It happens to me every year:
That fall breeze comes through my door, and I’m powerless to stop it.
Suddenly, when I would have been content with just sitting and reading a book a few weeks ago, I have the unbelievable need to get up and make something.
Based on the amount of recipes and craft tutorials I saved on my phone today alone,
it appears I plan to be spending the next two months never even coming up for air, as I transition into Martha Stewart.
I don’t know where I think I’ll find the time between the schedule I already have
(which includes three days a week watching my granddaughter, Mavis)
but that is not the kind of thing one considers when they’re planning out making Christmas ornaments out of air dry clay and disposable napkins.
It’s like my spring and summer spent watching power-washing and rug cleaning videos somehow stores up this energy within me.
Like each clean rug earns me a Fall Craft Token.
I feel completely taken over by figurine sculpting, decoration making, paintings, baking, making soups, and possibly even miniature homemade log cabins.
I wonder what it would be like to be a person who lived in fall and winter just like they did the rest of the year; You know, STABLE,
but all it takes to get me started is that very first post I see with some kind of soup recipe in October.
This Fall, so far, I’ve made three hats. I’ve painted two paintings. I’ve made an entire set of Halloween clay figures. I’ve baked things at 11pm, leaving my family wondering if maybe I’m manic.
Is this a thing that happens to anyone else?
Is this what is left over from my ancestors needing to prepare for winter?
Did their need to tan things, and can things, and stack wood slowly morph into me with a hot glue gun?
Is there a name for it?
All I know is that if there was a cure for it, I bet the research on that would be squashed and hidden by the executives of Michael’s Craft Store.
They probably see me coming from a mile away, just knowing they’re about to spark even more interest than the one that brought me.
I bet they’re like,
“Here she comes. Just move the random piles to the end-caps.
It doesn’t matter what they’re for. She’ll definitely buy them.”
I will absolutely be inside in 10 minutes pondering what I could do with one inch wooden beading.
Did I go there for that? No.
Ask me something pertinent.
Do I need florist’s supplies?
Not that I know of, but I’d probably better go down that aisle to see if I feel inspired.
Don’t question it, OK?
Sometimes floral foam just calls to me.
A few months ago, we redid my daughter, Paige’s, closet, and we built her shelves so we could get rid of her bulky dresser.
My husband (who loves getting rid of stuff as much as I love crafting) looked a little too excited scooting that dresser towards the doorway for my liking.
“Hold on a second,” I said.
I’m sure he knew what was coming.
“I was thinking maybe I’d keep that dresser in the garage, and use it to store my craft supplies.”
He did not look to share my vision.
He likes to bring up pesky details like how “you can hardly walk out there as it is,” but, I calmly pointed out, “That’s why I need the dresser.”
Come to think of it, maybe moving it out there worked like the Field of Dreams.
Maybe it’s not even my fault.
Maybe it’s supernaturally calling craft supplies to it.
He can’t blame me.
I’m an artist from a long line of artists and collectors.
My grandma’s house inspired me from childhood,
with something interesting to look at in all directions.
My dad can make absolutely anything he ever sees or hears about.
I spent my childhood with him doing things like getting suddenly inspired in a restaurant, and drawing full blueprints on the backs of napkins, complete with all necessary measurements to build it.
Of course….Now that I’m saying this, I’m questioning if it’s a genetic mental illness…
But, whatever!
That is neither here nor there!
The world needs all kinds of people!
If everyone functioned like my husband, everything would be in the trash, and we’d all be sitting in bare white houses with just one TV, and one giant bean bag for each person.
Artists and creators bring the joy, and life, and color!
Over the years I’ve learned the value in being able to make what you need instead of always buying it.
“See,” I say (preparing to pay five times what I would to just buy a thing)
“DIY, Justin! Be thankful I’m so conscious!”
If only I had a million dollars and unlimited Sculpey!
(Where did I put the Bundt pan?)
Just today, alone, I’ve watched at least 3 felt garland making tutorials.
I’ve never made a felt garland in my life, but now I think I could do a TED Talk on them.
I’ve got gingerbread bars to make, and wreaths made out of dipped pretzels,
air dry clay christmas ornaments, and perfect little Christmas trees made out of salami.
Crocheted beanies, handmade votives, DIY frame for a wall-mounted TV.
Mod-podge, paintings, jewelry-making, and don’t even get me STARTED on the paper mache things I’m planning.
My husband, however, will now spend HIS next two months looking stressed and asking his favorite question:
“Where is THAT going?”
I like to remind him that it’s hard to feel any guilt when I know, not only have I proven my abilities in the 20 years we’ve been married, but when I met him, his idea of decorating was just one giant poster of Kramer from Seinfeld.
It’s time for him to realize this is just me in the fall.
I’m creating!
Maybe it is a sickness.
OR,
maybe he just shouldn’t have married an artist whose muse seems to be the scent of pumpkin.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
