he'd have enough gas to keep him airborne.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
My days as a Playboy Bunny
If there is anything I’m not, it’s a centerfold model. But for a couple days postpartum, I could have been.
** Dad: maybe now is a good time for you to not read... **
Since bleeding and tearing and a sore booty aren’t torture enough, Mother Nature keeps mothers rotund well after baby escapes the uterus. As a mother herself, you’d think she’d have a little compassion. Perhaps it’s biological birth control.
Reproducing is an ugly, swollen sticky note, reminding you to think twice before doing it again. ...And I haven’t even mentioned the flatulence yet.
My experience was unsightly:
* My fingers and toes felt like jelly rolls.
* My shoes didn’t fit.
* My thighs resembled Redwood trees.
* I wore my wedding ring on my pinkie.
* I put pictures of my ankles on milk cartons in hopes someone would recognize them and send them home.
* Five days postpartum, the lady in the nursing bra section of JCPenny’s asked me when I was due. Ouch.
I tried not to let it bother me. After all, I had a kid in the NICU and a house without running water. I had bigger fish to fry and no intention of not eating them. Diets would come later.
And then later happened.
About a week after our sojourn home, my body thinned out everywhere except my engorged and now plastic-looking looking chesticles. The width of my waist was thinner than that of my forearm, but I needed a 34-D braziere.
My nurse friend, Kyle, (who is a girl, not a boy and likes to tell people she had a sex change) said bodies swell once inflated with IV fluids like I had when I received the labor-inducing drug, pitocin. Note: the cankles.
After a few days, the body expels all those fluids and defies its natural state, she said, rendering Playboy bunnies where new moms are supposed to be.
How sinister is that? I finally look like Malibu Barbie, but I’m handcuffed with a husband (although awesome, but think how many free drinks I’d get if I could play the field??), a small child and a doctor’s note forbidding hibbity dibbity.
Like all good things, my post-baby bod didn’t last. I’m back to normal Katie-weight, just different shapes and sizes, i.e., the bowl full of jelly where my abdominals used to be.
I’m satisfied in this. The treadmill and I were never Facebook friends anyway.
Some women get really down on themselves, mourning their old bodies and contorting their new ones with control-top undergarments, butter-less diets and self-esteem below sea level.
I feel bad for them. I can understand the frustration. It helps to have a husband/partner obtuse to such benign beauty, someone like mine, someone more focused on changing our baby’s diaper than me trying to show off in a tight-fitting tank. He only noticed the obscenities I called “ankles” because I asked him to rub them so much. And he did. From the floor. Because sitting in chairs hurt his back to much.
Oh, memories.
Anyways, I’m more willing to show off my bod post-baby than before. Not because I’m particularly proud of it, but because no less than 74 medical professionals looked at my goods and reached their hands where even tampons don’t go. (TMI? Good. Remember that next time you leave the Prophylactics at home.)
But what about you and what about the other women? Are you proud of your new body? Ashamed? What did you do to reclaim it? Or are you too busy with housework/real work/breastfeeding/holiday gift wrapping to notice? Any good, mushy husband/partner stories to share? Or even better, got any really bad ones? I promise to throw cyber stones at the real assholes...
** Dad: maybe now is a good time for you to not read... **
Since bleeding and tearing and a sore booty aren’t torture enough, Mother Nature keeps mothers rotund well after baby escapes the uterus. As a mother herself, you’d think she’d have a little compassion. Perhaps it’s biological birth control.
Reproducing is an ugly, swollen sticky note, reminding you to think twice before doing it again. ...And I haven’t even mentioned the flatulence yet.
My experience was unsightly:
* My fingers and toes felt like jelly rolls.
* My shoes didn’t fit.
* My thighs resembled Redwood trees.
* I wore my wedding ring on my pinkie.
* I put pictures of my ankles on milk cartons in hopes someone would recognize them and send them home.
* Five days postpartum, the lady in the nursing bra section of JCPenny’s asked me when I was due. Ouch.
