Speaking of Spring, temperatures a slowly creeping into the 60s and by next Wednesday we should have a beautiful 65 degree day. The best part is that Spring break starts Monday and I’m eager to get the kids outside to enjoy some sunshine.

While the weather was somewhat warm these last few days, I took the kids and Murphy on some walks to the park. Murphy was so happy to be on his leash and investigating the smells along the bike path behind our house. He must have peed on every tree from our back yard to the playground at Little Plover River Park.

While I was getting over a cold, Doug took Owen outside and they sat on the deck and watched Murphy chase squirrels and birds. Owen loves the sun. I noticed he was less fussy and went to bed half and hour earlier than usual. More sleep for Owen means more sleep for me. It’s a win-win.

I’ve also made an effort to spend more time with Dawson. Since Owen depends on me for everything, I’ve had to sacrifice my time with D. He’s been acting up to get my attention by running around the house and teasing the dog. I try to read more books to him at bedtime and to take him on “special errands” (to the post office or grocery store) with me. He likes the time, too, because he can talk to me about school and other things and I have a better time paying attention when Owen isn’t fussing or demanding my time.

We are so ready for school to be over so that we can spend our mornings at the park and hae picnics in the back yard. And of course, I’m looking forward to grilling season. I’m eager to have a grilled steak. It’s been a long winter.

What are you looking forward to these days?

Once I complete this year long program (beginning this fall) I will then be working towards an Associates Degree/Bachelors Degree combo.  I’ll be in school for at least 3-4 years depending on how heavy my work load is.  This depends on what I can handle while still working part-time and being a mom of two.  I’m starting to wonder what I’m getting myself into, but I am super excited to finish my degree.

I took a lot of detours throughout my life.  I wouldn’t change a thing because this path has led me to being married to a wonderful guy and having two adorable sons, but I sometimes kick myself for not completing my education a decade ago. I’m only slightly worried about juggling it all.  I’m definitely not Super Woman.

This morning my husband is off work and he has generously offered to hang out with the children while I get things done.  I’m finally using a gift certificate for a massage that I’ve had for a few months, and then I’m going to spend some quiet time at the library, reading and completing some online things I’ve had on the back burner for over a week.

I think Doug feels guilty for leaving me last weekend.  I’m milking it for all it’s worth.

I’m going to have some free time today!  I can hardly contain my excitement!  I hope the boys can survive a Tuesday without Mommy!

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!

Here’s to eight years, (soon-to-be) two kids, a dog, a house and more fun than one could ever imagine.  Love you, forever and always.

Okay, and I’m tired. I spent today cleaning (more cleaning, you ask? yes, because I’ve gone completely anal about organization in this house. that and I have nothing else to do while I wait for the baby to make his way into the world) my dining room, my craft area, and other things. Then Doug and I went to lunch at Tempura House.  They have the best buffet.  I love the sweet & sour chicken, General Tso’s chicken, and of course crab rangoon. Yum.

Dawson spent the night at my parents’ house so we could go to that wedding last night, and Doug and I really enjoyed our day together, even if we were just getting all those last minute things completed.  I vacuumed all the carpets.  Doug blew out the sprinklers for the winter.  I folded laundry. He blanched and froze more vegetables from our garden.

The only thing we didn’t finish was weather-proofing our windows with that shrink wrap, plastic stuff.  But there’s always tomorrow.  As long as a certain baby stays in my uterus.  Which is probably going to happen.  He’s showing no interest in being born just yet.  I’m still in physical pain, but cleaning distracts me.

Okay, enough of the random babbling.  I give you my favorite photos of the last few weeks (months?):

My neighbor’s daughter, Katie, with her brothers at her wedding reception last night.  These kids (who aren’t really kids anymore) are triplets.  I’ve known their family since I was a kid.  I can’t believe how grown up they are now.

The beautiful bride and handsome groom pose for a photo.  They are just adorable, aren’t they?

Last Monday, Dawson and I went on a Mom & Son date.  We had dinner at Rocky Roccoco’s and then went to see the Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen movie that was re-playing at our local theater.  We had a fantastic time.

We had some funky things happen to a few of the tomatoes we grew this year.  This one seems to have grown a nose.  Or… Nevermind. I’m not even going to say it.  Still the funniest produce ever.

I tried to get a picture of all the kids at Dawson’s birthday party two weeks ago, and this one is almost perfect.  Only one child is looking away, and one is missing from the photo because he was having a meltdown.  Still a fantastic party.  Everyone had a fantastic time.

Dawson had such fun bowling.  Here he is, just after granny-bowling the ball down the lane.

Now that I’ve uploaded all the photos (from both cameras) from the last few weeks, I’ve charged all the batteries and put everything into my hospital bag.  I’m ready for Baby O to arrive.  Counting down days!

