rave reviews. Consumer Reports says Grand Cherokees are unreliable, not as fuel efficient and not as valuable as other vehicles in it's class. My point? Despite what the experts say, pick what's best for you in your area. Mechanics here aren't familiar with foreign vehicles like Subarus and Volvos. Consumer Reports doesn't factor in the additional costs associated with driving a vehicle 100 miles to service it OR chancing an imperfect repair job.

* Determine the vehicle's worth: Kelly Blue Book (kbb.com) and NADA.com will ask what year the vehicle is and how many miles are on it. Based on that info, it will spit out an estimated value for the car. Even if you forget your last name, KNOW THIS. It's like mana in the deal-making desert.

* Research fees, closing costs, taxes and other expenses not listed on the sticker price. Some states/dealers charge $500 just for paperwork. If you're state is like this, consider crossing the border.

* Shop at the end of the month: both dealers and sales associates are more desperate the few days before payroll. More desperate = more likely to deal.

* Shop at the end of winter: this is tricky if you need a car now, but if you can stand to wait, wait until January or February. Consumers don't want to shop outside in the cold, plus, their pocketbooks still cha-cluck with emptiness from the holidays. With fewer buyers, dealers compete to make sales. Dealer competition = buyer victory.

* Shop during a PR crisis: Toyota sold several cars at bargain-basement prices after its recall this year. Use that to your advantage.

* Prepare a list of service work, parts, upgrades you want in addition to the vehicle itself. In your offer, say you are willing to pay $x with a, b, and c work done. I wanted floor mats, mud flaps and and an autostart. My dad bartered for all he wanted PLUS a year's worth of oil changes. He's good.

* If you're uncomfortable negotiating, bring someone who isn't. I'm a little weird in that bartering for me is fun. I like finding good deals, it's like overcoming a challenge. Some people save stamps? I save money. These car-buying meetings will be long, exhausting and awkward. The dealers will do all they can to confuse you into spending more money. If you are unsure of yourself, bring a back-up.


At the dealer:

* Prepare to walk: nothing expresses disinterest like leaving. A customer on the fence is a customer dealers know they'll need to entice with a better offer. Besides, cars are cars. Whatever model you chose, a million more are for sale just like them. This is your bartering power.

* Don't be afraid to hurt the salesperson's feelings because you won't. They don't have any. Not when thousands of dollars are on the line. No matter what deal you make, they and their company are making money. Your salesperson will give you a well-rehearsed song and dance, maybe even a couple back-handed insults, but car-buying is business. They wouldn't sell the car if the company wasn't making a sufficient profit. Don't let them make you feel bad.

* Insist on a third-party inspection: In some places this is common, in North Dakota, it isn't. Pay an unaffiliated mechanic you trust to inspect the vehicle and see if it needs any work or will need expensive repairs soon. Pick their brains. Ask them questions like: would you drive this car? What would you pay for it? What are some of the common costs of ownership? Do you see anything which needs fixing soon? Hint: if even all you do is require the inspection, the dealer may get nervous and do it for you. My third-party inspector was just a friend who gave it a quick look, in the dark. But the dealer didn't know that and made sure the vehicle was in tip-top shape, afraid I'd walk if it wasn't in pristine condition. In my case, the original dealer gave it another inspection and found a crack in one of the valves. They fixed it, free of charge. If you're inspector finds something wrong and you still want the vehicle, see if the original dealer will fix it for you or at least fix it for a reduced price.

* Play hard to get. And don't accept their initial offer. Whatever deal you make the day you walk into the showroom will get sweeter if you leave. Tell the dealer you need time to think about it, especially if they're meeting you in the middle. Even better: tell them you have an appointment to see similar vehicles at another dealer and high-tail it for a Heiniken. Let's say you offered $18,000 for a car with a $20,000 sticker. Maybe the dealer countered with $19,000. If you request time to think about it and leave, the dealer may call you, reducing the price. Mine did.

