We circle back to the topic of the lists. In my bedroom there is a row of three windows looking over the back yard. I put a low table there, white enameled metal with a black art deco design, coved in paint smears and spills of oil acrylic and watercolor. There are two easels and two tiny chairs with pillows meant for the children.
To the right of the table is my writing desk, tidy and organized, loaded with pens, papers, stamps, sealing wax, and personal photos of my sisters (of which there are 4) holding children. There is a shutter on the wall behind the desk meant for tucking in little notes and memorabilia, upon which hang several pairs of my husband's glasses from before the eye surgery.
To the left is a completely unremarkable bookshelf made of spare wood of different shades and never painted. This houses my unused journals, unread books, and many art supplies: paints, pencils, charcoals, small card stock, etc. This shelf, like my writing desk is sufficiently organized.
It is the table which has become the home of overflow. It was meant to be a peaceful nook for myself and/or the children to work and be able to see into the garden. Instead it is piled high with patters, lace, notions, and other sewing stuff which will not fit into the rather large and full wicker chest near the sewing machine.
So, I believe the task is to begin with the sewing. I have yarn I will never use. Odd colors and textures purchased all at once with some desirable bit in a clear plastic bag when Hancock Fabrics closed it's doors. There are patters from the eighties which also came bundled with some other good bit, like a vintage smock set for my little girl.
The boys are asleep and so is my dh, and because the nursery is adjacent to our bedroom, separated only by French doors with frosted glass panes, I will not venture to take a photo and wake them all just yet. Yes, the precious moments alone are just that when there are 2 under age 2, both boys...
To the right of the table is my writing desk, tidy and organized, loaded with pens, papers, stamps, sealing wax, and personal photos of my sisters (of which there are 4) holding children. There is a shutter on the wall behind the desk meant for tucking in little notes and memorabilia, upon which hang several pairs of my husband's glasses from before the eye surgery.
To the left is a completely unremarkable bookshelf made of spare wood of different shades and never painted. This houses my unused journals, unread books, and many art supplies: paints, pencils, charcoals, small card stock, etc. This shelf, like my writing desk is sufficiently organized.
It is the table which has become the home of overflow. It was meant to be a peaceful nook for myself and/or the children to work and be able to see into the garden. Instead it is piled high with patters, lace, notions, and other sewing stuff which will not fit into the rather large and full wicker chest near the sewing machine.
So, I believe the task is to begin with the sewing. I have yarn I will never use. Odd colors and textures purchased all at once with some desirable bit in a clear plastic bag when Hancock Fabrics closed it's doors. There are patters from the eighties which also came bundled with some other good bit, like a vintage smock set for my little girl.
The boys are asleep and so is my dh, and because the nursery is adjacent to our bedroom, separated only by French doors with frosted glass panes, I will not venture to take a photo and wake them all just yet. Yes, the precious moments alone are just that when there are 2 under age 2, both boys...
