I wish I had a room of my own. And this time I don't mean it in a Virginia Woolf sense of the word. I mean a room. An actual room. But since space is scarce in our current abode, all my crafting and sewing bits and bobs are situated in the Little Miss's room around and on an old kitchen table which in itself is in the middle of a transformation from brown to white. This, of course, means that there are all sorts of enticing little glittery things such as beads that find their escape from their proper places into little handbags and pockets. I don't mind though. And obviously everything that is truly dangerous such as blades and knives are kept well away from searching little hands. The space is in constant flux as I keep adding and taking away from the inspirational boards, and the supplies themselves have a life of their own. And though everything is supposed to have it's place, orderly I am not. It just seems natural that things stay put where they're put for a moment and then they start living and end up in a completely different place. Until they eventually find their way back to where they started from.