tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20839415858805980212024-03-06T15:01:20.890-05:00Just Trying to Make a CubOne girl's adventures in babymaking and now mommyhoodJackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.comBlogger154125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-82890579153602417112011-08-03T17:35:00.000-04:002011-08-03T17:35:59.244-04:00Confession<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My toddler thinks ice cream trucks are fire trucks (he also knows that actual fire trucks are fire trucks). He heard it going by one day, playing its music, and said, "Fire truck, Mommy!" And then I agreed with him. This has provided me with significant ice cream savings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">This has also provided me with significant judgement from my husband every time the ice cream truck goes by.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-73455176709653522062011-07-17T21:55:00.000-04:002011-07-17T21:55:07.103-04:00Couponing drama?!<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't even type the above title without giggling, but it's true....when you coupon, sometimes there is drama.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got my first taste of the theatrics when I came across an internet coupon that would give me free band-aids. Free band-aids!! Most internet coupons only permit you to print two, but every now and then you'll come across one that lets you print unlimited amounts and the Nexcare band-aids coupon was one of them. Tons of free band-aids!! Now this leads you to actually ponder how many band-aids one truly needs. Surely, more than two boxes. I have a kid, after all, and intend to have another. Cuts, scrapes, nonexistent boo boos that just need to be covered to feel better. Four boxes? Hmmm. Was I going for a lifetime supply of band-aids? They do take up very little space. It's not like my house would be filled to the gills with band-aids. I settled on eight boxes. Eight felt right. A substantial amount but not enough to get me on an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive (I love that show, by the way, but that's a whole other post). Eight it was. I headed to my local Shop-Rite.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I walked up to the register with my wide variety of eight boxes to suit <em>all </em>my band-aid needs. Waterproof, comfort fit and active fit, of course, since exercise is very important to me. It consists of walking at approximately 1.5 mph with my son as he demands that he push the stroller.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Ummm...." the cashier says and she looks over the coupons and turns her on light to blinking. Sigh...and we're blinking. But still, I'm not worried. My coupons are legit (they always are, that's how I roll). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enter the front end manager, douchebag extraordinaire from hell. She looks me and my coupons over, all judgemental and then tells me the coupons are fake. She proceeds to tell me that I copied them from a circular which is not permitted. I calmly and politely (you have to be super polite when you coupon because some people find your coupons annoying right from the start) explain where I got my coupons. She tells me they're fraudulent. She keeps going on and was just being <em>such a b!tch</em> about it. Whatever...my band-aids were a no-go. I should've thrown them at her, but I politely walked away with my head held high. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I head to customer service to talk with them. We put our heads together and concluded that I should come back with the coupon printed out in color instead of black and white and intact rather than cut out of the 8 1/2 X 11 paper. Okey dokey. I go home, follow my instructions and come back with said coupon (now #9) in hand. Customer service looks it all over, initials it as okay, but tells me I can only use four of the same coupon at a time (that's an optional rule the store can use as its discretion). I thank the customer service woman, tell her to have a great day and go back to retrieve four boxes of band-aids (two of them being active fit due to my extreme exercise regimen). </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Up at the registers, I am now faced with a dilemma. Which one do I go to? I decide to go to the same girl as before because I don't want anyone to think I'm sneaking around, trying to pull a fast one with my so-not-fraudulent coupons. I say hi, show her the golden initials and on goes the blinking light again. She quietly explains that she doesn't want to get in trouble with the front-end manager so she has to have her approve it. I take this as exhibit B that front-end manager is in fact the b!tch that she appears to be. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enter the manager, who proceeds to tell me that she still thinks the coupons are fake. And how did I get more than two of them if I didn't make copies which is illegal? And how come this one's in color when the rest are black and white? After she has exhausted her Nexcare interrogation, she tells the cashier that she has to accept them anyway if customer service ok'd them but that she was going to go look them up online tonight when she got home. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">What.a.complete.and.total.b!tch.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">But guess what, b!tch? I've got free band-aids. And tomorrow, I'm coming back and getting four more boxes of glorious, waterproof, comfort fit, active fit, soothing, healing, bacteria-blocking goodness. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">See? I can be a bitch, too. I'm just polite and smile at you while I do it.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-80577609714433699332011-06-27T15:22:00.001-04:002011-06-30T12:30:39.123-04:00Updates and anger<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've posted previously about the work I've been doing to pay down my family's debt. It's such a slow process...boy, is it slow. But I'm proud to say that since starting this process back in mid-February, we have paid off $3,500 in debt AND acquired no new debt. We could've paid off significantly more had we been prepared for me to not get paid through the summer, but we weren't, so we didn't. At this point, it is what it is. Now we take a pregnant pause as we await September and getting back into the swing of things. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">In the last week, there have been developments here in New Jersey that have been so difficult to swallow. Our Democrat-dominant state with our Republican governor, Chris Christie, passed legislation last week that will further cut my take home pay next year. It was already cut this past year. In addition to this, I taught without a contract last year and I don't see a settlement in the near future. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Wisconsin came to New Jersey this past Thursday as a bill was passed crushing public unions' abilities to negotiate their contracts. And I rallied outside my capitol building, I made signs, I called my legislators...I did all I could and still I will make less next year than I did this year which was less than last year. I am now required to pay more into my pension and more towards my health insurance. In addition to this, any future raises (generally spread across 3 years) cannot exceed 2% and I as make more, I will be required to pay still more for my benefits. Worse off are retirees, whose cost of living adjustments have been suspended for 30 years. <em>30 years!</em> I can't even wrap my head around that. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">How did this pass in a Democrat-led state? I was baffled until I started reading up and learned that a key Democrat, to whom many other Democrats owe significant favors, is in cahoots with our Republican governor. Favors were owed, votes were cast and this sh!t passed. The more I begin to understand all the politics involved, the rich getting richer on the backs of the working class, the sicker I feel about the whole thing. It's disgusting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">So what now? What happens next to the paycheck-to-paycheck family who is waiting for their income to drop still further? Honestly, I don't know. We pray, I guess. That the cars keep running okay, that there are no major health issues, that we can maintain the status quo for a little longer. And we keep going because we don't have a choice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">But I can't let go of the anger. Not yet.