THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING A HOMEBODY . . .

Things have been just nuts at home lately.

The painters settled in throughout the upstairs, and there's dust flying everywhere, the stink of paint and wood finish soaking into every porous surface, including clothes and skin and hair. Furniture sits scattered in bizarre arrangements throughout the dining room, living room, family room, entrance way, hallway and kitchen, standing guard over our home as silent but watchful (and heavy) statues.

The family has essentially moved downstairs (thank God for the old-fashioned concept of the mother-daughter ranch), and we're eating the most basic and boring food prepared in the second kitchen, somehow managing to peacefully use the one bathroom (thanks to careful time allotment), piling mail, laundry, books, newspapers in neat but increasingly unstable stacks around the downstairs family room.

I guess it doesn't sound so bad, but going on three weeks of upheaval has taken its toll on us. My gran's blood pressure is way up, and she's so bored, unable to watch the Korean cable-feed that only comes through the upstairs television. My parents' nerves are ragged, their tempers flaring, smiles and laughs and jokes coming few and far between. Simple questions like "What are you going to do after your clerkship ends?" and "Have you met anyone special yet?" are enough to send me into an infuriated crying jag. It's enough to make me think seriously about moving out, calculate my finances and semi-seriously surf on-line for co-ops and condos that I could realistically purchase on my own. Give my parents a break from the reminder that in a year I will be a jobless, single woman, and return to myself the amazing feeling of being independent, free, grown-up and able to function on my own.

But then tonight, after almost two full weeks of evening commitments and late nights, after almost a week of not having even seen my dad's face, after saying "yes" to every social invitation extended to me just to have a reason to not be in the simmering crock-pot of stress known as my house, I decided to actually cancel an outing and stay home. Show my face. See my family's faces. Let them know I care and that I'm still their faithful daughter. That I don't want to run away from home.

And it was totally worth it. Our heads were still aching from the fumes, our breathing was still labored from the incredible combination of humidity and dust, and our conversation took a long moment to warm up as we reacquainted ourselves with each other. But soon enough, I was getting a body-shove as my dad booted me out of the way on the sofa so he and my mom could sit together. Mom was getting an air-noogie after she corrected one of my dad's pronouncements. Dad was getting an innocuous eye-roll as he insisted that he was right. And gran just sat there chattering happily, glad to have one more audience member.

It wasn't the warm ending to a "Little House" episode.

I still suspect that my parents are irritated that I have yet to bring home a nice Korean hubby whom my dad can noogie. I still wish they would just listen to me when I'm right about something -- The One will walk through my door when it's time for him to -- or just let me be when I tell them I've got things under control -- what idiot in my position wouldn't diligently be searching for a job?! Gran still wishes she could watch her Korean soaps. (They're quite good, by the way. Don't knock it till you've tried it, baby.)

But it wasn't the hair-pulling drama of "Dynasty," either.

So, maybe I won't move out just yet. I'll wait till the walls are dry, the new rugs are laid, the furniture is rearranged, the bathrooms are redecorated, the kitchen is reoccupied, my piano is retuned, the house is brought forward into the 21st century. Then maybe I'll hang out for a bit, enjoying and learning to love the "new" house with my family. We'll see . . .