The D-Word

Debt is the only four-letter word no one talks about unless we are griping about the current state of political affairs.  But we all feel the sinking in our hearts, that punch in the gut, the hopelessness when we hear that word.  Debt.  The calculator starts running in my head subconsciously when I hear the word debt, when I swipe my ATM card at the gas station or the store.  I am human living in a consumerist society.  Everywhere I go, I am not encouraged to save and pay off debt but to spend and consume more.  I am enticed by sales, promotions, BOGOs, Groupons, and in some weird way, I feel like by spending more on these items, I am actually saving.

It all began when we moved to Seattle and Duane's only income for four months was unemployment.  I make a modest living, but my paycheck covers the bills and that is it: water, gas, rent, food, mortgage, electricity, student loans, retirement fund (I will address this in a separate blog and why it goes in this category, but think about it for now), and daycare.  It doesn't even begin to pay the health or car insurance, Pocky's annual vet visit, medical bills, haircuts, dog food and medicine, clothing and diapers for August, cell phone payments, and it certainly doesn't put a dent in the credit card bills or any kind of entertainment fees.  Duane and I were sitting in the apartment hot tub a few weeks ago adding up our bills.  We try to talk about our situation as much as we can; we talk about our struggles, successes, ideas, and we give each other positive and negative feedback about what worked and what didn't.  As I talked about in my blog last night, this was the first step for us, to remove the taboo and the nature of talking about debt as if it's a dirty word.  You aren't going to make it go away if you don't even acknowledge it.

I check the Craigslist "free" column regularly and saw a free photo shoot if only August would model very expensive christening dresses.  Not only did we not have to buy the dress, but we didn't pay for a professional photo shoot as well.

The first thing we had to do to start paying down debt, was identify our priorities as I mentioned in the "Are You Ready" blog.  Once we could identify what was a necessity--and this is an important distinction to make since we once thought TV was a necessity--we could begin removing payments from our monthly outflow.  TV used to be a big part of our life but when we moved here, if it didn't directly contribute to our ability to eat, sleep, or get to work, it wasn't a necessity.  The problem with moderation when you've been living in excess for so long is that if you don't scale back a lot, it will be easy to return to the previous spending volumes once you are debt free.  It doesn't work like that, just like a lot of people who lose a bunch of weight by dieting regain the weight because they don't make a lifestyle change.  That's what this is about.  This is your new reality.

What did this mean for us?  What did we cut out?

I began making baby food for August because the jars were expensive and they weren't organic.  It only took me a few hours and I made enough for all three months she was eating purees.

Are You Ready?

Duane gives me a $50 ring we got at a pawn shop hours earlier.  The only thing he promised me that day is he would never leave me.  I have no idea where that ring is, but I know where my husband is at any give moment!

Duane and I don't pretend to know everything about marriage.  In fact we have both been divorced, this alone tells you we have both failed once at the great institution.  And I am sure there are days we both would appreciate a divorce from the other, but it's temporary.  It doesn't feel like it in the moment; learning from my parents who will celebrate 40 years of marriage June 2 has taught me love conquers all, which is a pretty tough order to fill.  They have also taught us that if love conquers all, money is very helpful in paying for it, but it isn't necessary.  When you are young and in love, it seems like love conquers all--my parents were teenagers when they married.   The money thing came later for them.  In my world, the ring is a monetary symbol of the future, which is usually a much bigger promise they can live up to.  And so it begins.

Since we eloped and didn't have rings, I married him with his grandfather's ring.  The important thing about this is we didn't promise ourselves for money.  The rings were a symbol.  Sometimes in marriage we feel like we need to have things.  But those things can't replace what is in our hearts.  I was in my uniform this day.  Neither of us wears the ring we gave the other that day.  But one thing remains: the promise we made to each other when we vowed forever to each other.  No one in that moment we made our promise said it would be easy.

There are so many things a couple can argue about that relationship doom seems inevitable from the beginning.  No one tells you this at the place where you go to get your rings!  In our buy-now, pay-later society, how is anyone to survive at all?  Why don't they just tell you before you start out life on the wrong foot by financing your diamond and gold rings this is a bad idea?  And our litigious, fault-finding society doesn't help matters either.  The Number One Thing married couples fight about is....take a guess.  Not sex, though that is up there (I will address this in a future blog).  Not communication, though I'm pretty sure we all suck at it (and I'm a professional communicator).  Not children, though lord knows, it's a daily struggle.  It isn't in-laws, or vacations, or putting the toilet seat down.  I'm sure by now you've guessed, it's money.