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-78513575717894146632011-06-13T16:32:00.001-04:002011-06-13T16:33:39.001-04:00The not-so-relaxing weekend<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The hospital wasn't able to fit Mr. Jaguar in the schedule that Friday. His inferior vena cava would have to wait to be installed until the following Monday. I would spend the coming days intently staring at him, watching him for any signs of trouble. The tiniest sputter from him would be followed by the question from me, "Are you okay?" I must've been really annoying that weekend, but I was so terrified that he would drop dead in front of me. I spent Friday in a kind of denial, repeatedly convincing myself that everything would be fine. What's 48 more hours? No biggie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I spent Saturday fixated on what it would look like if my husband had a pulmonary embolism in front of me. Every time, I would try to block the thought out but the visualization kept returning. One of the doctors who had treated my husband earlier had said there would be a lot of blood. Would BabyJaguar be in the room? Would it be quick? Would my husband be terrified? Would my son be hysterical crying? The questions just kept coming. Saturday was a really bad day for thinking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I can't even really remember Sunday. I was emotionally exhausted by that point. But I assure you it still consisted of interrogating my husband whenever he made the slightest sound. It was just such a strange weekend. Surreal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The filter was put in place that Monday. It took a week or so for my head and heart to really wrap around the fact that my husband should be okay. The filter has stayed put and is doing its job. Mr Jaguar continues to take his blood thinners. My only worry now pretty much revolves around him getting into some kind of accident that causes him to bleed to death, but I'm rolling with that fear. That's so odd to stay, but that concern is just part of my new normal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My husband and I are still discussing what to do in terms of testing BabyJaguar for the mutation. The hematologist has said to wait on it. The pediatrician doesn't really have an opinion on it. They just refer you to a pediatric hematologist. I'm debating scheduling that appointment sooner than later. Before testing him, I have to consider whether we want to get a life insurance policy for BabyJaguar now as a positive result could result in insurance difficulties for him later on down the road. We'll see how this all unfolds, but for now, I'm just tremendously grateful for my little family of three remaining a family of three.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-45213850767153404232011-04-11T21:28:00.004-04:002011-04-12T07:17:51.917-04:00Greatest fears<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They never did an ultrasound of the clot in his leg. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">If they had, they would've confidently made the diagnosis of a pulmonary embolism (a small one, thank God). They would've seen that the once stable clot they had examined a few weeks ago was no longer stable and in danger of going to his lungs. But they didn't.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My husband and I returned home and discussed the doctors' conclusions or lack thereof. We both felt he'd had a pulmonary embolism. It was the only thing that made sense of all of his symptoms. Within a few hours of moving around, Mr Jaguar began complaining that his chest felt just slightly tight. Not as bad as before but still there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">By the grace of God, my husband had a previously scheduled appointment with his hematologist two days later. The doctor was quite unimpressed and frankly, pretty pissed, that the hospital hadn't taken my husband's high risk factors for a pulmonary embolism seriously and he was shocked that they hadn't gotten another look at the clot in his leg. He ordered the ultrasound. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My husband got the ultrasound Friday morning. As he left the imaging center, his phone rang. His doctor on the other end shared the findings. The clot was unstable. He was now certain Mr Jaguar had had a pulmonary embolism and he was in danger of having another one that could be fatal this time. My husband would need an inferior vena cava filter installed as soon as possible to prevent this. The doctor would call the hospital and try to get it set up for that afternoon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">My husband pulled over to the side of the road and cried, his only thought was what if he didn't get to see Ben grow up?</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-50649568226816090452011-04-11T21:10:00.001-04:002011-04-11T21:31:20.849-04:00Too close for comfort<span style="font-family: verdana;">I haven't talked much about the last few weeks and figure I probably should. I especially need to get the last week off my chest.</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Around mid-March, Mr Jaguar was diagnosed with a blood clot in his leg. He'd had a clot in his bicep late last year but it was due to an injury so no red flags were raised at the time. He was closely monitored until it resolved on its own. But this one in his leg was different. We couldn't think of anything that would have caused it...no surgery, no extended rest periods, no injuries. We wracked our brains and the only thing we came up with was that about a month before Mr Jaguar had fallen down our hardwood steps. He had gotten seriously banged up but didn't injure his knee in the fall. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, the doctor actually thought this clot was a cyst and sent Mr Jaguar to have an ultrasound just to be safe. To rule out a clot.</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">But it was a clot. And the doctor called my husband while he was still in the ultrasound room to say go immediately to the emergency room. Do not stop home. Do not go anywhere but the emergency room. She was calling ahead to the ER to let them know he was on his way. He would be admitted to the hospital. The husband called me and relayed all this to me. I, at home with BabyJaguar, quickly made arrangements for someone to watch the baby while frantically packing an overnight bag for my husband.</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">I raced to the hospital where my husband and I then impatiently sat in the waiting room for nearly 3 1/2 hours until he was seen. They were packed and my husband wasn't having chest pain. Chest pain trumps blood clot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">Eventually he was examined and the doctor opted to send him home on injectable blood thinners. A visiting nurse would come over the next morning to go over giving the shots. Except they never actually gave us the prescription for the medicine (they gave us a Lovenox starter kit that contained no Lovenox. It wasn't supposed to but they never told us that or gave us the actual script). My husband needed to take his next shot by noon the next day and we had no meds. It was 2:30 in the morning. Not the time that I want to be solving problems like this. Also, they never set up the visiting nurse. Mr Jaguar figured out the giving himself shots part (thanks, infertility shots). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">In the coming days, my husband had bloodwork done and was diagnosed with Factor V Leiden Mutation, a hereditary gene mutation that makes your blood more likely to clot. I'll be talking with BabyJaguar's pediatrician about it at his well visit next month to see about testing him. My husband continued with his blood thinner medication, notified his family so they can get tested, ordered his medical identification necklace and we settled in as his bloodwork revealed that his clotting levels were slowly getting to where they should be.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">A few weeks later my husband was out helping me in the garden. He overdid it and suddenly his heart started racing, he began shaking and his leg was throbbing. Mr Jaguar attributed it to lack of activity since the clot diagnosis and that his blood pressure was up, putting pressure on the clot. He sat down, drank some water and settled down. Later, he went in and laid on the couch for a bit. He said he felt better but, also, still felt a little off, not quite himself. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">He ran to the market later and that's when the cough started. He got home and that was when he realized he had coughed up some blood. He showed me his reddened palm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I would love to say that this was the moment when I was calm, cool and collected. The Grace Kelly of medical emergencies. But I can't. Because I was anything but.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I jammed the just purchased bags of groceries in the fridge and threw BabyJaguar in the car (the poor guy had just pooped and I didn't even change his diaper). My husband got in and I raced to the hospital. I was driving like, well...like I needed to get to the hospital. This would be a funny time to mention that I have this little thing from my insurance company hooked up to my car to monitor my driving habits so that I can potentially get a good driver discount. I'm not so sure I'm going to get that discount now. Damn clot.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I was freaking out. Tears streaming down my face, my whole body tensed up like I was driving in an awful snow storm. I think I was talking a lot but don't remember what I said. I dropped Mr Jaguar at the doors to the ER just as my friend Kristen called to tell me she was pulling into the hospital lot. She was going to take BabyJaguar for me. I don't even really remember calling her to set that up. We pulled up next to each other, I basically threw my child at her (I didn't even say goodbye to him which I felt terrible about later) and raced off to find a parking spot which was frustratingly far away. Apparently, I unknowingly left my flashers on at this point, but fortunately my car battery didn't die. Then I ran full speed to the ER in tears.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">We didn't have to sit in the waiting room this time. They took Mr Jaguar back quickly. At some point during this, I went to use the restroom and ended up in their sobbing aloud. I took a minute to pray in there. Funny, you'd think I would've been praying from the second the whole thing started but I could barely get my mind still enough to do it. I figured God would know that I was praying in spirit. And then I smiled as I realized how ridiculous that sounded but figured He knew what I meant.