Living with my mom has been totally fine. She’s gracious, she babysits, and she doesn’t even seem to mind that her family room has been flooded, top-to-bottom and front-to-back, with Shef’s toys.

“Go to playroom,” he says, pointing into the area which used to be a comfortable, uncluttered space for watching television and lounging in front of the fireplace. “Play wif barn,” he says, eyeing his Little People (and his train tracks and letter puzzle and easel and music set and vacuum cleaner, among other things).

Despite this hospitality, we find ourselves increasingly anxious to move back into our space. Contractor Joe seems to be plugging away, but still our move-in date creeps ever insidiously toward the Summer Solstice.

Here’s a view from the outside, with new siding between our bathroom and kitchen windows:




And here’s a view from just inside the front door. Joe and his henchmen insulated on Friday, which indicates progress, for which I'm very grateful.