I took a painting class because I recognize I have a need to do something fun.  My understanding husband doesn't request the same treatment; he always praises my amateur paintings and even though we might be broke, he never mentions it when he talks about how beautiful the painting is.

I won't lie.  When Duane and I talk about money, I feel physically ill.  I want to throw up.  I feel defensive and under attack.  This isn't because he makes me feel this way.  It's just my reaction.  Every time we count down the dollars and look at why we aren't where we need to be, I take on my shoulders what I've spent.  I don't try to defend every time I stopped at Starbucks or took a painting class.  I just feel guilty for not having done more.  And I suspect that's how a lot of us feel and so the conversation ends before it begins.

Duane and I taking our marriage oath April 20, 2009 in front of the Justice of the Peace in Biloxi, MS.  We weren't kidding.

Duane and I have had our share of money arguments and issues dealing with finances.  We are after all homeowners.  That in and of itself can make people want to lose their minds.  We aren't poor, but when we look at our finances at the end of the month we are amazed at how expensive everything is (diapers, food, rent, electricity, water, gas, cars, incidentals, insurance, medical bills, phones, internet, supplies, it goes on and on).  Our number one goal in doing what we are doing and living like we are is to move our financial situation from a reactive one where we are paying bills that come in because we owe money to a proactive one where we know there are things we have to pay and the rest is optional.  Once we made that paradigm shift in our minds, it made all the difference.

We had to decide, as painful as it was, that our expenses were red: we have zero choice in paying them; yellow, we have little choice in moving the date they are paid but they have to be paid; and green for those things we would only pay if we could such as TV, phone, internet, eating out, and impulse purchases or things we wanted but didn't need.  Color coding everything into green, yellow and red was easy; the hard part has been enforcing it.  That is to say, after we made the commitment to even talk about it.  We all have something to gain by leaving things the way they are and I will address this later.  Change is hard.

Stroller Envy



Duane gives me my nightly injection of fertility drugs



I have to preface this post with the fact that I began this yesterday in a lighthearted attempt to talk about how my life has shifted from deciding which beers are on tap to whether I can afford the $1,000 stroller at Babies R Us to keep up with the moms toting tots at all the places I take August on the weekends.  I had to stop.  Something wouldn't let me keep it lighthearted, but I'm used to that, so I let it sit for a day.  Something silly hit me mid-post, much like it does in my real life: I can't just get pregnant and I've lost three babies to miscarriage.  Some people who haven't lived this life I lead might wonder why I can't just get over it or if I will ever move beyond this, and the short answer is, I don't think so.  And as much as I want to move on, life happens and I am reminded of who I am, where I came from, and how far I've come.

Beautiful August Cameron

I never wanted to be the poster child for infertility or miscarriage.  I never wanted to be the person holding an acquaintance's hand, letting her cry to someone, anyone, after she just lost her baby (they call me sometimes because they can't bear to hear what well-intentioned friends and family say to them such as it was God's will).  I never wanted to have to explain to my own family day after day what to say and what not to say to help me heal, knowing Duane and I will likely always have this tender scar that will never heal and it can burst open on certain days or in certain moments (June 6th, November 14th, Christmas time).  I never wanted to be the woman who has to constantly answer the questions, "So do you want to have kids," or "Is she your first," or "Do you want more," with answers like, "We are working on it," or "Someday," or "Yes, she is our first," (feeling like our son Connor is looking down on us from heaven saying what about me?  I didn't choose this life, but it's the life I've got and I can't be bitter about it, lest it eat me alive and I forgo all the beauty surrounding me).

My written observations about being a mom began here yesterday:

Duane and I taking August for a walk in the jogging stroller on the Green River Trail behind our apartments

Every time I go to the zoo, I get stroller envy.  Parents with toddlers know what I am talking about.  Stroller envy makes you seriously rethink your priorities so you can buy that $1,000 stroller you registered for during your baby shower but no rich benefactor bought.  I always dread this about going to the zoo since our strollers (yes, we have a few), though adequate, would never propel us among the stroller elite circle.  In fact, I keep two strollers in my trunk at all times, which pisses off Duane because it keeps me from being able to go to Sam's Club to buy large things like diapers and toilet paper since I have no room; I have two strollers in my trunk for crying out loud!  We also have a wagon, a jogging stroller, and a hiking backpack, all of which are perfectly suited for certain occasions.  I no longer buy cocktail dresses, shoes, or makeup anymore, by the way, because my efforts are focused on Smoosh.