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">After some tests and exams, the doctors felt that my husband was not having a pulmonary embolism, but they weren't really sure what he was having. They opted to admit him so that he could be seen by a pulmonologist the next day. Mr Jaguar, after resting for a while, was feeling better but still not quite like himself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The next day at the hospital, we waited and waited for a pulmonologist to come see us. I kept wondering how much it was costing our insurance for my husband to lie in a bed and get his vitals checked every few hours but, other than that, receive essentially no medical care. Later in the afternoon, after several polite requests on my part, a pulmonologist came down and asked my husband ample questions about drug use and exposure to chemicals but continued to dismiss the possibility of a pulmonary embolism because Mr Jaguar's chest CT with contrast did not show evidence of one. Eventually, the doctors basically said that they weren't really sure what was going on with Mr Jaguar but that, since he was feeling better, he could go home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">They never did an ultrasound of the clot in his leg. </span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-17916839085339529852011-04-05T22:12:00.022-04:002011-04-11T20:51:04.859-04:00An Irritating Pause<span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't get paid in the summers. Because I'm a teacher. And because we have never reached a point in our finances where I can set money aside from each check that is earmarked for summer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">And so every summer we're kind of....well, screwed.</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;">My husband receives a quarterly bonus check and we also have our tax return. Those things generally go to the summer-stay-alive fund. And other money pops up at different points that goes in the same direction. But still, every summer, any savings that we have established seem to get devoured. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've really got to change that. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">It truly is a sh!t plan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">To be exact, I lack my regular paycheck from July 15-September 15. I work during the summer for my school district for 4-6 weeks. However, I don't typically get paid until September 1. I know, that makes for one hell of a summer job. Still, I can't beat the money for the number of hours I work. On the days I work for the district, I pay half day daycare for BabyJaguar, but that's a good deal, so we save a good deal of money on daycare throughout summer. Also, with the debt that should be paid down before summer (crossing everything), we would save $175 every month. So there are bright spots in the summer budget where we will save on bills a bit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">But we have a wedding in August. In Boston. And while I'm so excited to see a great friend get married to the woman of his dreams, I'm a wee bit (a ton) freaked out. It's going to be a costly trip. Boston is by no means known as an inexpensive city. Also, I think it will be the first (and second, two nights probably) time that I have to leave BabyJaguar overnight. Ever. (Insert visual of me looking like I'm going to vomit here.) </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The other bummer is that we have some really great debt reduction momentum going right now and I hate to have take time off from it. It's just a bummer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">A goal I am thinking of setting for next school year is that I take $100 out of each check to go to summer savings with the long term goal, once more debt is paid off, of gradually increasing that amount to $350. That would adequately prepare us for summer and alleviate significant stress.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-89223702185178916762011-04-02T15:48:00.002-04:002011-04-02T15:53:34.456-04:00Progress!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-HdrrdmAuGrY9ZqiPA6vsP30qL6wvqal-J-h20Nd2NIsWyW4-kXCW_xguO8HJAcSV-7zxBLhFUSSiU0K0pAjyzGl4In9FJgC68ezlEWKtfzJWufSUp07jf-sxlERsZ6ruv0sdPRA5AI/s1600/therm+pic.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591075819940036482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-HdrrdmAuGrY9ZqiPA6vsP30qL6wvqal-J-h20Nd2NIsWyW4-kXCW_xguO8HJAcSV-7zxBLhFUSSiU0K0pAjyzGl4In9FJgC68ezlEWKtfzJWufSUp07jf-sxlERsZ6ruv0sdPRA5AI/s320/therm+pic.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">Our mini-emergency fund of $1,000 is complete! Here is photographic proof (I'm a visual person...and a nerd). </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">So at the close of the first official month of the debt diet (plus two weeks of prep work in which some money was saved), Mr. Jaguar and I have created a mini-emergency fund, paid off the Kohl's debt (it was a tiny debt, but still!) and paid $427.00 towards our next smallest debt.</span> <span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Our April budget is already made and in effect....I'll keep you posted.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-6614041008304759682011-03-26T21:43:00.017-04:002011-03-29T21:47:52.638-04:00No Magic Wand<span style="font-family:verdana;">So how did we save a lot of money in one month to start paying down our debt? I'm going to bullet this post since I'm going to be talking about a lot of different topics, but I should start off with a couple main points. One, Mr. Jaguar and I knew we had to bring in more income but wanted to spend as little time away from BabyJaguar as possible. Bottom line....the cub is only going to be a cub for a brief time and we don't want to miss out on it. Two, I always thought that in order to make a real difference in my debt, I had to make a big splash. Like I had to find a way to make a big dent in what we owe to make any real progress (remember back to how I said I was trying to pay a little bit extra on everything but felt like I was spinning my wheels? That's what I'm talking about.) However, I didn't think about the impact of <em>saving a little</em> and bringing in <em>a little</em> <em>extra.</em> If I save $20 on what goes out of my account, but bring in an extra $20, too, that's actually $40 we're talking about. So anyway, without further ado, here's what my family has been up to.</span> <br /><ol><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I am tutoring on Monday and Wednesday mornings as well as Wednesday afternoons. I haven't been paid yet for the morning tutoring (will happen soon) but I brought in some extra cash for my afternoon tutoring already. I also took a part-time job distributing free prescription discount cards. I set my hours for that, work from home and move at my own pace. It will take me a bit to make any money on that though. Still, I'm happy that I'm doing something where I can not only make a little extra money, but help others in the process. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Mr. Jaguar found some extra work on a couple Saturday nights per month. He has not started yet, so the money is yet to come in. He won't have to leave for work until 5:00 or 6:00. BabyJaguar is in bed by 8:00, so it's minimal time away from the boy. He will have to work late, but will nap when our son does.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">We bumped every single bill down to minimum payments to allow us to focus all of our extra cash on just one debt, our smallest one. This made a huge difference! </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">One bill is actually paid ahead a few months (so I guess I was making a little </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">progress before!). We made no payment to that debt this month and instead put that money towards our smallest debt.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I called my cable company to talk about my bill. They knocked off $20 a month for the next year (just because I asked) and then I returned a cable box for a TV we never watch, saving myself $5.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I called my car insurance company to discuss my policy. We updated my policy (only made very minor changes) and knocked money off that bill.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I finally got my butt in gear and switched to mail order prescriptions. It was so easy and I should've stopped procrastinating about it a long time ago. This did not save me money this month but now I don't have to purchase my regular scripts in April or May.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I cleaned out my freezers. What does this have to do with my budget? I got rid of old food. Now I know what is actually in there that I can use to make my family a meal and I have space to stock up when there is a super awesome chicken sale (was that too much enthusiasm about chicken?).</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I switched to store brand or cheaper brands on a few products. I use the Target brand Cetaphil face wash and switched to Tresemme shampoo. Some stuff I tried to switch to the cheapo brand and there was no comparison but where I can switch fairly painlessly, I am.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I make a shopping list and stick to it. I really stop and think before I put something in my cart. I kind of hate it, but it does make shopping easier.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">We really worked so hard this month to stick to the budget. When we did something outside of the budget, we discussed it first. Here's where we strayed this month: Wawa $11.63 (I was at the ER with Mr Jaguar that night. At 2 am, we agreed to splurge on dinner so we could just get home and go to bed), Children's Place $3.18 (bought BabyJaguar 2 shirts with store credit, this amount was the difference in price), Wendy's $8.28 (this was a night we worked super late and just wanted the family fed), Mucinex $9.51 (it was needed), TurboTax $64.15 (did the taxes), propane for grill $18.00, watch battery $18.00, J.C.Penney's $2.75 (pants for BabyJaguar), McDonald's $2.14 (I had to go from work to physical therapy to the dentist and didn't bring any food), donation $12.84 (local homeless shelter was in need of streamers and balloons). That's it: $150.48 worth of straying. Still though, that's $150.48. All that little stuff added up.