A Trip Down Under.

The basement. A lovely space ... where organization has yet to make an appearance and the boys reign supreme. There are bins of cars and trucks and trains and blocks for as far as the eye can see. I'm still trying to figure out where it all came from and how on earth did I keep it all so hidden at our last house? I start twitching if I stay down there for too long. And as a blogging disclaimer ... I cleaned up nothing for these photos. You know, those crazy people (um ... perhaps me on the rarest of occasions!) ... who tidy up the exact spot a photo is being snapped to give the illusion that life really appears that way ... for more than a mere 30 seconds. The basement comes as is. And by that .... I mean dry wall perched on the window sill ... 2 holes cut from the wall in effort to locate the source of our ever occurring flood, green curtains stuffed in the blinds ... Shamu and friends lining the carpet, boxes of pictures and unclaimed treasures from our other house ...

I think I'll just start referring to it as raw. Natural. A blank canvas. A spot where the Charmings find themselves letting loose (or do they do that pretty much anywhere?) ... and being creative. A spot where we held a photo shoot the other morning.

Where we had drum dancing.

And crazy faces.

Attempted such scary feats as "fire" hopping ...

And percussion straddling ...

Where we pretended to be disappointed ...

Only to laugh at ourselves a few seconds later ...

A spot where deep thoughts can occur ...

And artistic talents can be pondered ...

A little niche where one can relax next to the excessive collection of 80's cds ...

And a spot where the boys can play and I can pretend not to hear them ...

Ahh ... a basement. Where have you been all my life?