Under construction!

So you may remember a while back I got a fabulous new red washing machine. I love that washer, people -- which shows either that anything red really does rock my world, or that I need to get out more.

Well, the down side to getting the fabulous red washer is that I immediately began to covet the fabuous red dryer to go with it -- and to yearn for a laundry room that could live up to the fabulosity of the red glamour machines.

Well, dig this: my Contractor has been working her tail off the past two weeks, to give me the laundry room of my dreams!

My lovely red washer currently resides in my dining room, along with a whole lot of tools and construction schmutz, but when she's done -- have mercy!

First she tore out all of the ugly cabinet frames and wire shelving and battered baseboards and tacky linoleum. I felt better immediately!

And my Contractor loves "demo" -- she says it feels great to rip stuff off of walls and cut through nails with a Saws-All.

Then she patched and sanded and smoothed and prepped the walls; my Contractor is thorough, y'all!

Meanwhile I got a couple of paint samples and slapped them on a wall. That's the only painting I'm allowed to do; my Contractor has very strong feelings about proper painting technique -- and I don't have it. She told me, "just plop the samples up on the wall, because I'm going to put primer over them anyway -- you can't hurt anything." And then she promptly "fixed" the place where I had painted over some spackle.

After using her mad painting skillz to transform my boring white walls into pure gold, my Contractor hung a new door to the carport. Think about that, y'all. Her husband was her minion for the day (though I would have offered up the tall boy), because door-hanging is a four-hands operation. How swell is this new door?! And how cool is my Contractor?!

The next task was to tile the floor, which involves a whole lot of tools I don't know the name of, and some sweaty math moments, trying to make sure that the tiles in inches + grout/caulk = the square root of baseboards(x/threshold). Luckily in a former life my Contractor was an engineer.

When the floor was done, we took a break to play a game of checkers.

And my Contractor took a solemn vow never to work with black grout again unless a manicure is written into the contract.

Today, after she finishes hanging the moulding around the door, she will move the washer and (old, ugly) dryer back so my family can get a little laundry done without spending $40.00 at a time at the Spin Cycle laudrymat or hijacking the fabulous neighbor's machines. Then, while she hangs bright new cabinets, a nice man from the gas company will come and set us up to get a new dryer. Fabulous!

And my Contractor is doing all this while leading three Girl Scout troops, wrangling the copy machines at the elementary school for her daughter's fifth grade teacher, swirling her urchins to hockey practice and art lessons and orchestra rehearsal, walking dogs, making dinner, wrestling her house into submission -- and writing a novel. I shit you not.

Glamour Cat

So here's our ancient and elegant cat, Phantom. The husband and I have had several cat companions during our twenty-two years of marriage, but I have to say that of all of them, Phantom was the most beautiful. We said good-bye to her yesterday, which was sad, but not surprising, since she was twenty-four years old.

I know, right?

My mom took her in as a stray twenty-three years ago, and named her after the Phantom of the Opera -- because she wore a spiffy tuxedo and a strategically placed brown mask. She seemed a little spooky, too, like a glamorous ghost -- but it turned out she was just easily spooked.

We inherited her when my dad remarried, and have loved her for the past twelve years. Sweet, shy, and a little goofy like most calicos, she was always willing to be bossed around by Annie the Wonder Cat -- but I have seen her punch a passing dog in the nose, just because.

We will miss her.

The girl in charge takes charge

So last Friday my girl and I attended the annual Drama Club Banquet, where banquet = pizza fest. The drama glamour filled the home of our hostess and spilled out the front door.

At this event the club says good-bye to the seniors and elects officers for the coming year.

It should shock no one to learn that my girl was elected president of the club for next year. She is, after all, the girl in charge. I wasn't kidding about that clipboard.

But mostly the evening was dedicated to bonding with friends one last time before everyone goes their separate ways.

Some good-byes were just for the summer, while other friends are off to college in the fall.



Here's my girl and her total BFF -- soon to start college at The College of William and Mary (GO, TRIBE! Can you tell that's where I went to school?!).

I spent the evening bonding with the bestie's mother. They call us the "Drama Mamas." I like it!

Catching up: the Louisiana way

Last month the husband and I went to an authentic Louisiana "Crawfish Boil" -- which, as you can see, is exactly what it sounds like, right down to the Louisiana-brewed beer. Our host boiled up a mess of crawfish along with some sausage, ears of corn, and potatoes. When they were ready, he dumped the whole shebang out on a table covered with brown paper, and told us all to dig in. As a concession to our sissified Eastern sensibilities, he did provide paper plates, although he insisted they were unnecessary.

Some random urchin insisted that I get a close-up of this critter -- he said he felt like he was eating an alien. I think he may be right -- but they're delicious!

Time lapse phtography OR Turns out the hellhounds are really just knuckeheads

When Watson sleeps, he really means it. Getting his belly scratched tends to bring on a fit of narcolepsy . . . .

. . . and he loses the battle with gravity . . .

. . . but, hey! As long as he's comfortable!

Sorry about the crappy iPhone photography -- and just ignore the slovenly housekeeping, won't you?

Snapshot: visiting old friends

So the tall boy and I spent some quality time last weekend with our old pals at the Virginia Hospital Center. People, can I just say that I have taken this exact photograph far too many damned times? Worried about the possibility of another lung collapse, the ER doctor kept him through the night for observation -- and as a bonus, he got to add more x-rays and another CT scan to his collection.

And just how sad is it that we were thrilled with a diagnosis of pleurisy? Painful enough to require narcotics, this diagnosis has the added benefit of making the tall boy feel like he has stepped into a Dickens novel. Maybe next we'll find out he has dropsy. Just as long as they stay away from the "consumption" diagnosis. That one we can live without.

Catching up: Come, Holy Spirit!

So the sunny girl was confirmed at our church last month, and it was fabulous. Confirmation in the Catholic Church is a sacrament during which the confirmandi (dig the Latin!) are sealed with the Holy Spirit. For most people who are confirmed, this is the moment when they affirm to the bishop and the world that they will keep the promises made on their behalf by their parents and god-parents when they were baptized as infants.

And -- you get to buy a new dress!

The sunny girl chose the tall boy as her confirmation sponsor, because she has always looked up to him.

And I got to sponsor this Cool Breeze -- one of the sunny girl's besties. If you're looking for a rockin' sparkly mani/pedi and some excellent life philosophy, I can hook you up with her.

Oh, and if you were wondering why I took such a long break from blogging, this just might be one of the reasons: all three of my main subjects got obnoxiously camera shy; the girl in charge just flat out walked away from this photo. Eventually I told them that if they wouldn't let me take current pictures, I would just start using old photos. Very, very old photos. I've got some great shots -- real blackmail material. Let's just say we came to an understanding.