When my father was still in the bar business, he had a New Year’s Eve party every year. He bought a few cases of champagne and made sloppy joes and appetizers for his customers. He gave his regular bartenders the night off, and Doug and I would work the party so that everyone could have a good time.

Every year, people that did not regularly patronize our establishment crashed the party for the free food and champagne. One couple in particular comes to mind. I can’t remember their names, but we called them “The Toothless Wonders” because both husband and wife were missing several front teeth. Doug would joke that they must have gotten into a drunken brawl one night and knocked each other’s teeth out.

The NYE party was not the first time I had to wait on these people. In college I was a waitress at South Point, my aunt Kelly’s 24-hour diner, and this couple would come in for a cup of coffee and stay all night because we offered free refills. They never ordered anything else. They never left a tip. The Toothless Wonders were the epitome of freeloading.

On New Year’s Eve in 2003, the TWs came in right before the party was scheduled to begin. I think the man’s name might have been Dennis, and her name still evades me, but for the sake of this blog entry, we’ll call her Wanda. They secured two bar stools closest to the food table, and Dennis slammed a wad of singles on the bar. Wanda ordered two tappers of Miller and lit a Basic, full flavor cigarette.

“What’s on the menu tonight,” she asked. “Sandwiches or somethin’?”

“Barbecues,” I told her. “And there will be taco trays and cheese and sausage, too.”

“We didn’t eat all day for this,” Dennis told me.

I remember laughing to myself. I’m imagined they starved themselves all day just to make sure they’d get their fill that night. The couple was never dressed very nice. They seemed to wear the same clothes all the time. Dirty jeans, worn out shirts and sweaters, and worker’s boots, despite the fact that neither worked. They lived off SSI and food stamps, and I think Dennis was receiving disability, too.

They were usually very polite, that is until they had a couple beers and began shouting and rudely bumping into other customers on the way to the bathrooms. I didn’t dislike these people, I just found them to be kind of creepy.

On this particular night they were strangely quiet. Mostly because they were constantly refilling their plates and slamming Millers like shots of whiskey. Speaking of whiskey, Dennis decided after the midnight countdown he would like two shots of Kessler. I poured the shots and rang $5.50 into the register.

“Five-fifty!” He yelled. “I’ve been robbed!”‘

I worked throughout the night, tending bar, refilling the food trays and making sure everyone was having a good time. As I was emptying ashtrays into the garbage can, I turned around to see Dennis and Wanda making out by the jukebox. I nearly puked. Customers began to notice it, too. Everyone was uncomfortable with the PDA. I didn’t want to be the one to break up their intimate moment, so I made Doug go over to them. I don’t remember what he said, but The Toothless Wonders stopped sucking face and sat back down.

The rest of the night was uneventful, save for the local lush falling asleep at the bar. This, I could handle.

“Joe! No sleeping on my bar. I don’t drink in your bed!” I hollered.

“Well, ya could if ya wanted to,” Joe slurred.

New Year’s Eve is definitely a crazy night I’m sort of glad I’m too tired to party all night. It’s amazing what becoming a parent does to your social life.

This New Year’s Eve is a quiet one. Dawson and I watched a few episodes of Spongebob. Owen fell asleep in my arms. Doug is listening to old Bob & Tom shows on the radio. Maybe I’ll switch over to ABC for the ball drop in New York City. If I’m awake at midnight, I mean.

Happy New Year! May 2010 bring you much luck, love and happiness!

I realize I haven’t written very many “real” posts since the trio of pregnancy (“yes I have pre-eclampsia, wait, no I don’t have pre-eclampsia”) posts, and of course my tribute to my adorable, now 5-year-old son.

Truth be told, there has been so much going on in my life that little time is left for actual blogging.  I have reminders on post-it notes, and napkins, with blog post prompts and ideas.  I’ve got messages popping up in Google calendar reminding me to write about Dawson’s first day of school (September 1st) his first day riding the school bus (September 9th), his 5th birthday (and his upcoming belated birthday party on the 26th), as well as news from my doctor that I will be induced in about 3 weeks (there goes my natural childbirth plan; right out the hopital window).

I just cannot find the time to get it all down.

Doug has been working crazy shifts the last three weeks, leaving me to manage working from home, making sure Dawson gets to school (with all the signed forms, book orders and magazine selling fundraiser orders in his backpack), organizing myself for MOPS meetings (I’m on the Steering Team), volunteering a few hours at church and many other important things.  Like bill paying.  And house cleaning.