August looking at the gorilla from her adequate stroller

I didn't know about "mom culture" until I started taking my precious cargo to places like the zoo, the aquarium, the Children's Museum on the weekend.  And I don't think anyone is competing to be the best mom, but c'mon, we kind of all are.  Rest assured, my baby will be in the cutest outfit on the planet, lest anyone try to upstage AugDog.  My goal is to collect as many comments like, "Oh my gosh, she is just the most adorable baby I've ever seen," or "Wow, her cheeks are just so...."  Yeah, I know, she's my daughter.  And I try not to judge, but I do when I think no one is looking in how we handle our children's behavior or what they eat.  In my head, I am always telling myself, "my kid is far superior to yours."  And I don't mean anything by it.  I am super cordial around other parents.  Until they are more concerned with their iPhone than they are with the snot running down their kid's nose and how they let their kid shove my kid and totally didn't correct the behavior.  Let me just tell you.

August playing in the water at the Children's Museum

And then I deteriorated.  I got in my head.  I began to process the day, not by how lucky I am or how much fun we were having, but by the observation that every. single. woman. was nine freaking months pregnant.  No joke.  It was like a shampoo commercial of long-haired perfect women waving with streaks of sun showing through their glee flying by my face with a perfect smile and infectious laugh.  The pregnant women were everywhere in many colors and sizes, representing diversity and life itself--be fruitful and multiply said God.  They represented every woman but me and I felt my thoughts turn bitter, angry and confused again.  This feeling isn't new.  I battle it often and my demons are mostly other peoples':  Why can't she get over it?  Isn't she grateful for August?  She just needs to relax.  Why can't they just adopt?

Here's what went on in my mind:

I always feel inferior when I see bulging pregnant women in these places, despite the fact that my kid is one breakfast away from winning the Nobel Prize for whatever.  It feels like God is mocking me.  Not many people were at the zoo today since it was cold and raining.  Despite the dismal weather, it seemed like every woman in Seattle who was more than six months pregnant decided to go to the zoo.  And they weren't just pregnant.  They were glowing with rays of golden light illuminating them as they rubbed their fertile bellies dressed in perfectly tailored L.L. Bean outfits that probably weren't even made for pregnant women.  Their kids laughed in slow motion and made eyes at the pregnant bellies and the moms acknowledged me as our kids intermingled.

Dad on a rare family day off work helping August paint

At one point, August made eye contact with one of the lucky pregnant women and she shyly walked up to her.  August stared at her belly since she's been obsessed with them lately and I could tell she was trying to find the courage to touch the pregnant belly.  The lucky mom laughed and made some casual comment about how August wanted the maraca she had and gave it to her.  August continued to stare and inched closer.   All I could think about is how August loves babies--she signs baby, says baby and walks up to babies and won't leave them alone.  August would really love having a baby here.  And I want to give her one.  But I can't and one day she is going to ask me why.

I resent these women and then feel guilty about it.  I don't know how to fix it.  I try to avert my eyes and then there is another bulging woman showing off her "I didn't eat any ice cream or cupcakes or french fries" body in the pants she wore in high school with nothing more than a hair tie attached to her button fly and she wouldn't even need the hair tie if her hair hadn't become so long and luscious due to the prenatal vitamins and the pregnancy hormones.  Oh and bluebirds will fly out of her vagina when she gives birth, by the way.

August's first time working with clay

Today we went to the Children's Museum and things were a little better, even though every woman I encountered either had a narcoleptic newborn in some fashionable front carrier on her chest or was also bulging with a future tax credit in her biological oven.  It was easier today.  I don't know why.  I never know why.  And I never know when it is going to hit me either.

I know this makes me seem like a raging lunatic who is unapproachable or overly emotional.  But I'm not.  I'm just a mom who has lost three babies and has a really hard time bringing life to the ones I know God wants me to have.  I struggle daily, but I struggle because I know the reward is greater than my fight.  What I want people who want to support me to know is that the best way to support me is to just listen.  Call me and ask questions.  But ask questions about my struggle.  Ask questions about my son.  Ask questions about how I am feeling and when I answer honestly, just listen.

