The house guests came. They ate. They slept. They laughed. They cried. They used dozens of towels.

My new shower caddy is life changing.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet the man who saved our marriage,” I say introducing DC to Tony.

The big test run for our growing blended family and our Happier Yellow House is just days away.

“A home, not a compound,” I said. DC knows I’m kidding. I am happiest when in the eye of a family hurricane.

That’s right: Seven grownups, three youngsters ages 8, 5 and 2, and one baby. Holy Legos and diaper pails.

“I can’t pick a wall color from another state,” I tell her from my home in Florida. “I have to see it in the space.”

Occasionally, I write a column that pulls a ripcord of replies.

When a museum director called me a few months ago to ask if I would give the keynote talk at a community event she was planning, I thought,

If all goes well, and so far it hasn’t, congratulations may soon be in order. I’m about to be a house grandma.