* Don't sign anything until you are sure. My salesperson hand-wrote my offer in pencil and wanted me to sign it. He wrote something like:

$offer
+
taxes, license and fees
=
I intend to buy.
Sign here:

That one caught me off guard. I wouldn't sign it because I didn't know what the taxes and fees would cost me and I had a price point *luckily* I would not cross. I guess I don't know what the purpose of such an informal contract is, but it isn't necessary. Just say no.

* Know your price point and stick to it. It's easy to say "no" when you know saying "yes" means spending the next five years eating beans out of cans. A good way to do this is to play with numbers on the dealer's websites. Most of them can calculate monthly payments based on the car's price, your down payment and trade-in, interest rate and other factors.

* Shop for auto loans: your dealer may offer the best rate, but double check your own bank and a few others. This is also a good way to know your price point. If your budget is $10,000, depending on interest rates, you may only have $8,000 to spend on the vehicle + tax, title and fees.

* Know the value of your trade and accept nothing less. You can do this using the kbb.com and nada.com sites listed above. If the dealer won't give you what the trade is worth, consider selling it privately. 

* Get a Carfax auto report. These reports indicate if the vehicle has had any accidents and/or some of it's service history. If the dealer won't get one for you, hit the road. The car is a lemon.

And this video is from my grade-school buddy (and first boyfriend ever, teehee!) Dan Jones. Not only is it helpful, the dude is kinda funny.

Correspondence with Cole: two months

Dear Cole,

Today you are two months old. You no longer fit into newborn-sized clothes and my return-to-work date too quickly approaches. Pretty soon you’ll be breaking fragile objects, bones and someday, maybe even hearts. I look forward to the day you walk, but fear your walk across the graduation stage. Though that event is years away, these first two months took less than a second on the stopwatch called life. Surely the next few years will fly by like the hundred meter hurdle. 

Already this month, you’ve met milestones like smiling when someone smiles at you. That someone is usually not me. Despite my over-exaggerated expression of pearly whites and the muscle strain side effect of arching my eyebrows, you avoid my eye contact and save your smiles for daddy. Although your neck coordination is limited, I believe you are doing this on purpose. Remind me to ground you for it later.

When I do get a beam from you baby boy, it’s usually after the third time you roused me from my slumber, threatening to break windows with your screams. This is when I need your smiles most. And since daddy sleeps through your squawking, those smiles are mine alone. Someday I’ll teach you to share, but for now, I'll keep them to myself.

To verify you meet your other milestones, an official from Right Track visited this month to ensure development is on schedule.

It is.

Given your stint in the NICU, this is a relief.

The Right Track woman asked if you had trouble eating. Yes, I thought to myself, you have trouble eating too much, too fast. Instead of dessert, you prefer bouncing after ever meal likely because of gas bubbles in your belly. I don’t know much about inside your belly, but I do know what comes out of it. Those bubbles expel with more frequency and ferocity than a grown man on a baked bean and broccoli diet. Godzilla on a whoopee cushion sounds as quiet as a whisper compared to you.

As your father and I discuss our religious backgrounds and how to raise you as a man of faith, my biggest concern isn’t the church affiliation we choose, but how quiet the services are. Surely, you’d save your sacred symphony for the most holy and hushed of moments, embarrassing us to the point of preferring limbo if it means not blushing at your baptism.

Your gassiness upsets your tummy, and because of all the bouncing to counteract it, my appendages will soon match diamonds in terms of strength and beauty, from hoisting you up-and-down, up-and-down. In fact, given your affinity for spring-loaded stepping, I’m sure you’re destined for a career in either basketball... or pogo sticking.

