My husband celebrated a birthday Monday. Our good friend John has the same birthday and for years the guys have noted the day together with a round of golf, parties, sometimes cake and almost certainly, beer. Since John and we live 1,600 miles apart these days, a phone call had to suffice.

I joked about a surprise party that I did not throw. We imagined the local characters I could have summoned, as replacements for the friends who, in years past, have always been around to help us celebrate. We said, certainly Tarot Guy from the downtown mall, and the Bosnian fellow with the long hair and beard who is a regular fixture at the Mudhouse. Perhaps the cheerful cart guy at Harris Teeter, the one who always has a nice smile and a pleasant greeting. Wouldn’t that have been something? To walk into your surprise birthday party to be welcomed by all these faces that are so familiar, and yet are strangers? I wish in a way I had the guts.

My firm has a great perk. One Friday a month during the summer, the office closes at noon, leaving us free to cavort in the lovely weather. I planned my week carefully so I could get my work done and still be free to knock off a bit early. I ended up departing around 4pm (so much for noon) determined to grab an hour of “me” time.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my bit of afternoon; had been planning it for weeks. It seems simple but for those of us mantled with responsibilities, it was a delightful fantasy. I wanted to sit in the sun on the downtown mall with a book and an iced mocha. It was, in my mind, the perfect way to unwind, relax and enjoy a few quiet moments to myself.

I descended upon the Mudhouse, ordered my mocha and settled down to a cafe table with my book.

Enter the Charlottesville Valley Girl. This is a breed with whom I was previously unfamiliar. Oh, how I wish it were still that way.

First, she issued several voicemails to friends, via her cell phone, detailing her whereabouts for the weekend. Then, her friend arrived and they loudly discussed their recent dating histories with lots of ohmagawds and can you even believe thats. I tried not to listen. I tried to read. In my fantasy I was going to surrounded by laptop toting intellectuals, old guys playing chess, a few DTM hippies; certainly not the DRAMA of the Charlottesville dating scene.

My perfect afternoon was tainted, but still mildly entertaining, glad was I that I’m so beyond that stage, I’m not even sure I was ever there.

Sometimes, you have to move 800 miles to get a shorter commute. Before we moved, I drove about 20 miles each way to work. My husband drove more than 50 . . . each way. Now I work at home and drive infrequently. He drives 10-15 minutes down the road — maybe seven miles at the most?

And — get this — we’re recycling! Now, granted, I’m still not a believer especially since from my office window I have seen the garbage guys toss the recycling bin contents into the trash can, but we’re definitely putting the stuff out there.

I have also bought organic veggies. I’m rethinking that one a little bit.

All in all, we’re saving gallons of fossil fuels, a side effect of a major life decision we made in October. Aren’t you glad we’re here?

Today, the boy took his drivers’ test.

He passed.

Let us not forget that this was once a small child who held my hand to cross streets. Let us remember that the boy was once dependent on us for everything; clean pants, nourishment, a safe place to sleep. Life flashes: taking him to daycare for the first time; the first day of school; the first time we let him spend the night at a friend’s; his first razor; his first date. In two years we’ll be getting him ready to go to college.

Once I was a young girl with a baby in my arms. Today I see gray hair in the mirror and hand over the keys to this boy, taller than I am by several inches, and stand still, watching him drive away.

With any luck, he’ll keep coming back.

I read Leslie Morgan Steiner’s blog, On Balance in the Washington Post. I usually read it with one squinty eye and my head cocked. I’m not sure I get her messages all the time and I know I don’t totally agree with she-of-the-mommy wars. Nevertheless, I read it and the comments from parents, ranters and other hard working folks.

It’s interesting to me that balance has become the working parents’ mantra. Why just us? Everyone needs to have balance in life, not just those toting diaper bags and Blackberries. Doesn’t everyone have interests that extend outside the cubicle? When did we get so focused on the angst and difficulties working parents face? People have been working and parenting simultaneously long before we were even at the hunter/gatherer stage. In fact, technology and a whole industry of support has made it easier for us to find balance.

I believe the time is there; it just depends what you choose to do with it.