And oh my gosh, the damn laundry!  And…AND!!! The nesting.  It has begun.  Sorting baby clothes, trying to figure out the best layout for the room Dawson and Baby will share.

Did I mention we ordered a glider and ottoman from Target?  We did.  It arrived last Wednesday.  The gigantic box is still in the hallway, its contents waiting to be assembled.  But, my husband, working the insane shifts (sometimes 8 a.m.-4 p.m., sometimes 10 a.m. – 6 p.m., others Noon-8 p.m., and today 6 a.m. to 2 p.m.), which I cannot keep straight, keeps him busy and what little time he has available is spent in the garden picking the massive harvest of tomatoes that we cannot seem to preserve fast enough.  We’ve had to enlist the help of my mother-in-law.  Partly because we’ve run out of freezer space.

I’ve managed to take tons of photos, which currently reside in Flickr, and I hope to post some soon.

Oh, and Dawson started soccer two weeks ago.  Yesterday he scored his first goal!  He was so excited.  I’m so proud of the child.  He amazes me.

So yeah.  I’ve been busy (like you haven’t, right?  I know.  I KNOW!).  And it’s only going to get busier.

Deep breath.

I’m working on the blogging.  I am.  Please be patient with me.  I will get back into the groove.  Eventually.

Holy Smokes.  This post was insane.  It’s only fitting, I suppose.  I feel insane myself…!

I haven’t yet read any books in the Twilight series. I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried. I just cannot get into them. I read a few sentences of the first book (my sister owns all the books currently released) and I was bored. People think I’m crazy, and promptly tell me how awesome these novels are, and I’m sure they are amazing. Just not my thing right now. I’ve got other books piling up on my “to-be-read” list.

This morning Dawson dragged a chair from the dining room into the kitchen and was scavenging the cabinets looking for something to eat. Something he probably shouldn’t have, like fruit snacks or Froot Loops straight out of the box. When I went into the kitchen to bust him, he turned around and said, “This happens every time. Daddy brings home the treats, and BOOM! They’re gone!” I fought the urge to laugh and replied, “Who do you think you are? Madden?” To which my son rolled his eyes and said, “I have no idea what that means.” I promptly peed my pants from the incessant laughter that followed.

Even funnier morning tale:  Dawson was standing in the living room, playing with his new Transformers Bumblebee toy (that he conned me into buying when we went to K-Mart to pick up my prescriptions).  He was explaining how it worked and said something like, “So you move his arms and then his legs and BAM! He’s a robot!”   Continuing the witty reparte I said, “Dawson, you sound like Emeril.”  Again, my child looked at me funny and replied, “Mom, you gotta stop saying such crazy things.  I don’t know what a ‘Mer-ill is!”  That child cracks me up.

I’m sick of being pregnant.  I know that sounds horrible.  I’m just anxious.  I want to meet the little guy who kicks me incessantly.  I want the bloating, the horrible ligament pain and the bat-shit crazy mood swings to be over.  Nine weeks to go.  NINE. Will I make it?

The nesting phase has begun.  Yesterday morning, post work, post doctor appointments, I had this insane urge to organize the playroom slash exercise room.  I began moving boxes and realized I needed help, so my awesome sister came over and helped me make sense of all the crap in the basement.  All the holiday decorations were moved into the closet in our family room.  Toys and books were sorted, and two boxes were set aside for Goodwill.  Next, I cleaned out my closet and finally parted with some too small clothes I was clinging to.  My sister took the ones she liked, the rest were given to GW.  It was hard to get rid of some of those things, but I closed my eyes and the box before I changed my mind.  In total, seven boxes were loaded into the Jimmy, and Goodwill was very happy to receive them.

Today, I have a nagging urge to start organizing the room that Dawson and Baby O will share.  I’m starting to look at the things in my house as entirely too much crap.  Where did all this stuff come from?  And how do I decide what to save, what to toss and what to donate?

Both UPS and FedEx dropped packages at the front door yesterday.  I received the really awesome thing I won from bTrendie (in a BlogHer giveaway) and then we also got Hooked on Phonics (Parent Bloggers Network campaign) and Dawson and I are excited to try HoP.  Stay tuned for more details on that.