I tried not to let it bother me. After all, I had a kid in the NICU and a house without running water. I had bigger fish to fry and no intention of not eating them. Diets would come later.
And then later happened.
About a week after our sojourn home, my body thinned out everywhere except my engorged and now plastic-looking looking chesticles. The width of my waist was thinner than that of my forearm, but I needed a 34-D braziere.
My nurse friend, Kyle, (who is a girl, not a boy and likes to tell people she had a sex change) said bodies swell once inflated with IV fluids like I had when I received the labor-inducing drug, pitocin. Note: the cankles.
After a few days, the body expels all those fluids and defies its natural state, she said, rendering Playboy bunnies where new moms are supposed to be.
How sinister is that? I finally look like Malibu Barbie, but I’m handcuffed with a husband (although awesome, but think how many free drinks I’d get if I could play the field??), a small child and a doctor’s note forbidding hibbity dibbity.
Like all good things, my post-baby bod didn’t last. I’m back to normal Katie-weight, just different shapes and sizes, i.e., the bowl full of jelly where my abdominals used to be.
I’m satisfied in this. The treadmill and I were never Facebook friends anyway.
Some women get really down on themselves, mourning their old bodies and contorting their new ones with control-top undergarments, butter-less diets and self-esteem below sea level.
I feel bad for them. I can understand the frustration. It helps to have a husband/partner obtuse to such benign beauty, someone like mine, someone more focused on changing our baby’s diaper than me trying to show off in a tight-fitting tank. He only noticed the obscenities I called “ankles” because I asked him to rub them so much. And he did. From the floor. Because sitting in chairs hurt his back to much.
Oh, memories.
Anyways, I’m more willing to show off my bod post-baby than before. Not because I’m particularly proud of it, but because no less than 74 medical professionals looked at my goods and reached their hands where even tampons don’t go. (TMI? Good. Remember that next time you leave the Prophylactics at home.)
But what about you and what about the other women? Are you proud of your new body? Ashamed? What did you do to reclaim it? Or are you too busy with housework/real work/breastfeeding/holiday gift wrapping to notice? Any good, mushy husband/partner stories to share? Or even better, got any really bad ones? I promise to throw cyber stones at the real assholes...
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Video: Cole smiles
Cole's favorite time of day is after he eats and before he naps again, which to us, is the best time to change diapers. We take pleasure in his frown-free face during an otherwise unpleasant task. Check out my video. The cuteness is obscene.
PS: Thanks Grandpa Ed for the early Christmas gift!
PS: Thanks Grandpa Ed for the early Christmas gift!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Ronald's cheeseburgers worth more than calories
Given that winter is the season of giving, this blog is the best I can offer this year.
So I ask for your help.
When Cole was born, Levi was unhealthy and not working. With maternity leave, neither was I. Given the complications of his birth, Cole required an ambulance ride to the airport, an airplane ride to Bismarck and five days in the city’s neonatal intensive care unit. He needed all these things and we’d have paid 10 times what we owe if we had to, but despite the humbling nature of accepting charity, we did it anyway.
From where we live, Bismarck is more than 100 miles away. We couldn’t predict Cole’s length of stay, but we could predict that with little income and huge medical bills, spending 70+ dollars per night on a hotel room would over-exert our fingernail-thin budget.
We didn’t have many sighs of relief that first morning/hours of Cole’s birth and in fact, a lot of that time is hazy to me. But I do remember the MedCenterOne woman with the embroidered teddy bear and stork on her vest, and I remember her offering Levi an opportunity to stay at Bismarck’s Ronald McDonald House.
It asks for $10 a night, she said. And if you can’t afford that, that’s OK too.
The Ronald McDonald House offers a place to stay as well as meals for families with children needing medical care. It’s nothing like a hostel, which is what I originally expected.
