Our front door has looked like this since the day after St. Pattys:
That "Spring!" should be said like SideShow Mel: "Spuh-ring!!" with extra enthusiasm. Or perhaps the Mormon Tabernacle Choir should be singing "Hallelujah" in the background.
That's how I see it.
But see, spring never really came here (a handful of days excepted.) Heck, it snowed last Monday for crying out loud.
I feel jipped.
And so forth. And when I took down my "Spring!", I was slightly bugged.
See, I was ready for Memorial Weekend. And I had a fab idea.
First off, my house number in place of that "Spring!". And then I realized that I've got my house number on the pot next to the door.
(by the by, I haven't killed off my free, white, mother's day geranium in there yet! Can I get a 'Woot woo!'?)
It's a tad overkill, I'd say.
Now, doesn't it seem like a great idea to take a "T", and decoupage it in a vintage looking flag paper?
Huh. Huhhhhh. Be nice to me, 'cause my ego is fragee-lay. But even I know that "T" is sooo beyond dumb-butt.
I'm thinking here, I'm thinking here. There's gotta be some way to rescue my "T" from dumb-buttville.
And on a brighter note, I kept to my own personal code of just do it yourself, dang it! and finally hung the iron sign I've kept in the closet for, oh. . .6 months. Or more.
See, this awesome sign bids you all welcome,
or, depending on my mood, or if the house is clean, I can spin that bad boy around and
voila. I'd say if it's dependant on a clean house, you'll see this side of it 90% of the time.