Your daddy had surgery this month, a surgery he’s needed for more than a year but delayed until you were born so he could help me with you. He was in a lot of pain and the first chance he got to feed you, he declined. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was the feeling of Freddy Krueger radiating from his rear to his ankle. The pain rendered sitting to give you a bottle almost impossible. Since the hospital performing the procedure was 100 miles away, we left you with your grandmother overnight. Your father and I missed you, couldn’t wait to come home, whereas you probably didn’t want to leave. I don’t doubt your grandmother added chocolate candy to your bottle and let you stay up past your bedtime. She spoils you, but don’t forget, I produce the breast milk, OK? Don't forget to love me too... :)

Now that the surgery is over and your father is on the mend, he takes advantage of his new found health, taking pleasure in bath time, tummy time and even changing diapers. Sometimes I catch you two cuddling on the couch and I know you’re likely plotting against your outnumbered mother, or at the very least, practicing for the next tournament of tooters.

Because your father can’t work as he heals and I’m still on maternity leave, our little family is celebrating Thanksgiving with your maternal grandparents and Uncle Mike in Colorado. It’s your first trip out of state, which we know you appreciate because given your birthday airplane ride, you’d clearly do anything to travel.

Notre Dame could win a National Championship, but I’m still not sure that compares with your grandparents’ excitement to see you. In fact, I’m not sure they care to see your dad and I, but ooohh the baby. We want to see the baby. Family and friends encourage us to go on dates, get house work done, go hunting for deer/bargains... all so they can babysit. It’s not out of consideration for us; they have alternative motives. They just want to spend time with you. And who can blame them? You’re quite famous. If you could write, I’d sell autographed copies of your Jamestown Hospital ad in the newspaper, but as such, I’ll just christen them with your spit up instead. I’m sure I’ll make a fortune, but I’m not sure I’ll share it with you. We’ll just call it even for all those diapers you soil... see above.

Love you baby,
Mama

Baby's first road trip

Today begins day one of two, heading to Colorado for Thanksgiving. I have a baby on the breast and a husband with a bad back, who can't sit for long intervals and must avoid lifting more than 20 lbs... I are smart.

Stay tuned.

Best Christmas/holiday gifts for the wee ones

As the holidays approach, my mom enlists me to create my annual, "What do you want for Christmas?"-list.

Since I'm a little on the broke side this holiday, instead if starting my shopping early, I've started my list-making early instead.

So far, I've come up with these ideas for my son. Perhaps these are good ideas for gift-giving and receiving in your family.

Note: there are the ideas of me and some awesome Twitter/Facebook friends. No one paid me to post them.


 
* Recordable storybooks: like this "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" version for about $20 from Amazon.com. It's perfect for families like mine... I live with my husband and son in North Dakota but my parents and brother live in Colorado. If they record their voices in books like these, little Cole can hear his grandma, grandpa and Uncle Mike all year long. (Hallmark sells them too but purchases aren't available online.)


 * Books of any kind, really. Especially board books. They stand the tests of chubby fingers and regurgitated applesauce. 

* Savings bonds, savings-account investments, contributions to baby's 529: little babies don't know what presents are and even toddlers appreciate the gift wrapping more than the gift itself. A relative bought me a $20 savings bond when I was young, it's worth more than $600 now. Cha-ching. Read more about 529s here.

* Personalized winter wear: Ok, these hats won't always fit, but they are darling, handmade and can be purchased at any size. PLUS if your child has a small head, big ears, or affinity for rainbow colors, etc., crocheter Heidi Bear can custom-make them. This is Cole, sporting her pumpkin design. Check out Heidi's Etsy website here.






* Scrapbooks, photo albums or any sort of collected mementos: This gift gives twice. The child's parents will also thank you. If you like photo books of the online variety, try Shutterfly.com, Snapfish.com or kodakgallery.com. Don't forget to first register with shopathome.com for 25 percent to 30 percent off your purchase.

* Quality time: give the gift of memories... bake cookies, go hunting/bargain hunting, spend the day at the zoo. Your little ones may not remember, but they'll appreciate the occasions anyway. BONUS: Take lots of pictures and use them for gifts next year. :)

Happy shopping!

Cole shakes it

Cole doesn't like to just sit. He likes to bounce. 

His dad, however, prefers another method.

 

PS: I don't endorse shaken babies. Just dancing ones :)