The house must be clean!  CLEAN, I say!  The littlest things will bother me.  Like socks on the floor (I’m looking at you, Doug and Dawson).  Or toys.  ALL. OVER. THE HOUSE.  And the clutter.  Magazines, school papers and half-opened mail are piling up on my kitchen table.  I have six million tomatoes on my kitchen counter. And I cannot deal with it. Not any of it.

Add to this mix of chaos and insanity the fact that I’ve been trying to clean out the pantry for two weeks, but I cannot get to it because those other things (see above) are nagging at me.  So I take time out of my day to deal with that and then have no energy whatsoever to do anything else.

I started sorting baby clothes a few days ago, and then I was sidetracked by vacuuming the living room, because in my mind people could show up unexpectedly, and why would I want them to see that a child actually lives here?  One with too many toys?

Poor, poor husband.  I’ve been a raging ball of hormones and have yelled at him repeatedly for not helping me enough.  Several times each day he tried to escape my wrath by heading to the garden and harvesting tomatoes that I swear he already picked.  The very same tomatoes on the counter.  I really think he takes some away at night and brings them back in the house the next day.  You know, so that it looks like he’s doing something.

Also, I think he’s shoved cotton balls in his ears because I have to REPEAT MYSELF CONSTANTLY.

I asked him five times to take the broken bread machine to the garage to be thrown away.  After it sat on the dining room floor, next to the deck door, for TWELVE days, I finally took it out to the garage myself.  An F-bomb was said and the neighbor across the street heard me.  She no longer waves at me when we pass each other on the road.  Apparently, I am now the closest thing to the devil himself.  At least to her.  Okay, and my husband. Whatever.

Doug was all, “Geez, Louise!  Settle down!  What is wrong with you?  And F-word?  Over a bread maker?”

And I lost my mind.  I began crying and shaking and raving like a freakin’ idiot.   I was sputtering, “You don’t understand!  YOU JUST DON’T GET IT!”

We didn’t speak the rest of the night.  The next day things were fine.  That is until he buried the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream behind a bunch of other crap in the freezer.  The yelling ensued.  More tears were shed.  I promptly sent myself to bed.  I didn’t want the damn ice cream anyway.  What I really wanted was a big fat margarita in a glass the size of my head.  With lots of Tequila.  But alas, the things we give up to bring a beautiful, chubby baby into the world.

Speaking of babies, I don’t think we’ll be having any more children after my outbursts.  What man wants to have sex with a stark raving lunatic?

In my defense, I just can’t help it.  It seems like I have no control over anything anymore. Especially my hormones.

Also, I’m the the only one who does anything around here.  The huz tries to help, but things go unfinished because he thinks he has other, more important priorities (like painting the garage door and trim, and installing a new garage door opener, because he thinks winter is arriving tomorrow).  Then I become infuriated and the stupidest things set me off.  I can’t do it all.  I physically cannot do everything.

Poor Dawson thinks his mother has turned into the chupacabra from his Scooby Doo DVD.

I probably have turned into a monster.

My days are chaotic.  This is my typical daily routine:

• Wake up early (most of the time)
• Work for 2 hours
• Check e-mail
• Wake Dawson
• Get Dawson dressed
• Let Murphy out to pee
• Feed the dog
• Make breakfast for Dawson
• Make sure Dawson brushes his teeth
• Check Dawson’s backpack and folder to be sure all forms and things are signed and sent back
• Get Dawson on the school bus
• Work 3 more hours
• Check e-mail
• Wait for the bus to drop off Dawson
• Make lunch for Dawson (oh yeah, and for me!)
• Let the dog out to pee, again.
• Put on Spongebob to occupy Dawson
• Finish working
• Straighten the living room, dust and vacuum
• Wash dishes
• Check on the laundry and try to put it all away
• Check Dawson’s backpack and folder for new notes and/or forms
• Pay bills that may be due
• Check e-mail
• Pick-up stray toys around the house, or command Dawson to do it
• Take Dawson outside to play
• Return books to the library and check out new ones
• Try to read a book that does not have colorful illustrations and rhyming words
• Sort toys and set aside two boxes for Goodwill
• Clean out the storage closet and donate more items to Goodwill
• Fold more laundry but forget to put it away
• Read books to Dawson
• Ask Doug seven times to load the boxes in the car so I can drop them off at Goodwill the next day
• Ask Doug to make dinner while I take a nap
• Fall asleep watching television (most likely Dancing with the Stars)
• Yell at someone for something because my hormones are out of whack

Oh, and did I mention the 349 times I have to stop what I am doing at any given time to pee or wipe a certain 5-year-old’s butt.  And let’s not forget the occasional adjustment to the schedule for conference calls or MOPS and MOMS Club meetings, or Church Activities.  And Saturday Soccer.  Or going to the bank, post office and grocery store every Friday.  And the fact that my husband is most often working (or hiding in the GARDEN) while I’m trying to manage this damn household.

And you people wonder why I’m crazy?

