She's Baaack!

I'll update. I promise.

Next week.

Because first, we've got Seussical, which Justin directed and Jordan plays Gertrude in.

Then we've got a trip to Northwestern, which is on Justin's (very) short list of colleges he's deciding between.

I know. Lots to catch up with. Long, strange -- but wonderful -- trip. oxo

My Life Is An Open (face)Book

Everyone can join.

Yup, that's what it says...right there on the facebook splash page.

I guess they didn't get the memo about how everyone but parents can join. Unless, of course, they'd like to live with mortified children simply apoplectic that their domain is no longer propriety unto themselves, alone.

Ah, the anguished looks I suffered. The sheer ickiness I was led to believe I was perpetrating.

Never mind the fact that I promised not to friend their friends (and yet was friend requested by a few). Forget that I said I would never write unbidden on their walls, comment on their photos or even, heaven forbid, remark in the privacy of our own home on their latest status update.

So why suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous facebooking? Well, it's...fun! That's really it. Our kids are not stupid. They wouldn't have spent all these years building this incredible social networking site if there wasn't something enjoyable to be gotten out of it!

The networking is fun. The applications are fun. Poking people is fun. Changing profile pictures is fun. Coming up with clever status updates is fun.

Come on! Move over and share facebook with me!






Peri is...having fun!

800 Pound Gorillas

Today's lesson in business etiquette is this: don't blindside people. It shows a distinct lack of class, courtesy and common sense. It creates bad feelings and a sense of noncooperation.

Might does not always make right, and just because you CAN, doesn't mean you SHOULD.

I will have to leave it at that for now, but I did have to say it out loud. Or in print. Somewhere.

Kitty Love

One reason I probably love Emmy so much is because when she curls up on my chest and nuzzles into my neck, I am reminded of when my children were babies and did the same.

And they are so not babies anymore.

What A Difference A Day Makes

Remember that time I was so optimistic about our HUGE renovation project? Oh sure, I acknowledged, there'd be bumps along the way. Not all the lines would likely be plumb. Pipes would probably leak. Something of value might inadvertently be broken. Misunderstandings might ensue. Tempers could flare.

But still...we'd have a whole new house with a beautiful new porch when we were done, and golly gee, it's all worth it!

Whaddya mean that was just yesterday??

We started out this morning with news of the probability that the ceilings in our master bedroom and living room would have to be ripped out to make room for additional floor joists. Oh, you know, one of those minor details the architect forgot to mention while the plans were being resubmitted for approval.

Not a problem.

Except for the additional cost on top of what is already a project with a budget we are stretch ever so far to accomplish.

Except for the fact we'd need to vacate the room for a week or two and clear it of furniture...with our other bedrooms already out of commission.

Except I wasn't expecting to be hit with something so big so fast.

But life goes on, of course. And I had a work meeting I needed to attend. Which, George (our family contractor after all these many years), bless his heart, was thoughtful enough to interrupt to call to tell me we got lucky with the existing construction, the floor joist gods were with us, the support ran the correct way upstairs, and our bedroom ceiling would be spared. The living room, not so much, but then, we don't have to sleep in there, now do we?

I didn't cry then, but I did -- just a little -- when I got home.

When Mike, George's trusty right hand man, informed me it was far too early in the project for tears...there'd be plenty of time for that down the road.

I'm sure he's right. I'm also sure I felt much better after I was done. I think the enormity of this renovation just hit me. It's one thing to deal with in the abstract, and quite another when there's a demolition crew ripping apart your walls and you're facing the prospect of having to find alternate lodging for a spell.

How lucky am I to have a husband who consoles long distance by telephone, and to have such a longstanding relationship with the men working on my house that they neither panicked nor thought I was crazy, just offered me hugs and the reminder that tomorrow is another day.

And as we've seen, things can -- and probably will -- turn totally around again by then.

Our House Is A Very, Very, Very Fine House

Or it will be, anyway. Just over three years since we moved in, and just shy of a year after our first meeting with the architect, we finally began the renovation that will transform the upstairs and outside of our house into what I only imagined when we first saw and decided to buy it.

We will spend massive amounts of money, inhale countless particles of sawdust, endure days and weeks of banging, sawing, drilling, sanding, siding, painting, and more. We will hate our contractor, love our contractor, hate our contractor and love him again. We will shop for tile, cabinetry, doors, lights, carpet, paint, faucets, toilets, showers and sinks. And we will be awed and amazed at, first, the destruction, and then, the construction.

Already, the pile of debris is accumulating in the front yard. The windows from the first floor bedrooms have all been ripped out and replaced. Tonight, they are hiding behind their temporary plastic table cloth treatments. Tomorrow, they'll get new moldings and the six over six grilles I like so much.

Tomorrow, the dumpster will come and start to be filled with the bricks and shingles that make up the current exterior. Work will begin on the new structural supports for the house that will take the place of the one we have now.

We have already made much progress toward making this house our home. Most importantly, of course, we have filled it with a loving family. When you have that, the physical trappings are just that. But we are fortunate enough to be able to tweak the setting, as well, and this next phase of work will bring us that much farther along.

As you can see, I am under no illusions of what that process will entail. And still, I can't wait.

I'll light the fire. You place the flowers in the vase that you bought today.

How I Spent My Summer Blogcation Part One

Right, so there'll be no more snide remarks about my husband's relative lack of posts.

And without further adieu, we now return to our regularly scheduled program.

It's been two days since we were lucky enough to be among the 65,000 in attendance at The Last Play at Shea, where Billy Joel was joined on stage by Tony Bennet (New York State of Mind), Garth Brooks (Shameless), Steven Tyler (Walk This Way), Roger Daltrey (My Generation) and Paul McCartney (Saw Her Standing There and Let It Be). Oh. My. Goodness.

I think my voice has finally returned to normal. Who WAS that simply squealing with excitement when Paul McCartney's name was announced? Surely it couldn't have been me! I am not a screamer, a shrieker, and I am most definitely NOT a squealer.

And yet.

How many times do you get to be there while history is being made?

I'd seen Billy in concert before. Several times. I'd seen Garth Brooks and The Who and even Paul McCartney before. But to be fortunate enough to be at this, the final concert at Shea Stadium, watching a performer I have long known and loved, and have him be joined in a surprise performance by, arguably, the greatest living music legend of all time, well, there really are no words to describe the feeling.

And when words fail, apparently squeals speak volumes.