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">We use the Target Red Card. We have the debit version, meaning no monthly bill. It gets us an instant 5% off our order every time we shop.</span> </li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I'm really studying the grocery store circulars. Generally, I make a small list of sale stuff from Shop Rite and my husband and BabyJaguar go take care of that while I do the big shop at Target. Both places are very close to my house so I don't feel like we're wasting money on gas.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I cancelled my gym membership. Seriously....who am I kidding? I can't even pee by myself let alone get to the gym. I take plenty of walks with BabyJaguar and that will do just fine for now.</span> </li></ol><br /><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">That's all I can think of tonight. If anything else comes to me, I'll post it later. There were definitely glitches during this first month. We went over what I anticipated for groceries but I'm not holding that one against this time because I really was taking a shot in the dark when I budgeted for what to spend on groceries. I had no idea what we usually spent. Also, BabyJaguar went up a size in clothing and we realized we needed a few more items for him. Finally, Mr. Jaguar discovered a blood clot in his leg a couple weeks ago (hence the ER visit). That brought in some unexpected doctor's visit and prescription copays beyond what I had budgeted for unexpected copays. No worries, the husband is improving and should be okay. Oh, and we needed a box of diapers this month. I had less stocked up than I thought. Which reminds me....we also switched from Pampers to Target brand diapers.</span></p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">So what's next? Well, we have started working on our second smallest debt so we keep plugging away at it. The husband should start his Saturday night job soon. He also has several old comic books we are looking to sell and we're going to go through BabyJaguar's old toys to get rid of a few things we are not interested in hanging on to. Those are our goals for April. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that there's a section on each monthly budget to list goals for that month. </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Giving this post a final read before I hit the "publish" button, I realize that people who aren't interested in debt and budgets are going to be seriously bored with this read. </span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-78795193260637825592011-03-26T21:07:00.006-04:002011-03-26T21:48:07.568-04:00Cinching the belt<span style="font-family:verdana;">I mentioned in a previous post that my family has gone on a debt diet. Actually, I prefer to think of it not as a diet, but a lifestyle, because the goal is permanence and the word diet seems temporary in nature. However, given my adoration of alliteration (did you catch that?), I will refer to it as the debt diet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Almost two months ago, my neighbor and friend, Angie, told me that there was a book I had to read. In the past months and over the course of a few long walks with our boys, she and I had confided in one another about the challenges and stress of our finances....feeling like we're living paycheck to paycheck even though we make decent money, worrying what would happen if something catastrophic (or even relatively minor for that manner) struck that would impact our ability to work, stressing about our retirement, just generally wondering what we could do to get ourselves into a better place financially. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Prior to this conversation, I had set a goal for 2011: to reduce our family's debt. I had previously been focusing on this, but while I was working hard at it, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I seemed to be spinning my wheels. The credit card was never used for recreation or luxuries. All of our credit debt was basically from situations where we needed money right at that very moment for something essential: dental work, vet bill, new roof (CHA CHING!). There was not a whole lot of fun in our budget, so I couldn't figure out where to trim the fat. We were already quite lean. Nonetheless, I worked furiously to pay extra on our bills. It was getting me nowhere. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You may by now be wondering, why does she keep saying 'I'? Well, the finances are my gig. I'm in charge of the bills in the house. No worries, I still have a husband. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">So anyway, Angie rushes out of her house one Friday when she sees me walking by and thrust this book at me, The Total Money Makeover (why is there no underline feature for blogger??? Irritating) by Dave Ramsey. She tells me that I need to read.it.right.away. She knows how to solve her debt issues. She has a plan. It's not that hard. The book makes it simple. Just.read.it.right.away.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I read it right away (I can take a hint). I blew through ninety pages that night (usually I get through about six pages of reading before I pass out) and skimmed the remaining pages to have an idea of what was to come. My husband came in later that night and I basically tackled him. I know how to solve our debt issues. I have a plan. It's not that hard. The book makes it simple. He needs to listen.to.me.right.away.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Mr. Jaguar and I had a long talk that night and he got right on board. We took the second half of February to get everything in order so that we could get this debt diet into full swing come March. The first two goals were to create a monthly budget and make a list of our debt (I made a poster. What up, overachievers?) The next goal was to save $1,000 as a mini-emergency fund. By the start of March, we had $283.44 set aside and got started on month #1 of the budget.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">March is coming to a close in just a few days and I'm proud to say that our emergency fund is complete and our first and smallest debt, Kohl's, is paid off. Beyond that, it looks as though we will save about an additional $400 towards our second smallest debt. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This would be a good spot to mention that, unlike many other financial advisors, Dave Ramsey recommends paying off your debt from the smallest amount to the largest, rather than paying off debts with the highest interest first. This allows you, as debts are paid off, to take what you would have paid to those now satisfied debts and put it towards your next debt more quickly. He calls it the snowball effect. My husband and I made a couple minor tweaks to this (we moved our two credit card debts up a smidgen on the priority list), but for the most part we are sticking with Dave.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Back to what I was saying about saving money, I am shocked that we were able to save that much money. <em>Shocked</em>. But we did it. And I can't wait to do it again next month. Are you wondering how we did it, especially when we were already on a super lean budget? More on that later..... </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-65198242635520080312011-03-04T20:36:00.004-05:002011-03-06T20:55:02.202-05:00First sentence!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today, I was driving through town when I saw my husband and BabyJaguar in the park. I quickly pulled to the side of the road and waited impatiently for an opening in the traffic so I could open my door while my husband worked to contain my son who was frantically trying to get to me from across the street. And then, BabyJaguar, through tears, cried out his first full sentence:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"I want my mommy!"</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">I'm sitting here trying to come up with the next sentence that captures how happy those four words make me, but there are no words. You will instead have to visualize me with a huge grin on my face, my eyes all squinty from the big smile and my shoulders all scrunched up in squishy, love filled joy.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-59960386543466462152011-02-27T15:01:00.009-05:002011-03-06T20:59:10.354-05:00Caught in the whirlwind<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have been horrendously MIA these last months and really wish it weren't the case. So often my mind is on something and I think, I'd really like to blog about that. And then it never comes to fruition. Life has been indescribably hectic and so I can't really complain, but I really wish I were blogging with greater frequency. I miss it terribly.<br /><br />So what's new with me? Can I bullet? Let's bullet.<br /><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Work is crazy busy. I came into this school year with a group of kids who had significant emotional needs and behavioral concerns. For the first couple months, I was a mess. I couldn't even enjoy them in their brief moments of calm because I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Insert Zoloft here. It is working wonders and I feel like my more-or-less normal self again even though I am surrounded by daily craziness. Also, one of my needier students moved and, while I miss him, it has made the year a bit easier to have one less in my crew. On top of that, the kids settled down <em>somewhat</em> as they have learned that my rules are the only rules in my classroom (I feel so Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds when I say that).