Okay, so it's a little embarrassing to show these photos of my hopeless-looking mess. The boys who occupy the downstairs will tell you that I rarely set foot down there, except to do laundry and when I do venture into their domain, I tend to sigh heavily and make whimpering sounds. I add to their mess by putting things down there that either a)don't have a home or b)have a home downstairs and I haven't bothered to put it all the way away.
I worked a little bit down there this afternoon while the littles were napping and the bookcase looks a little bit neater. It's a long process, of course, since I end up having to go through all the stuff and sort it and get rid of some and take some upstairs...yada, yada, yada. It didn't help that I fell off the counter while trying to get the last bottle of paint off the top shelf of the cupboard. The stool wasn't quite under my foot. Apart from a nasty-looking red patterned (from my sweater, I'm guessing) bruise on my back where I hit the drawer knob, a sore wrist, and a broken belt loop, I'm okay.
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