Me? A maniac?

I must be, because I decided to, once again, reorganize my entire craft room. And I couldn't just do that, mind you. I decided to not only reorganize it, but also move it back to the second floor from the basement. You may recall that just last August, I moved my space from the second floor guest room to the basement. I had this notion that if I worked in the basement, my children would happily play in the "family" area. I had dreams of my serenely scrapping at my table, the boys happily playing with their toys. I could cut and paint, chit chat with them while they put together puzzles, played dinosaur, sang nursery rhymes and practiced their ABC's...

What really happens is that the plastic dinosaurs liked to knock down my stacked bottles of paint, the only ABC's I saw were my chipboard letters scattered all over the floor, and the only puzzle was why on earth did I think I could leave all of my supplies out on shelves and my two darling terrors would leave them alone?

Silly woman.

So the daunting task began. I decided to revert the basement to a family room, completely kid-friendly. I realized that it was unreasonable for me to get mad at them for touching my pretty things when my pretty things were out, about, and soooo attractive to curious hands. And let's be honest - I wanted to be able to say, "Go play in the basement" and feel safe to let them do so. I wanted them to be able to go play in their area, alone if even for three minutes, without hearing a crash, or worse, hearing nothing in those three minutes, and investigating to see that they were dancing on my craft table and covered in ink.

So. I moved every single bookcase, shelf, table, container back upstairs. Again. More details, and maybe some photos, to come soon. I have about 15 minutes until my Lil Stinkers get off the bus, and I want to get some organizing done...

My Scrap Space...

Look quick, because it won't be this clean ever again! I used to work in the extra bedroom on the second floor, and then had the genius idea to move to the basement. Of course, moving all my stuff down two sets of stairs didn't feel very genius... Especially my work table.

Let me tell you about this work table. It is the most amazing, fabulous creation ever! One of a kind, it was built by my dad. This man can make just about anything out of wood. If-you-sketch-it, he-will-build-kind-of-guy. The catch is, and the family joke, is that when dad makes something, it weighs a TON. A lover of fine wood, he doesn't go for flimsy balsam. We are talking sturdy pine, people! It would take two people to move a nightstand my dad created. (Sorry, dad, but you know it's true). Don't get me wrong - I would waaaay have a sturdy piece of his furniture than the soon-to-be-broken pieces I can find in a store!So when I sketched out a table that was over six feet long, waist high, with cubbies to fit 12x12 paper, he made this amazing work desk for me. That had to be assembled in the room because it wouldn't fit through the door, let alone be lifted. That was six years ago. And now I decided I wanted to move this mammoth of goodness down stairs. Two sets of stairs.

Now a reasonable woman would plan this out, make sure she had several strong people on hand, and plan a weekend to complete this feat. I must not be a reasonable woman.

By some miracle, both my boys fell asleep at the same time, so I seized the moment! I grabbed my power drill, ran upstairs, and started disassembling. I must have been on a complete adrenaline rush, because I somehow managed to get the wooden Titanic safely to its new home.

I was sore for a week.