After much discussion, Spring and I decided to move two of the smaller shelves back downstairs, freeing up more room in the master bedroom. Rob and I managed to move the units downstairs and I then had the daunting task of moving endless stacks of books downstairs (after spending the energy moving them up stairs in the first place).
Now, before moving the units, I removed what shelves I could, to make it lighter and as they lay on the bed, I had a thought: if I have to carry both books and shelves down the stairs, why not load up each shelf with books? They're paper backs, so it's not like they'll weigh it down an intollerable amount. I mean, the books where on the shelves to begin with.
So I loaded up a shelf with six stacks of paperbacks and carried it down the stairs, feeling much like the chef from Sesame Street who would have a handful of creme pies and start walking down a set of stairs. So there I was, “Six stacks of books,” I said in a loud booming voice as I carried them down the flight of stairs.
Six times I did that, and each time I felt like that chef. Only I managed not to trip and spill any books (or creme pies) on myself.