If you know someone who is experiencing infertility and just don't know what to do or say, please click here.  My guess is that you aren't alone.  None of us who experience infertility want you to have to be a part of this, but the honest truth is, we are glad you are because we can't do this alone.  We might try to do this alone, but we need you.

Thousand Mile Journey

I've been thinking about how to get started blogging again since my computer was the issue.  Duane got me a new computer for Christmas so I wouldn't have an excuse.  I guess I have to start somewhere.  So much time has passed; there's so much I want to tell you.  I can't cover it all in one blog and every time I get started, I stop because I think it's getting too long.  My solution is to just not worry about it.  I figure if I just start here and write, I will get better.  Eventually, I will be where I want to be with this blog.  I suppose life is like that.

Duane tilling the garden at the Pea Patch last spring on his only day off.  It took four hours and left blisters on his hands. 

I heard on the radio today a follow up on New Year's Resolutions.  I thought about my own--to plan out the garden, to get through next winter entirely on our own produce with things we've canned, frozen, and dried.  I plan to be more organized and not have piles of things with numbers that will eventually equal a stolen identity leaving me paranoid to just throw anything in the trash.  I'm also becoming a bit of a hoarder when it comes to bits of paper August has scribbled on.  I vowed also to come up with some sort of system to save money, pay bills systematically, and to bake bread daily.  We plan to be debt free so we can buy a house in the fall.  All of this goes without saying that I have also vowed to not eat too much, drink too much, exercise more, and call my family every Sunday.  Have I gotten to how bad I am at making sure Christmas cards and thank you notes are sent out on time?  What, am I crazy?  I thought so too.

This is one month's supply of drugs for an IUI cycle.  After five rounds of this, we are now on to IVF and our drugs are five times this.

 By the way, did I mention we have been trying to have another baby since August was six months old?  Most people just get drunk and squander away their savings on impulse purchases when they are trying to (not) have a baby and wind up pregnant.  Not us.

I'm not sure, but some nights it feels more like revenge and less like love and the beauty a couple shares when trying to have a baby.  Duane takes a little too much joy in the process.

It's almost February and I don't even think I stood a chance past the first week in January with goals like that.  Yet, when I look back on the past few weeks, I'm actually proud of what I have accomplished.  When I think about it in these terms, I realize it isn't even February and I've already experimented with a few different kinds of breads, frozen a bunch of sugar pie pumpkin puree from the farm for pies, breads and dishes later in the year.  I've taken inventory of the freezer and created a spreadsheet for the garden and begun to plan.  I've ordered seeds and enlisted help from nearby friends who are willing to help plant and weed in exchange for some produce.  I've started a calendar for meals and begun inputting recipes I've gathered from my favorite cookbooks I hope to make in the future.  I even attacked laundry mountain once this year, which is *almost* more than I can say for last year.  And our IVF cycle is scheduled for February!

In just a few days, with no air conditioning when it was 90 degrees outside, we canned 110 pounds of tomatoes in two days.  Four weeks later, we canned another 125 pounds.

When I look back at last year, I try not to be too hard on myself.  I try to look at what we've accomplished rather than get down on myself for what we didn't.  Of course Duane has his own set of things he wants to accomplish, but collectively, we've moved mountains even though some days it feels like the mountain is on top of us.  We paid off almost $10,000 in debt by cutting out things we thought we needed but don't, like cable and Starbucks.  We learned how to grow a garden and canned hundreds of pounds of vegetables.  We learned about organics and changed everything about the way we eat.  We learned sign language to be able to communicate with our daughter.  And oh yeah, there's that--we raised her into a toddler too, which is no small feat.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes when you just don't know where to start and everything feels overwhelming, start at the beginning .  The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step (that's a Chinese proverb).  And if you just keep placing one foot in front of the other, you might not get to the end today or tomorrow, but you will be farther along on your journey than you were when you began.  Keep looking back and you will see how far you've come and one day, you just won't need to look back again.

August is signing "more, more" with Daddy.  At just 17 months, she has about 300 signs and understands concepts like seasons, colors, temperature, feelings, days of the week, foods and family relationships.  She also knows about 50-75 animals and can differentiate between a variety of categories such as different types of birds, monkeys, fish and other sea creatures, and mammals.  She isn't deaf, so we didn't need to teach her sing and at first, it felt overwhelming since she didn't sign back for a few months.  But now it's like we opened a portal to be able to communicate with a little girl who has so much to say, but didn't have the ability to communicate the words in her brain to do so.