<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At the start of 2011, I embraced a mission: to reduce my family's debt. My husband got on board and we are knee deep (okay, ankle deep) in the Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey. There's no magic bullet to this, just good old fashioned hard work while following some sound steps. I could not be more excited. I have made a poster of our debt (I know, I'm a nerd), created a strict monthly budget and even drew a little fundraising thermometer to help us record our progress towards our first goal (I know, I'm a <em>huge</em> nerd but I can't help myself). I will write more about this later.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ben is growing at the speed of light. He is now nearly 22 months, is putting lots of words together and is very fond of the phrase, "No Mommy", which he doesn't say rudely but rather matter of factly. He is flexible yet demanding, independent yet affectionate and the center of my world. I continue to feel so astoundingly privileged that I get to be his mommy.</span></li></ul><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Life is crazy, life is stressful, life is rewarding and life is good. That's it in a nutshell. I'll be back. I promise!</span></p>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-42131658165666154232010-09-05T10:42:00.001-04:002011-03-06T20:58:46.862-05:00All things 'no'<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My mornings generally start like this: I get BabyJaguar out of his crib and put him in my bed where he lazily reclines back on my propped up pillows and drinks his milk while I try to wake up. This lasts about a whole five minutes and then he is off and running. Literally. He hops off the bed and heads full speed for all things 'no'. As in, "No litter box. That's for the kitties." And, "No dirty diaper. Mommy has to take that downstairs with us and throw it out." And, "No billy club. Daddy has to use that if he ever has to beat a burglar." (Am I the only one whose husband is ready to defend the family on a moment's notice? Yeah, it's tucked against the wall behind his side of the bed. Ben has discovered it.) </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And so it goes for the rest of the day with the exception of nap time (and people wonder why mommies still nap even as their children get older. It's nap or drink). I gotta tell you...it's completely exhausting. I don't really know how I sustain this pace everyday. Nor do I know how I'm going to manage returning to teaching with my child going at this current pace. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And, in my defense, my house is reasonably baby proofed. I've got locks on several cabinets and enough gates to simulate a lockdown at a state prison. But still, it's not enough. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And when I say 'no' to something, in BabyJaguar's head it means, "GAME ON." And he will proceed to go for the 'no' object seventeen more times in a five minute span. And I read up on parenting. I try the avoid-a-power-struggle-with-your-little-one-language to avoid the big N-O as in, "We can have the Cheerios after we eat lunch," instead of, "No Cheerios." No luck with that in this house. Actually, when I tell the little man he can't have something right when he demands it, he gets this little glint in his eye. His face shows nothing but sheer amusement as he thinks, "This dumb hieney thinks she can take me." (He knows he can't use the word ass. He at least respects the no swearing rule. I guess that's something.) </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What does this all mean? Does he have ADHD? Oppositional Defiant Disorder? Is he destined to become a common criminal? A lawyer? Or just a regular ol' fifteen month old with some kind of stubborn streak? I think it's the latter (at least I hope!). </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So how am I handling all this? I'm counting (a lot). I'm taking deep breaths. I'm trying to think of the ridiculously adorable things he does during the moments when he is at his most challenging. I'm visiting him often when he is asleep in his crib to cherish a completely still moment with him. Daddy and I are taking turns a lot so the other can take a break when they need it. I'm being consistent, consistent, consistent. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And I'm remembering that I would never give up being BabyJaguar's mommy for even a minute.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-69099100038186246372010-08-05T14:01:00.009-04:002010-08-05T14:12:53.705-04:00Saying goodbye to an extraordinary year...<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE2hzFcNieY0oy0rTEuH7PKCA_3QqpuAe_DXEINlIV4mMaFD4VhwcSRyByxmbAeQNwbqg1G8UOrJeLacvUc9Qj1HNiIVo0NpTrnWZIjDRdIsIAJcrHtY2KAUPbuOqvIzzXKhn1NlH7Xw/s1600/DSC01792.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501989779547430914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLE2hzFcNieY0oy0rTEuH7PKCA_3QqpuAe_DXEINlIV4mMaFD4VhwcSRyByxmbAeQNwbqg1G8UOrJeLacvUc9Qj1HNiIVo0NpTrnWZIjDRdIsIAJcrHtY2KAUPbuOqvIzzXKhn1NlH7Xw/s320/DSC01792.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXGAJ1NANoC9Wn9jmWgI3VP5hEcU3uV1qKH1IYGCGrrBv8KQRx23-acC_lneKm4o60RiqkZTz82H4yvaWxWV7MoZrqVoejxmN7XXVuLb9UYY8oVtoOfHN5PjJMY6W0yuV0vNJtbRHtIs/s1600/DSC01879.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501990078757757794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXGAJ1NANoC9Wn9jmWgI3VP5hEcU3uV1qKH1IYGCGrrBv8KQRx23-acC_lneKm4o60RiqkZTz82H4yvaWxWV7MoZrqVoejxmN7XXVuLb9UYY8oVtoOfHN5PjJMY6W0yuV0vNJtbRHtIs/s320/DSC01879.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQFdp8MpAXW76pMVUj5XlxjTQgbqApxV8B_Ytqgo-fIpcrkhWzznP53LEPYYF9zp9mImnpIX3Xsq-omGsv7qlBqQFn7bPlOMMDBqI13wtKQMJuMX34lAwmGOr_0pylR84xJW9QD-24qk/s1600/DSC02054.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501987662123828402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQFdp8MpAXW76pMVUj5XlxjTQgbqApxV8B_Ytqgo-fIpcrkhWzznP53LEPYYF9zp9mImnpIX3Xsq-omGsv7qlBqQFn7bPlOMMDBqI13wtKQMJuMX34lAwmGOr_0pylR84xJW9QD-24qk/s320/DSC02054.JPG" /></a> </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKPHlG3Y_p7DIJ5oNQVZF47ijWKTpYEg09OkOOUENinMEzOBovyhFSY2HBoJk40lt-drWOLBHfe7nRFTn2UZZMD16bQSlWQS4LoSy2R9knNSsFnFWkatIfb0iF7x4_6bWkJmL0jcJhpA/s1600/DSC02241.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501988096200277666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKPHlG3Y_p7DIJ5oNQVZF47ijWKTpYEg09OkOOUENinMEzOBovyhFSY2HBoJk40lt-drWOLBHfe7nRFTn2UZZMD16bQSlWQS4LoSy2R9knNSsFnFWkatIfb0iF7x4_6bWkJmL0jcJhpA/s320/DSC02241.JPG" /></a> </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXtJS0Xp_IE56mWsJmsNjOQMNSbMQWc1puNCtZ5Rl_3akozgQGYVMmcCCX7ro1ipkUqJBVLceClfj4IPo8GHunmx6-CoAe0PWLGIMhggyzecC-7NKS06dIQ7i0CZa7NNT9fVw-_Pn1T4/s1600/DSC02266.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501988503683297362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpXtJS0Xp_IE56mWsJmsNjOQMNSbMQWc1puNCtZ5Rl_3akozgQGYVMmcCCX7ro1ipkUqJBVLceClfj4IPo8GHunmx6-CoAe0PWLGIMhggyzecC-7NKS06dIQ7i0CZa7NNT9fVw-_Pn1T4/s320/DSC02266.JPG" /></a><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-j4h6qsNlM_iOhIyEECE8oA2lUEy80UD-e46BzxdaWsjT3FVwCmvFNDtY1rBaln_fN9-nn3yYfnK930dTyPLLqY2ei8DY6R7PFeAfooD2qT3EugXpQ-9eN9jmUFDJDySEyXA_GnBxow/s1600/DSC02339.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501988793664201618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-j4h6qsNlM_iOhIyEECE8oA2lUEy80UD-e46BzxdaWsjT3FVwCmvFNDtY1rBaln_fN9-nn3yYfnK930dTyPLLqY2ei8DY6R7PFeAfooD2qT3EugXpQ-9eN9jmUFDJDySEyXA_GnBxow/s320/DSC02339.JPG" /></a></div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6j-ioKIPAqKuc5sSk0m1pjHjtDToA0LcNzzP4Uj_3EGGSxt5RKD2WAfz_fNpT1Vb8g1FpZwTTiWAKsH-ag9iVitxVoN4BPrAi978MhnPfOHFsMpNRz_7VluEzQMNRQIq9AbhwSbEhxE/s1600/DSC02368.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501989145373938034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6j-ioKIPAqKuc5sSk0m1pjHjtDToA0LcNzzP4Uj_3EGGSxt5RKD2WAfz_fNpT1Vb8g1FpZwTTiWAKsH-ag9iVitxVoN4BPrAi978MhnPfOHFsMpNRz_7VluEzQMNRQIq9AbhwSbEhxE/s320/DSC02368.JPG" /></a></div></div></div></div></div></div>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-18387065201130450552010-08-03T21:40:00.004-04:002010-08-03T21:51:25.583-04:00No time for that, mommy. I'm a mover and a shaker now.<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My little monkey is all done nursing....well, almost all done. He's all done for function's sake anyway. Every now and then, he kinda remembers I have boobs and decides to hop on for three seconds and then is right back off and running. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I introduced cow's milk after BabyJaguar's first birthday. We eased into it. Just a bit mixed in with a bottle of breastmilk that got sent off to daycare. Each week, I added another half-ounce or ounce until eventually, lo and behold, his daycare bottles were nothing but cow's milk. We continued to nurse at home. I stopped pumping at work (insert picture of me with my arms raised to the heavens shouting, "PRAISE!!!"). Life was good. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then gradually, my milk lessened a bit and the little monkey was not as satisfied after nursing and would take a bottle afterwards. And then, even more gradually, he started wanting a bottle instead of nursing. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hmm. Such mixed emotions about it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was a good fourteen months, bunny.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-7983519253554454362010-07-17T10:28:00.003-04:002010-07-17T10:42:27.611-04:00Absence of thoughts<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've been MIA for quite a bit. It's not so much that I haven't been on the computer or even that I haven't checked in on my blog. I have. I guess I've just been quiet. I'd sit here at the computer, fingers ready to type away, only my brain was either still or blank (mommy brain). I tend to think of something to say when I'm not actually sitting at the computer and then I think to myself that I should jot it down so I don't forget and then my mind jumps to a new topic and I forget to write it down so I remember it for later. It's tragic really. When I think of all those lost blog posts. Just tragic.