Each room has it’s own bathroom. Each facility is within walking distance of the hospital. Each family is bestowed meals, food vouchers, blankets, toiletries and stuffed animals. The houses have washers and dryers, internet access and refrigerators with shelves designated for the occupants of each room. With the exception of the laundry basket of clothes I used for a suitcase (I didn’t pack given the immediacy of the situation), staying at Ronald McDonald felt just like home.
I volunteered at Ronald McDonald House in my hometown a few times whilst in high school. I cooked dinners and remember slicing tomatoes while parents shared seats at an oblong dining room table and children with tubes in their noses washed hands before eating.
Like those families, our stay with the red-wigged clown cost us the equivalent of Nintendo game, meaning mounting hotel bills was one less worry for new parents already anxious and overwhelmed.
Some people make an effort to support local charities because the money then stays within the immediate community. Obviously, Ronald McDonald House isn’t located where I live. That’s why I needed it. Bismarck-area people don’t require a place to stay while loved ones receive medical care in Bismarck. But Jamestown area-people do. Although the charity itself isn’t located here, it very much serves people in this area.
Please consider giving/volunteering for the Ronald McDonald House nearest you. Ten years ago, I sliced those tomatoes, never thinking some high-school kid would later do the same for me. My charitable giving won’t amount to much this year, but I hope I can at least share our story in hopes of raising awareness and with any hope, maybe a few dollars too.
For more information about Ronald McDonald House, click here.
So I ask for your help.
When Cole was born, Levi was unhealthy and not working. With maternity leave, neither was I. Given the complications of his birth, Cole required an ambulance ride to the airport, an airplane ride to Bismarck and five days in the city’s neonatal intensive care unit. He needed all these things and we’d have paid 10 times what we owe if we had to, but despite the humbling nature of accepting charity, we did it anyway.
From where we live, Bismarck is more than 100 miles away. We couldn’t predict Cole’s length of stay, but we could predict that with little income and huge medical bills, spending 70+ dollars per night on a hotel room would over-exert our fingernail-thin budget.
We didn’t have many sighs of relief that first morning/hours of Cole’s birth and in fact, a lot of that time is hazy to me. But I do remember the MedCenterOne woman with the embroidered teddy bear and stork on her vest, and I remember her offering Levi an opportunity to stay at Bismarck’s Ronald McDonald House.
It asks for $10 a night, she said. And if you can’t afford that, that’s OK too.
The Ronald McDonald House offers a place to stay as well as meals for families with children needing medical care. It’s nothing like a hostel, which is what I originally expected.
Each room has it’s own bathroom. Each facility is within walking distance of the hospital. Each family is bestowed meals, food vouchers, blankets, toiletries and stuffed animals. The houses have washers and dryers, internet access and refrigerators with shelves designated for the occupants of each room. With the exception of the laundry basket of clothes I used for a suitcase (I didn’t pack given the immediacy of the situation), staying at Ronald McDonald felt just like home.
I volunteered at Ronald McDonald House in my hometown a few times whilst in high school. I cooked dinners and remember slicing tomatoes while parents shared seats at an oblong dining room table and children with tubes in their noses washed hands before eating.
Like those families, our stay with the red-wigged clown cost us the equivalent of Nintendo game, meaning mounting hotel bills was one less worry for new parents already anxious and overwhelmed.
Some people make an effort to support local charities because the money then stays within the immediate community. Obviously, Ronald McDonald House isn’t located where I live. That’s why I needed it. Bismarck-area people don’t require a place to stay while loved ones receive medical care in Bismarck. But Jamestown area-people do. Although the charity itself isn’t located here, it very much serves people in this area.
Please consider giving/volunteering for the Ronald McDonald House nearest you. Ten years ago, I sliced those tomatoes, never thinking some high-school kid would later do the same for me. My charitable giving won’t amount to much this year, but I hope I can at least share our story in hopes of raising awareness and with any hope, maybe a few dollars too.
For more information about Ronald McDonald House, click here.
 |
| Cole at one week, posing with the two blankets and soccer Beanie Baby he received from the Ronald McDonald House in Bismarck. |
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
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 themother 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.
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
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.
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