Last week, I worked for an hour here and there at the Panera at Barracks Road. The boy is taking behind the wheel at the school and while he drives, I fire up the laptop and take advantage of free wifi while sipping a latte.

Enjoying this rare opportunity to be out in public during the day, I’ve enjoyed observing the summer nannies, strolling with their charges, armed with giant bags of Cheez-its and juice boxes. Moms are there, too, buying bagels with their babies and squeezing in a bit of shopping before tackling the long afternoons.

I’ve talked with co-workers about their summer game plans for school-aged kids. One friend has hired a summer nanny to cart around her four kids, planning activities and outings so that the TV and the swimming pool aren’t the summer’s sole entertainments. Another is leaning on grandmas to pinch hit through the summer days when she works. She manages to work from home on swim meet days, so she can steal away and catch some of the action. We, as a group, enjoy “summer Fridays” once a month during June, July and August, closing down the office at noon by fitting in extra hours the first four days of the week.

The boy is taking advantage of his last summer as a slacker. He’s sixteen and does not yet have his license (as noted above). Next summer, I imagine he’ll be working and hopefully saving for some wheels of his own. He sleeps as late as he can, eats often and watches as much TV as he can stand. The latest occupation of driving class has cut into his slacker time and this week, he will start weekly music lessons.

The girl needed daily structure and a place to go. We enrolled her for eight weeks at a day camp that, it turns out, she loves. They swim daily, have special activities that the children choose (she’s focusing on Art and Drama for a few weeks; Sports and Games for a few more). She rides the bus from the mall and from 8am until 5:30pm is occupied and happy. It’s a relief for us all.

This is the girl’s first ten-week summer. We came from the Francis Howell School district in St. Charles, Missouri where we enjoyed year-round school through the elementary years. This means the kids go for six weeks then have three weeks off, all year ’round; they had a six week break for summer, usually part of May and June. This school year, due to the move, the poor kid went to school from July through the early part of June. She needed a big break. Since she was enrolled in the vacation program, she would also spend her breaks at the school — including summer, where they had a variety of activities, but no pool and certainly no camp.

We’re pretty happy that she’s enjoying a whole new kind of summer and the camp has really come through with all the organization and fun we desired.

What are you doing with your kids this summer?

I befuddled a boss, once.

He wanted to know why we, the team, hadn’t brought to his attention the fact that we were sharing single versions of software, that we had ridiculous, time-consuming computer problems and other technical roadblocks standing in the way of getting work done.

It was simple, really. We were making do. Through years of corporate conditioning, putting up with ancient computers, outdated software, pirated software (necessary to get the job done, but nothing the company would ever pay for), we’d found workarounds, friends who would share upgrades and programs we lacked, and cheap copies we could get on e-Bay or from other sources.

Everyone in corporate America has had to “make do” with second-rate equipment, hand-me-down laptops (complete with viruses!) and other office necessities that only work if you do this, that and the other thing but only in that order.

He was “shocked” that we, as a team believed that he wouldn’t buck up for additional software versions to make us “legal,” that he wouldn’t invest in the hardware we said we needed to do the job right.

And then, of course, he didn’t.

Forcing employees to make do on a shoestring is encouraging them to engage in behavior corporations would never publicly endorse. Expecting the work to be done, at the level of quality the company or client demands, without providing the tools necessary is ludicrous. Creativity abounds in those of us who are marketers, designers or writers. We will find a way to make it possible for the work to get done. Provide us with the tools and you’ll get it better, faster, cheaper (in the long run) and with a clear conscience.

It amazes me to think of the time lost due to reboots, workarounds, fakes, fixes, searches, etc. just because the companies for which I worked could not see the big picture, the longer term results of investing not only in equipment, but in people, valuing their time as much as they valued their own.

If you’re enduring the “make do” syndrome, speak up. If they don’t like it, start looking. There are places out there that believe in getting work done the right way. Find one. I did.

Think about the people with whom you are friends. If you just met them today, would you become friends?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about friendships; how they happen and how they evolve, over time. Most of the people I’m closest to, I met my freshman year of college. Because that’s such a watershed year (away from home, full of freedom and confidence) it was easy to form strong bonds. It just so happens that I was fortunate enough to meet several really great people (my husband among them) in that terribly important, life-altering year.