To my husband and son I say:  Y’all better hope I don’t die in childbirth, because it appears you CANNOT FUNCTION WITHOUT ME.

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…!

Sometimes the weather channel airs the segment called Storm Stories, or will give briefings on current storms, such as the recent news of Hurricane Bill on the eastern seaboard.

I don’t remember what day it was (Friday, or Saturday, perhaps?), but I came upstairs after changing the laundry from the washer to the dryer, and Doug and Dawson were glued to the weather channel. Dawson looked at me with panic on his face and said, “MOM! We CANNOT go swimming because of Herr-Cane Bill! He’s dangerous! There are rip tides that can sweep you into the ocean and you can drown!”

Doug was fighting laughter, I was absolutely stunned at my son’s ability to pay attention to such details, and Dawson continued with his warning.

“The Easter sea-bird is NOT SAFE, Mom. Not safe AT ALL! Do you hear me!?”

And then I fainted. The boy is too smart, too hilarious, for me.

Easter sea-bird. I am still cracking up over that.

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.

This morning, my dear friend Lori had a c-section.  She went to the hospital at 5 a.m., her surgery was scheduled for 7 a.m. and now I am waiting patiently for the news.  She decided not to know the gender, as this is her third child and she and her husband did find out with her son and daughter.  I can’t wait to find out if Z & H have a new brother or sister.

Tomorrow we have a wedding to attend.  My cousin is getting married.  Huge Polish wedding.  Polka dancing.  Chicken soup with potatoes.  Yum.

Sunday evening is my neighbor’s wake, and Monday morning is the funeral.

I feel like I’m witnessing the full circle of life; a birth, a wedding and a death.  All in one week.

My day planner is packed with little notes and to-dos and appointments.  With Dawson’s first day of 4K fast approaching, we’re trying to squeeze in as much quality time together as we can.

Doug and I have decided to take a trip to the Dells of the Eau Claire River next week.  It’s been several years since I’ve been there.  I think I was 12 the last time I went.  With my parents of course.

It’s a beautiful park in Marathon County, about 45 minutes Northeast.  I’d like to take some family pictures there, so I’ll be dragging the Canon and the tripod.  Doug isn’t thrilled, he hates pictures, but I think it would be nice to have one last photo of our family of three.

Our first MOPS meeting is in three weeks.  I’m on the steering team, co-chair of the Sunshine Committee.   We have one last team meeting on the 25th to get ready for our club meeting.  I can’t believe our summer break is almost over.  I’m glad to get back into the swing of things, however.  I miss my friends.  We’ve all been so busy this summer.

Monday evening is Moms’ Night Out.  I’m very excited to get out of the house, if only for one evening.  I feel like I’ve been trapped in wife-and-mom mode.  I need time out to talk about anything other than school and laundry and which Transformers cartoon we should watch next.

I’m now 30 weeks pregnant, (and my baby weighs as much as a cabbage…who knew?).  Ten weeks to go.  It still feels like an eternity, but I also feel like the birth of this baby is sneaking up on me.  I know that makes little sense, but if you were in my head right now, you would understand completely.

The other day Doug and I were talking about some invitations we’ve received for events happening in October and November.  It suddenly dawned on me that we may have to decline several due to the fact that I’ll be nursing and it’s very hard for me to leave my babies.  (I didn’t leave Dawson with a babysitter, other than our daycare person, until he was almost six months old, and that’s only because Doug insisted on taking me to dinner for my birthday.)

I had a bit of a panic attack, because I realized I’m starting over again.  Dawson is almost five years old.  He was potty trained at age 3, I haven’t had to change a diaper in two years (still wiping a butt, though).  My son is capable of feeding himself, dressing himself, bathing himself (still have to wash his hair, however) and he knows how to pick up his toys when he’s done playing with them.  Okay, I do have to ask him a few times, but he does it.

In ten short weeks I will be at the beck and call of a tiny, helpless baby, one who depends on me for nourishment, clothing and comfort.  I’ve wanted another child for so long, and I’m so grateful that my wish has finally come true.  I just think I’m finally facing the reality that life will be changing once again.  I’m slowing wrapping my head around that fact.

Yesterday I dragged a huge Rubbermaid tote of baby clothes out of the closet and started sorting through them.  I made piles by size and did several loads of laundry.  As I was folding the onesies, sleepers and adorable outfits that Dawson once wore, memories of his baby days came flooding back.  I can’t believe how quickly five years has passed.  What happened to that little one, the Doodlebug, who fit in the crook of my arm and looked up at me so adoringly?  Now I’m lucky to get a hug without asking for one. My “baby” is growing up too fast.  I don’t think I like it.

I want to write about our traumatic immunization experience from Wednesday, and I have a few other happenings I think are blog worthy.  It’s just a matter of getting organized around here.  So much to do, so little time.

Thank goodness it’s Friday.  Here’s hoping the weekend isn’t chaotic.  I’m praying next week is less insane.