Nesting is Going to get me Thrown Out of the Tree

Once again I've found myself in the not-uncommon occasion of doing something I absolutely abhor; this time it's moving.

It's stressful.

It's expensive.

It's basically a pain in the ass.

However the hubs really wanted to "change it up" and leave the past behind--only about five or six miles behind--but he thrives when completing projects or serving a purpose.  He is his best when there's a set of tasks before him and a due date for completion.  In this scenario he gave it to himself.  While the "old" place's amenities were indeed  aging, and the rent was increasing, there wasn't anything categorically terrible.

It was our first place together as a couple.  Then we enlarged our little family by adopting our dog.  We got engaged and then married in this apartment. (Well, I mean, not IN the apartment.  Jesus, that would be depressing and totally bizarre.) After time, clearly this became home.  Especially because--and this is the important part--I'm a nester.  That's right. I've pretty much always needed or craved my own space and desired to make that a unique and special place for me.  I like to make sure my little area of the world in which I lay-me-down-to-sleep, is ideal for me.  I like painted walls.  I like pictures of loved ones, and places we've traveled thoughtfully placed around the vicinity.  I love various flowers and plants to bring life both indoors and out. And after five years of living in this home, I had a pretty fucking amazing nest.

We'd accrued some fancy (and by that I mean, matching!) kitchen ware, two nice (also matching) sofas with complimentary pillows to the wall colors, and a whole patio of plant friends.

This might have something to do with control--needing to assert it or maintain it, but it manifests in a weird way where my home has to be perfect.  Whatever.  It doesn't hurt anybody, so I'm going with the innocuous term, nester.

So, with lead in my heels, I agreed to look around for something different.  Needless to say I was one picky bitch.  Deal breaker?  Small closet space.  I'm out!

Naturally we eventually find something nicer than what we've had.  But here's the deal--NO patio, NO garage, and a bit smaller. But I'm totally sold on the granite countertops, the fancy island, two outdoor pool options, two huge gyms with all the newest equipment and a place that has never even been lived in.

Then comes the moving part.  I'll skip this since most people have moved, and most people, like me, hate it.  So why would you want to read about it?

Ok, we've moved in.  I'm emotionally battered and physically bruised, but no matter.  I've already painted the living room and the office/ study so I'm feeling pretty good. We didn't sell as many items as planned, but no matter.  Surely we'll get our deposit from what I am now referring to as "that old dump."

But now, we have two bathrooms.  Hoo-ray!  I love the hubs, but let's face it.  Every woman needs her space.  Now that means we need some new items.  I begin small.  I tell you.  I go with our biggest needs.  There HAS to be a shower curtain.  And there should be a rug, but then one rug looked funny.  So, I bought another.  And then the matching bathroom accessories were on sale, so... you know where I'm going with this.

I also blame the summer.  This all occurred when I had way too much free time to judge, ponder and then act without consulting the budget-Nazi.  This also might have been on purpose.

I changed lamp shades, bought entirely new lamps, towels, and more bathroom items.

Currently, I've got my eye on a new rug for the kitchen.  The one I like is in the three-digit range.  That's two digits too many as far as he's concerned.  Better yet, why get a rug?  The heathen!

While this search continues, I'm also working on two new side tables that I keep mistakenly refer to as console tables.  So, when the kind lady at the fancy furniture store that I pretend I don't know asks what I'm looking for, I tell her "two matching console tables" I have to quickly edit my mistake out loud--not unlike an autistic person--and explain that, yes, I am a dumbass, and no she will not be receiving a giant commission.  One--because I'm never going to be able to afford anything for this store and two--because I meant side tables, not giant ass coffee tables.  They should just all call them coffee tables, btw.

Needless to say, the hubs will reconsider our next move.  Of that, I can be sure