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Apparently this mommy brain (previously called pregnancy brain) is permanent. Mommies don't tell other women this. It's a secret that they don't share with anyone outside the club. You need a secret password to be privy to this inside information and the password involves babyfood in your hair and a faint smell of spit up combined with baby poo. Sure, when you join the I'm-with-child club, we'll give you the watered down version of the secret and tell you that your IQ is going to drop 40 points and your brain will turn to the consistency of rice cereal all because you're pregnant. But when you pop that little one out, that's when you hear the real bombshell. This newfound IQ level is permanent. Welcome to the idiot club, sister. So nice to have you.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-1285166581368990272010-06-06T14:37:00.005-04:002010-06-06T15:06:45.986-04:00Muted apprehensions<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Motherhood has left me with me with this very frequent, intense feeling of being so very blessed. It's not always at the forefront of my mind, but it's constantly there. At least a few times a day it makes it way to the very front of my consciousness and shouts at me, "Boy!! Are you lucky!!"</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And I am. So very very lucky. I look at my son and I can't help but feel like my world is just so....full. With joy. With hugs. With giggles. With pride. With smiles. With just immeasurable love. It's indescribable. Like the parents who came before me told me it would be. And while I believed them, I could never grasp the depth of it all until Ben came into my life. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But with this newfound joy and wholeness comes this nagging anxiety that whispers to me, <em>it could all slip way</em>. Like suddenly life is so amazing that I realize there is just so much to lose. And it's absolutely terrifying. Because I know that if Ben ever somehow slipped away, I wouldn't know how to get out of bed every morning or how to force my lungs to fill and empty over and over. I could never go back to life without Ben. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When the topic of old age comes up, I tell people flat out that I plan to die in my seventies. Seriously, I know I can't control much of dying before that beyond the obvious don't smoke, don't drink and drive, don't play on the train tracks, blah blah blah, but your late seventies seems pretty ideal. Hopefully your body isn't completely failing you yet. For most, the mind is still intact. Many maintain a good deal of independence. After that, it's just kinda downhill. My grandmother lived into her nineties. She didn't have much of a life near the end. I don't want that for myself, relying almost exclusively on others. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Anyway, when this discussion came up recently, I shared my plan and then I realized that my late seventies is in 40+ years. And you know what happened? My stomach dropped. That anxious feeling returned as I realized that means I only have 40+ years with Ben<em>. That's not enough time</em>. And right then, I realized. No amount of time will ever be enough.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-4513089135057553622010-05-02T22:10:00.002-04:002010-05-02T22:20:12.344-04:00Banana Sunday<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">These days, I usually start my morning by pumping one breast before getting Ben from his room and then I feed him on the other. I have a manual pump that I use just for mornings. Its portability seems to make life a bit simpler. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today, Ben woke up early and was ready to get out of his crib before I pumped. I obliged, fed him and then crept out of my room with Ben on my hip and the pump in my hand. I figured Mr. Jaguar could sleep in a bit. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Once in the den, I put Ben down on the floor and got settled to pump. Well, Ben went bananas. <em>Bananas</em>. He was so intently looking at my boob and howling. It was quite clear that he did not want me to pump. I tried anyway. He continued to go nuts. I finally gave in, put the pump down and nursed the boy again. He snuggled in and was completely content.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ten minutes later, he unlatched and sat up. Are you ready for what he did next? You won't even believe me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>He handed me the pump</em>.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-84661770444573613692010-05-01T12:04:00.003-04:002010-05-01T12:16:28.220-04:00Who da thunk it?<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I got a period. As in PCOS-and-nursing-got-a-period. It was quite a surprising development. About a month ago I started having a lot of pain in my lower abdomen. It felt an awful lot like when I had ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome so I was obviously a little freaked out. Was I ovulating? And if so, was I somehow breaking my body in the process? It really hurt! There was a point when I tried to lie down on one side and I couldn't. After 4 or 5 days, I called my midwife and, given my history, she sent me to get a pelvic ultrasound. Well, the radiology place couldn't fit me in until the following week and by then the pain had mostly subsided but I went anyway, still concerned that something might be broken. I checked out okay and then a few days later, I got a period. Bizarre, I know. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">And in complete and utter inconvenience, I was out of town when it happened, had just arrived at my brother in law's house, could not drive myself to the store for supplies since we took my husband's car which is a stick and I only know how to drive an automatic. So I had to go ask my brother in law if his wife had anything I could use. It was great. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">"Hey, I know I haven't seen you in months but could we awkwardly discuss tampons? That'd be super."</span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Still, score one for the girl with PCOS...she ovulated!</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-42501989490205653312010-03-11T20:01:00.002-05:002010-03-11T20:56:07.398-05:00And then it all came crashing back...<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It turns out that there are a handful of women from my school who have also dealt with infertility at some point. Once you join the club, you hear about who the other members are. Most of us ended up going to the same RE and, eventually, becoming pregnant.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But one of us didn't. We'll call her Nora. Up until this particular day, I don't know if Nora knew I was infertile and I don't know if she knew that <em>I knew</em> she was infertile. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was a Friday morning. And it was a jeans day. That's a recipe for a good day for any teacher. Throw in a pay day and we actually click our heels in the hallways. I bumped into Nora as I signed in at the office and she stopped to ask what was on my necklace.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"It's a mother necklace. It has Ben's name on it," I happily answered without thinking at all. I love this necklace. I love wearing something that makes me feel like Ben is with me even when I am here and he is there.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"You're so lucky," she responded. Those three words...they were so much more than three little words. Four syllables that were just filled with distant pain, the kind that is stored in the back of your mind. I can't even explain her voice when she said it. Wistful is the closest I can come to capturing it. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"I know," was the only reply I could come up with. The conversation ended and we both continued on in our separate directions. I eventually ended up back in my classroom and I was a wreck. I didn't know what to do. All I could think of was all of those moments back before I got pregnant when someone's innocent comment would tear away at the infertile me. I needed to talk to her, to apologize for starting her day off like that, to let her know that I wasn't one of them, a fertile. I had to go tell her that I was sorry if the necklace had upset her. That was exactly what I would say. I am sorry if the necklace upset you. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I headed out the door towards Nora's classroom. Then I stopped about ten feet later. What happens after I say that? Where would this conversation go? I don't even think she knows that I <em>know</em> about her infertility. How will she react when I just throw it out there? After wrestling with these questions to no avail, I turned on my heels and headed back towards my class. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Crossing my room, I stopped <em>again</em>. What do I do? I turned back to go to Nora <em>again</em> and stopped <em>again</em>. What the hell? What is the <em>right</em> thing to do? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Finally, I decided I needed to go talk to her. I didn't know how the conversation would go or how she would react but I couldn't bear the thought of starting off her day the way I had without at least attempting to fix it. I ran into her in an empty hallway. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And I just blurted it all out. How I was sorry if the necklace had upset her and how I was infertile and how I didn't know what to say after she told me how lucky I was and I was just sorry. And I cried and I felt like an ass for that so then I apologized a lot for crying. