Filling my bookshelves was great fun at first. It was a chance to be reunited with old friends, who had been hidden in boxes for so long. I relished the process of re-alphabetising my favourite fiction authors, and finding new ways to categorise my non-fiction subject areas. (Sad, I know…) Rowan saw what mum was doing and thought he’d like to lend a hand… 

So all was going swimmingly… BUT then I got about three-quarters of the way through and realised that ALL MY BOOKS WERE NOT GOING TO FIT!!! The collection for these shelves doesn’t include my board books and picture books (now in the playroom or Rowan’s room), my early/middle readers (now in storage for when Rowan is old enough) or the reference books (in the study).

Brad would die if I suggested we needed more bookshelves, and, truth be told, I don’t think I want any either. I like the feature of this wall of books and I’d like it to be self-contained. So I began the heart-breaking process of sifting through, shelf by shelf, to find some volumes that might be better off at the second-hand bookshop. Books I’d never read, would never find an occasion to lend, and if I was quite honest with myself, would never be read by me… Having completed the first cull, I still have about 60 or so books that don’t fit.  

It’s not such a fun job any more.