My wonderful husband has decided to finally get down to business and remove the old, ugly, yellow shag carpet from the other spare bedroom downstairs. (I have only asked four hundred times.)  I’ve decided I need an office, with a door, to work in peace. Currently, I do my work from the kitchen table or the sofa.  I’m thinking a desk is needed, too.  I just don’t want to spend too much money with a new baby on the way.  I’m sure we’ll figure something out.

I’ve got a confession to make.  I’m addicted to watching Roseanne re-runs on TV Land.  I can’t help it.  I love the early years of this show because it reminds me so much of my family (circa the 80s) when I was growing up.  We were the typical middle class family, two hard working parents trying to make ends meet, two daughters and one son… And then it became even more real when Roseanne had a son later in life, just like my mother had my youngest brother at 39.  Then the Conners won the lottery (JUMPED THE SHARK) and I couldn’t stand it anymore.  So, I suppose I’m reliving some old memories by watching those pre-lottery winning episodes.

I’m in love with the DVR.  We’ve had it for a month now, and I don’t know how we ever got along with out it.  I record Phineas & Ferb for Dawson, and that Transformers cartoon that airs at 5:00 a.m., and movies I’d like to see but don’t have the time right now.  It’s entertainment magic.  Love, love, love.  It will come in handy when Dancing With the Stars airs in three weeks.  Yay!  Miss that show terribly, but I’m sure a certain baby arriving will make it hard to watch the show live.

I think I’m suffering from ADD.  I want to read seven different books all at once, good books, from the library.  Due in 12 days.  I’m starting to mix up the story lines and information (some are non-ficiton).  Perhaps I should just stick to one book at a time.

Back to pregnancy… I’m feeling a wee bit claustrophobic.  Antsy.  And my arms and legs and stomach itch every so often.  I’m starting to think the baby is trying to bust out.  October, please hurry.

Next week I’ll be heading to Chicago for the annual BlogHer Conference.  I’m driving down to the Milwaukee area to meet up with this hot blogger, and together we’ll make the journey south to Chicago.  Can I just say how grateful I am to have someone to talk for half of the long trip?  Thank you, Wisconsin Mommy.

For those of you who have e-mailed me, I’m sorry if I’ve failed to reply, it’s been mega busy (and chaotic!) here these last few weeks  — but I will be at BlogHer from Thursday until Saturday evening.  Due to my delicate condition, and not being able to drink, we thought it best to depart for home Saturday night.  Yes, I know we’ll probably miss the CheeseBurgHer party, and for that I’m truly sorry.  But I promise, PROMISE, to be present next year.  Make sure you hold me t it.

I’m not in a panic over the conference itself, but I am sort of freaking out about traveling while pregnant.  Even though my doctor has given his approval (he called it the “last hurrah” before I’ll be chained to a bed due to my high risk history… more on that in another post), I’m just a bit nervous about things.  I know I’ll be fine, but like I’ve said before, worrying is in my nature.  Please tell me to calm down.

I’ve got tons to do (pack, clean the house, make sure Dawson is taken care of, pack, freak out a bit more) so my blogging may be sporadic (I’m sure you’re used to it by now).  But if you’re going to BlogHer, be sure to leave me a comment so I know to track you down!

It’s 5:47 a.m., I’m wide awake.  Couldn’t sleep.  Nose still stuffy, I’m now feeling some congestion.  Is it allergies?  Delayed onset of a cold?  Swine flu? (Dear God, I hope not.  Please help me feel human again.)

It’s July 12, 2009, and the weather this morning is frigid for July.  Wisconsin summers are typically humid.  We’ve been in a cold snap for almost a week (or more, I’ve lost track).

It’s Sunday, and in 4 hours we’ll be off to church.  Our parish festival began Friday evening and ends tonight.  This morning’s service is a Polka Mass.  While Dawson and I enjoy the music, poor Doug (who dislikes polkas very much) will be cringing for an hour.

It’s too early to be awake.  I’ll try to go back to sleep, only to lie awake in bed and think about things.  My thinking will turn into worrying, as it usually does, and then I’ll get out of bed and start cleaning things to take my mind off everything else.

I think I might be hungry.  I’m starting to feel nauseas.  Oh, the joys of pregnancy.

5:53 a.m.  Random Sunday blogging.  Good times.

Good Morning, y’all…