There's a kinda-creepy, definitely-unnatural phenomenon happening in my world lately. Lately I have had this sick urge to do what I think "they" call nesting. (Who are "they"? Decoratey types. You know, the ones that are able to effortlessly mix shades of off-white and avocado green in their kitchen decor and it turns out looking amazing. When I try to do it, I get the same effect as vomit in a dirty snowbank after too many lime Jello shooters).

Still, the urge is there. The weather forecast this weekend is gray and rainy, and I'm actually excited for the bad weather, because it means I won't feel guilty about staying in and working on the house instead of heading for the beach or the campground. Rain=Excuse to stay home and be housey. And my weekend plans include shopping for curtains and picture frames, cleaning, and MAKING AN AUTUMN WREATH TO HANG ON THE FRONT DOOR.

If you know me you know how ridiculous that sounds. The fact that I want to hang a wreath on the door is bad enough. But it's not even a Christmas wreath--it's a SEASONAL wreath. A WREATH THAT I AM MAKING WITH MY OWN LITTLE MITTS. A wreath that requires a trip to Michael's to purchase materials. Hold me.

So, nesting. I guess I'm feathering my nest. I don't know where this urge comes from. Is it because I'm so old now that I'm horny for crafts? Is it because, after years of apartment-white interiors, owning a house where you can do things like paint walls and change light fixtures makes me want to get all crazy and make the space truly our own? Tell me I'm nesting because I'm pregnant and I will cut you, BTW. There are no buns baking in this oven. I am not a bakery.

I'm just a crazy old lady who wants to nest.

Some of the projects in the works include the aforementioned wreath and possibly some additional fallout autumny stuff to put around the house, freshening up our trim and touching up our ceilings where we got a little crazy with the wall paint, finding a selection of cheap, cute picture frames to hang my shoe art, decorating our home office, picking out curtains and blinds for several rooms in our house and shopping for a living room fireplace--whether it ends up being real or fake is still up in the air, but either way, by the time Santa arrives there needs to be a place to hang the stockings with care.

In summation: I'm an old woman and I will be fabricating what promises to be a sloppy, ugly wreath this weekend. Pictures may follow. Maybe.