Bang Bang Bang

So my house has become a construction zone.

In a few short hours a troupe of handy dudes stripped my musty, dusty, cat-hair-ridden basement down to cement and studs.

Is that a sledgehammer?

Suddenly, there was the smell of sawdust, the sounds of rock'n'roll from a radio, and the muted, minimalist conversation that occurs among working men.

Bare bones.

As I tiptoed down there after they'd gone home for the day, I felt like a trespasser in my own house. This is their space, now. Complete with scary tools:

This is some sort of sawing thing - quite sharp.

And I am not afraid to admit that I was delighted to find toolbelts. Real, honest-to-god toolbelts! Dirty, well-worn and full of tools!

Toolbelts fascinate me because female accessories are generally non-functional.
Whereas toolbelts make you batman.

Sure it's loud, and expensive, and there will be lots of work for us to do once my beloved contractor and his group of merry men have left us - but I love this. I love to watch how things go together. I love how we're truly making this house we bought our home. We're making our mark here, and my children will remember the nooks and crannies, textures and scents of this house the way I remember the house of my childhood.

I think we're making it great for them, and that - my friends - that's what it's all about, right?