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And she hugged me. And then she cried. And then I hugged her. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then we moved on to the rest of our day. We chatted for a few minutes about our dysfunctional families and laughed about that. Eventually, we had to separate because we both had kids arriving shortly. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I thought a lot about that ten minutes of my life in the following days. I'm an infertility cheerleader. I've always been the one with the mindset that we all become mothers, some how, some way, we eventually find a way to the beautiful child that we are destined to hold and nuzzle and cherish. But Nora didn't. And she won't. I don't know why. It's none of my business why really. But I'm just so struck by the fact that some of us <em>don't</em> become moms, like it never even really occurred to me because I've always stayed in this positive, determined, focus-on-the-goal mindset when it comes to other infertiles.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Some of us don't become mothers.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And now that I am a mother, that's one of the most heartbreaking realizations I've ever had. </span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-33624802729782877682010-02-24T11:51:00.001-05:002010-02-24T21:25:45.687-05:00Where's hannah?<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So, though I have thought about this often, I've yet to post about it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where does your infertility go once you have a baby? Does its bitterness continue to hover over you? Does it sit across the room from you, staring at you while your little one dozes on your chest? Or does it simply disappear?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For me, it was none of these. And I know this may sound cliche or overly dramatic, but I swear, I had an infertile-to-mommy transitional moment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">During Ben's first few days at home, I was grappling with my infertility. What do I do with this huge part of my identity that I've been carrying around for so long? What happens when the hand that has only known alcohol swabs and needles now is grasped by tiny yet perfect fingers? What happens once the infertile is a mommy? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then one day, it was only Ben's third or fourth day home with me, I was standing over his swing, staring at him contently swaying. He was the most amazing creature I had ever seen and I couldn't believe he was mine. I could keep him. Nobody (the fertility police?) was going to show up and say there was a mix up and that I hadn't actually been pregnant. At least I was pretty sure that wouldn't happen. Half my brain knew that wouldn't happen but the other half still thought it was a pretty strong possibility. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've spoken before about how my infertility, or Hannah, seemed to always be hovering over my shoulder, invading my brief moments of peace. I never felt completely alone to fully relax and let my guard down. Napping, studying, hot showers, private moments with my husband. They were all invaded by her presence. And now, standing there admiring my tiny son, this exquisite little being, I felt her there, literally just over my left shoulder and I again pondered how I'm supposed to reconcile these two very different pieces of this new me: infertile and mommy. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then she stepped back. Into the shadows of my subconscious. She stepped back. And as she did, she whispered softly that though she wasn't going anywhere, she would let me just be a mommy for now. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I can't even begin to fully explain this moment. I <em>physically</em> felt her step into the background of my mind. It was strange. And powerful. And finally, after a long and difficult journey.....peaceful.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-90708566443081005542010-02-19T16:51:00.003-05:002010-02-19T17:05:09.502-05:00Caution: wide load<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My baby weight is gone, as well as some of my just-husky-in-general weight and this pleases me. I will be the first to admit that I have done absolutely nothing to make this happen except nurse and so I make no effort to take any credit for this loss, but still, I'm happy it's gone. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">However, my current body is quite different from my previous body. There's more jiggling involved. And a thicker middle. And my arms look their best ever. And my butt is gone. It's just flat and weird. So now most of my clothes fit differently and I'm working with the new me, adjusting to this similar but just different enough to make my old wardrobe tricky body. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I weigh myself a lot because it feels kinda good to see the number. It could be even lower but it's good. I admit the weighing frequency may be (definitely is) a bit compulsive. A few days ago, I learned that I should just stick to weighing myself and not get carried away. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Are you ready? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I tried on my bathing suit. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was a really bad idea. Like one of my worst ones ever. Like when I thought it would be funny to let the cat play with a large piece of masking tape bad (in my defense, I just wasn't thinking).</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I truly thought, I can't look that bad in a bathing suit, right?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! SO VERY VERY WRONG! </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was alarming and scary and wide.</span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-32536123592123094222010-02-02T11:50:00.000-05:002010-02-07T09:48:53.630-05:00forget-me-nots<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I wrote this in Ben's first weeks and never got around to publishing it. Looking over it, I'm so glad I got some of these tidbits recorded because, already, he no longer does so many of them. He has moved on to new and just as beautiful little habits. How quickly he is changing and growing right before me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There are so many things I don't want to forget about you, Ben, and our time together so far. You're growing and changing so fast. I can't even believe it. Here are some of the things I want to remember to tell you later...</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In the early weeks of nursing, you were so funny! You would push yourself back off my boob and growl at it! Then you'd pounce on it in true BabyJaguar style. You would do this over and over again while whipping your head from side to side. You looked like a wildcat hunting and attacking its prey and it was absolutely hysterical.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You would make this adorable surprised face and hold it. You'd raise your little eyebrows and form your mouth into a perfect little 'O' and then just stare at me like that. Cutest thing ever.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You are so loved.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You have freakishly long nails and use them like weapons. They grow so fast and are really sharp! You claw at me when you're upset and I try to grin and bear it so I don't get you more upset by startling you.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When you'd be up on my shoulder being burped, you'd try to nurse on my cheek. Now you prefer to mouth my (and everyone else's) neck or shoulder. It's really cute even though it's really wet.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When you're tired (and nursing...do you see a theme?), you often cover your face and my boob up with your arm. Daddy throws his arm up over his face when he sleeps, too.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When you're almost entirely asleep, you make these big smiles....all while still nursing. </span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You have made my heart swell with love.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You don't like having your back rubbed when you're eating. You arch your back to get away from the touch. But you like the back rubbing when you're up on my shoulder.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I love when you give the side-eye. Sometimes you're in a position to look at me head on but you push your head off to the side and then side-eye me instead. It's really funny. That's another face that you hold for a few seconds for dramatic effect.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In the beginning, I would stroke your hair to settle you (I love when people do that for me). Now I often catch you with your little hand up on your head doing it yourself. It makes me happy.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I love having you beside me in the co-sleeper at night. Sometimes when you're already asleep, I fall asleep holding your hand.</span></li><br /><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You are loved beyond words. </span></li></ul>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-40455804646808376612010-01-02T21:42:00.000-05:002010-01-01T22:15:29.559-05:00The holidays wrap up<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Here we go....the holidays in pictures<br /><br /></span><div><div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">First there was Halloween. I killed myself to get this costume for him. It was way expensive but I found it on Craig's List for cheap! Then, after agreeing to purchase it, I learned that it was an hour drive away. And yeah, I drove an hour one way. That was a total freak mom moment for me. A few weeks later, when Halloween rolled around, my husky little man had grown out of it! I had to squish him in a bit. See the ankle sticking out? </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdk-3PkO2BAQ_ITJBkgFtuYekt_yOtN5TFDTXTnUT5cVpNtZ3FabntUjMZjuhdOz-FYu4hyphenhyphen46K8sAjyhBpM4_0Xk57osYH4XJZB2NCBzeeFonhIitaDjw7AJW2ah5g2XP2PDDWvdMk3Pk/s1600-h/DSC01703.