I’m looking at this year as a second freshman year. We’ve moved 800 miles away from family and friends, from the home we’ve known together for 17 years. We’re meeting new people all the time. I think of our street as the dorm we once knew, and am lucky enough to have neighbors who like to chat, share a drink and a good time (just like college, except this time, we don’t have to have the old guy down the hall/street buy our booze).

Just like when I was 17 years old, I have to speak up, tell new people my name and learn something about them. I have to remember names and create relationships, something I’ve done in smaller doses over the years, making teaspoonfuls of friends along the way. Now, feeling displaced and lonely, I need them in gallons and pounds.

Analyzing my friends, now spread all over the country, I ask, would I choose them? Would they choose me?

Barry is my clearest example of an unlikely friend. Whereas he’s a single guy, a computer programmer and musical genius, and I am a married mother of two, a public relations professional with a kid in marching band, one would think, what the heck do these two have in common? A whole lot, believe it or not. Barry’s one of the freshman bunch and, frankly, we weren’t really friends to begin with. We grew to know one another over 18 years of here and there. We have almost identical taste buds (we like a little Coca-Cola with our Jack, thanks), enjoy literature (co-hosted a short lived book club) and have dark, twisted senses of humor (don’t even ask). We can talk for days. Part of that is our shared history, no doubt and many common links. Would Barry and I, meeting for the first time now, today, become friends? I like to think we would.

By contrast, Liz, my best friend in fifth grade, the maid of honor in my wedding, and I have drifted apart. When I had my first child at 19, she was pursuing her engineering bachelors, then her masters. When she was developing her career, I was struggling to help feed my family. While she traveled the world and chronicled her vacations with a photo spread in each year’s holiday card, I wistfully tucked the cards away and pondered sending her a photo of myself, baby on hip, outside the local WalMart, my most exotic destination at the time.

Last year, she gave birth to twins, her first children. While we became mothers 16 years apart, we still have so much in common; we are still the same people. Why aren’t we still close? I’ve gotten back in touch and hope to recapture some of the time we’ve lost.

It’s hard to say who will become your next friend, or, what friend you have now who you think will always be there, won’t.

While I miss my friends, scattered near and far (at last review, I am counting California, Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Ohio, Colorado, Arizona and Virginia as places where my friends now live) I am eager to discover what friends this freshman year will bring.

Will it be you?

We redid the kids’ bathroom in ducks of the rubber variety. It all started with coordinated shower curtain, bath mat, toothbrush holder, hand towels and tissue box cover we found at Target before our stuff even arrived in the moving van.

I repainted the bathroom, ceiling and all, in a crisp white, erasing forever the apricot (sorry, Anna) that none of us could stand. At Cha Cha’s on the downtown mall we discovered rubber duck slip guard appliques ($10) to adorn the bottom of the tub and keep the girl from cracking her noggin when she dances in the shower.

We’ve picked up assorted, standard-sized ducks here and there, to complement the decor. This weekend, however, we splurged and acquired the giant duck from Bath and Bodyworks ($14), the final touch to the Duck Room, in Charlottesville.

Happy Fathers’ Day to some of my favorite dads: my dad, of course, and Mark, my husband, also Dave, Grandpa, Jim, Bob, Jeff, Bill/Jim, Jerry, Shawn, John, Greg, Rob, Pete, J., Dan, Craig, David, Paul, Dennis, Matt, Kurt, Michael, Jeff and Scott. If I forgot you, sorry — you know who you are and you’re awesome, too.

My dad is a true Renaissance man. He does more than anyone I know and has always inspired me to do more and get better at anything I try to do. My dad is creative, brave (he jumped out of a plane for his 60th birthday), smart, generous and funny.

Mark, Dad to the boy and the girl, is a hero in so many ways. He rises to every occasion. A dad earlier than most, he’s made the best of everything and given of himself to make a good life for his kids. He’s smart (and he’ll tell you that, too), silly, interesting and adventurous. He makes me a better person and I love him for it.

Happy Dads’ day, guys. Enjoy it.