I love fall.
Every year it’s like I get more desperate for its arrival.
By the time it gets to September, I’m like, “I’m going to need a crisp leaf on my desk by 8am or else.”
As a matter of fact, it’s the whole of the fall to winter season I love.
By then the start to the year has worn me out, and simply put:
Sometimes a girl needs some cheer.
So what if we just put wet towels up from swimming in 95 degree weather?
I need to see a mound of pumpkins before I become The Incredible Hulk of Autumn, with skin that turns the colors of the season, and a passion for the Fall Starbucks drinks that rips open the top of my shirt.
My children love to tease me for this part of my nature,
but I am of the age where I simply no longer care.
I have embraced my holiday themed earring and overall combos.
Don’t try me. I’ll turn this car around and put garland in my hair.
They can catch me outside if they have anything to say about me awaiting the buzzer at the gate of September while I paw at the ground, and heat from my nostrils rises in the night air.
It is here.
This is my season.
(We 40-somethings take whatever pleasures we can get)
For the last several years it feels like January – September is just a waiting period one must be patient through to get to where the good stuff is.
Two days ago I gave up my restraint, and went full-boar on the Halloween decor with absolutely no warning for my family. I recognize this is two months early. The large ceramic ghost just called to me from the garage.
My twelve year old observed me stringing orange fairy lights around my plant shelf and said flatly,
“Is this what early menopause looks like?
I’ll be in my room. A girl like me cannot have a Pumpkin Spice Mom.”
I waved as she went.
A girl like ME cannot be tossed around by 18 mood swings away from four daughters,
but, well, here I am.
Perhaps it was a little over the top to be making a ghost-like “OooOOooooO”ing noise as I put everything up, but that is no reason for the peanut gallery to observe me taking a picture of it all afterwards while humming, and to tell me that “my camera roll called and told them to tell me even it thought it was too much.”
Joke’s on them.
My camera roll and it’s 64,000 photos love the holidays.
It told me this is my time to shine. It told me this is me at my best.
While watching, the 12 year old had also remembered:
“Wait. Didn’t you put up the Christmas stuff last year before November was even done?”
“Yes, and I’ll do it again.”
I own it now.
The disease has progressed, and has only been further enabled by the
Target dollar section.
I didn’t go in there needing a 6” tall stuffed burlap werewolf, but WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE, SIR? *puts it in*
I am now the proud owner of at least 28 miniature stuffed pumpkins.
I could make a skit out of my husband’s face asking where I plan to put a new one,
but these are the questions you don’t ask a woman unless you want her to bring up that when you met her your bachelor pad had only one item of decor in the whole apartment,
and that was an unframed poster of Kramer from Seinfeld.
Mysteriously, HGTV has never sought his help.
I can’t help it that he married a woman of vision.
I can’t help it that my world needs texture and color and smell.
I can’t help it that fall scents are laced with narcotics, because GIVE ME 30 IMMEDIATELY.
I am weak for the candles.
It’s fine. I’ll admit.
My family used to think my Christmas overalls were as bad as it could get around here,
but I’m starting to think those beauts were just a gateway drug, which would lead to earlier and earlier celebrations.
Who knows? I might even put the fall stuff up in June next year.
At this rate, in a short time I will be pulling into the Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas seasons looking like I should have my own special on the Discovery Channel.
Some women get to my age and suddenly push dogs in strollers.
I have simply chosen Lori Mitchell Holiday figures as my support animal.
I have warned my family if they press I will only press back harder.
If they complain, or make fun, I will only do more.
More trinkets. More frill.
Violators will be forced to wade through a sea of lawn inflatables.
*Ghost earrings dangle*
“Welcome to Kerri in the Middle Years, fam!
Pull up a pumpkin shaped DIY rope ottoman.
Fall starts the first day of September now.
I will be making mass amounts of Trader Joe’s pumpkin bread.
What I don’t make are the rules.
Chuck out that antiquated calendar that says there’s still time to get ready.
September means FALL IS HERE.
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.