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421967751197603154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdk-3PkO2BAQ_ITJBkgFtuYekt_yOtN5TFDTXTnUT5cVpNtZ3FabntUjMZjuhdOz-FYu4hyphenhyphen46K8sAjyhBpM4_0Xk57osYH4XJZB2NCBzeeFonhIitaDjw7AJW2ah5g2XP2PDDWvdMk3Pk/s320/DSC01703.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />We hosted our first holiday! Thanksgiving was kinda crazy but really nice. MrJaguar was recovering from knee surgery but he cooked up his first turkey and stuffing. It was amazing.</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwmzQpLUCjJlHr-XC6ad-Im3dWKzLLwLlP-4zAP8mcmNXJ5IdGGJeoHMmoWwE8tKM2Sgsw9rpndaNuta9HXAhfm23abTsTumkxblIuwzzDrdCX5RbXtZ18Aaw2bEzyjJ-poNF2R8ASTM/s1600-h/DSC01838.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 213px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421969053071073202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwmzQpLUCjJlHr-XC6ad-Im3dWKzLLwLlP-4zAP8mcmNXJ5IdGGJeoHMmoWwE8tKM2Sgsw9rpndaNuta9HXAhfm23abTsTumkxblIuwzzDrdCX5RbXtZ18Aaw2bEzyjJ-poNF2R8ASTM/s320/DSC01838.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My bunny turned seven months old but we had a bit of a hard time capturing the moment with a sign.</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_l2beNCJwbkgqAYtcTj2WP9QvxgNSyPftVTlrrnX3I-DOH4Lu9ENirJ3i1giX_6_RAFdio9CviG1VhtaIr9LRkVuTMBopNNoStRjXB7CIQsS-GL7EVx-gQtIKEv6ip5iKXCZLOtxue_4/s1600-h/DSC01879.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421969920179475042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_l2beNCJwbkgqAYtcTj2WP9QvxgNSyPftVTlrrnX3I-DOH4Lu9ENirJ3i1giX_6_RAFdio9CviG1VhtaIr9LRkVuTMBopNNoStRjXB7CIQsS-GL7EVx-gQtIKEv6ip5iKXCZLOtxue_4/s320/DSC01879.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />And then there was Christmas! It was so fun opening gifts with Ben. We actually had a white Christmas which is unheard of around here. We got nearly two feet of snow which is also unheard of around here.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8ApRtDnfVGTGU-JMyDS9A85z8Phbm3dIVIRrlJ6GfB-xafdpoVnXTxjrC9dQB_SNe19tpnn4HzI6Z41aomTo0hhiNNKruukDV-FBYS6uxAzIwEew8wEaHxS3BT3zbNcqMzxvSuUZcW4/s1600-h/DSC01947.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 213px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421970352949910146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ8ApRtDnfVGTGU-JMyDS9A85z8Phbm3dIVIRrlJ6GfB-xafdpoVnXTxjrC9dQB_SNe19tpnn4HzI6Z41aomTo0hhiNNKruukDV-FBYS6uxAzIwEew8wEaHxS3BT3zbNcqMzxvSuUZcW4/s320/DSC01947.JPG" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDAsXVxzWfGubv0_cteJqAa6CDBcWeciNbVn0i4bv-SdhWMOIWl6FfjXLrM6hPZgxLs1R_goEQFhsF39ds9PNWC8RgBlfViR2aqYPxvfj1acixWLCGZLofQuFZqejpLhVxCF09zrsc3U/s1600-h/DSC01946.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 213px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421970900837936290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDAsXVxzWfGubv0_cteJqAa6CDBcWeciNbVn0i4bv-SdhWMOIWl6FfjXLrM6hPZgxLs1R_goEQFhsF39ds9PNWC8RgBlfViR2aqYPxvfj1acixWLCGZLofQuFZqejpLhVxCF09zrsc3U/s320/DSC01946.JPG" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />He was shocked to find out that a fat man in the very same outfit as him would bring him toys!</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSVdmzj2W0GBITgEH4F_tx6sPW5F4XptIYJ_-MUc2g8N2O3D1c6VK1NH_qkssXC1o6rN-cd-2mWlCc7eeGpltjxrxe-WfioIzid2kSWV-WdSMmK0PG9_cf8x1wDHbSwThPl5YPZqJedk/s1600-h/DSC01939.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421971282255457570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSVdmzj2W0GBITgEH4F_tx6sPW5F4XptIYJ_-MUc2g8N2O3D1c6VK1NH_qkssXC1o6rN-cd-2mWlCc7eeGpltjxrxe-WfioIzid2kSWV-WdSMmK0PG9_cf8x1wDHbSwThPl5YPZqJedk/s320/DSC01939.JPG" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He got a new hat! </span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatpGjhJSypw2a3UVi5LpIv2s2PW1PrXpAOT1Mb4W0YKE_ACRYT_GkEcW_kRi7gua9KQCdMMvGsMOIPWG4lv-NS7bfPNaY3GBoa2A4flaCjr6vez4e8sSwlVWHMBG55Qm7J2wXNj6K7uE/s1600-h/DSC01962.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 213px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421972242478237474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiatpGjhJSypw2a3UVi5LpIv2s2PW1PrXpAOT1Mb4W0YKE_ACRYT_GkEcW_kRi7gua9KQCdMMvGsMOIPWG4lv-NS7bfPNaY3GBoa2A4flaCjr6vez4e8sSwlVWHMBG55Qm7J2wXNj6K7uE/s320/DSC01962.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And a wagon for rolling with his homies!<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5_oCi175EBLpJr-oyLgTTHxOqE47fr1n3y-Raj1SlWg1p2SjsrlMiei0et3LWhNQhTS687u8atoDGmE7Tg9p5sL8IBD01sWy9nKTf-eU7nqwa1zLkn4-tjPYShyphenhyphennUpcJLRiOO-b57FA/s1600-h/DSC01999.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 213px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421972565431565730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5_oCi175EBLpJr-oyLgTTHxOqE47fr1n3y-Raj1SlWg1p2SjsrlMiei0et3LWhNQhTS687u8atoDGmE7Tg9p5sL8IBD01sWy9nKTf-eU7nqwa1zLkn4-tjPYShyphenhyphennUpcJLRiOO-b57FA/s320/DSC01999.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ8a4Q7nE-mQht2gJmicEdGrbdZoXAHnwG3ESQO99u3EE9KM26GsVMpI3zkoNwMxgU0GyPtsyofl-gIUjnK_sSe3sDL1cIc4v3p17cVc5Wrp6mqzKWFAVAE8K8MfUMWkvOZLnD4ilY8A/s1600-h/DSC02003.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421972918021537298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ8a4Q7nE-mQht2gJmicEdGrbdZoXAHnwG3ESQO99u3EE9KM26GsVMpI3zkoNwMxgU0GyPtsyofl-gIUjnK_sSe3sDL1cIc4v3p17cVc5Wrp6mqzKWFAVAE8K8MfUMWkvOZLnD4ilY8A/s320/DSC02003.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> </span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And he celebrated the new year with his mommy!<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaaLu_af-bzwCAnVpzhCSIWWyAaHEcg7Ygm0z3wP49guS_UOzELgw8CStyaNO80tN6LxUumILiQubcXeBj9Q8pNo_CW0Df_pWvw9w98p9lzSrqTzAr61Y-4T_kAPVcfO7jqPX8bEOUiA/s1600-h/DSC02026.JPG"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="WIDTH: 213px; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421973454289769730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikaaLu_af-bzwCAnVpzhCSIWWyAaHEcg7Ygm0z3wP49guS_UOzELgw8CStyaNO80tN6LxUumILiQubcXeBj9Q8pNo_CW0Df_pWvw9w98p9lzSrqTzAr61Y-4T_kAPVcfO7jqPX8bEOUiA/s320/DSC02026.JPG" /></span></a></div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Truth be told, I have mixed emotions about moving into the new year. This is the year when I heard my son's first cry, when I stayed home to savor his first few months, when I discovered all the silly ways to make him laugh. And while I know this coming year will be filled with many new firsts, it's hard to let go of the old ones. This growing up at the speed of light thing has been hard on me.</span> </div></div>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2083941585880598021.post-1159699294211578112010-01-01T21:04:00.003-05:002010-01-01T22:15:21.135-05:00The Notebook<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's full. The notebook is full. And I am sad.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Way back when, I received a gift from a friend and fellow infertile nestie, Stephanie. It was a notebook that she had taken the time to personalize and send to me with a thoughtful card. As I admired it, I wondered what I'd used it for and decided it would have to be for something special. I set it aside and waited for that special time to declare itself. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Finally, after a long summer of being stuck in the same cycle with doctor appointment after doctor appointment trying to kick my body into gear, I finally got the go ahead to start injectables. I decided the notebook would be the perfect place to keep track of my injections, the bloodwork and ultrasounds and anything else that seemed important. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Finally, after that cycle proved quite successful and I had carried my little one for forty weeks and one day, I used that notebook to record the times for my contractions before deciding to head off to the hospital. I even recorded the mundane details of those unforgettable hours like the fact that I insisted on unloading the dishwasher between contractions in an effort to keep my mind off the blinding pain that was wracking my body every three to four minutes. The notebook was tucked into my dufflebag for safekeeping. Later, as I focused on the challenges of labor and delivery, my husband and brother were given the task of recording the stats in the notebook.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The notebook really got going on Ben's very first day at home. It was initially intended to track his neverending breastfeedings and dirty diapers but it quickly grew into so much more. It became the place where I recorded all of his firsts; his first smile, his first laugh, his first coos. It became home to the copious notes of his milestones. It became my treasure chest of little thoughts for my Benja-Bean, telling him how grateful I am to have him in my life, the endless ways he amazes me and how he is the greatest gift I have ever received. The notebook became sacred.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And then I started realizing that it was running low on paper. I actually felt really anxious every time I noticed the dwindling supply. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Until, last month, when it was full. With a heavy heart, I closed it up, carefully tucked it away and walked downstairs to make this distressing announcement to my husband. Then, I went out to the store and bought a new notebook. </span>JackiJaguarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11445296139546408197noreply@blogger.com0