Sometimes I give myself too much credit…
Those who scrapbook spend lots of time thinking out their projects. They plan out each page carefully and creatively, utilizing souvenirs, pamphlets, precious few photographs, treasured items and so on, to create these sometimes beautiful, sometimes gaudy, but always interesting crafts through which they can look back on, remembering special times, people, places, and events. These are true “scrappers.”
Thinking myself crafty, my former use of the term “scrapbooking” was to describe my display of photos from various events in an attempt to catalog my life. Translation? I buy photo albums, stick the pictures in chronological order (mostly), and write a minimal description of the photo in the provided space beside it. This is not real scrapbooking. Actual scrapbooking requires at least the above-mentioned work and predetermination of layout. And to think I dared to call myself a scrapbooker.
So, in an attempt to conserve funds and resources, and due to the creative birthday gift from a dear friend, I decided to venture cautiously into the real world of scrapbooking. Now, I didn’t do any actual research or talk to any antiquated women from Minnesota who could be considered natural scrappers (anyone seen the movie New in Town?), but I have seen many examples of more detailed scrapping than my false attempts. Over the course of a weekend, I mauled our living and dining areas with the pages, mementos, stickers, and pictures for the scrapbook. I arranged, pondered, cut, pasted, re-pasted, and sent my husband on more than one trip to get more double-sided tape. At the end of it all, my back hurt, my vision was a bit blurry, and the apartment was a mess (which freaked me out because we were having guests for dinner soon), but the first real scrapbook was finished. And it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. Will I do it again? Maybe for our first child…
