I hate packing. I love going places but, oh, I hate the packing. We’re leaving on Wednesday morning for eleven days of camp. Eleven days of no internet, no news, no television. Eleven days of as-quiet-as-it-can-be-with-two-kids. Eleven days in which I hope to lose a few pounds from sweating and eating a diet that consists mostly of fresh fruits and vegetables. After all, I have a bridesmaid dress that is barely zipping and needs to be worn on the second of August. Augh.
I got off track.
The packing. I hate it. Loathe it. I’m not great at it. I forget things. Important things. Like toothbrushes. Who forgets toothbrushes? This Mama, that’s who. I’m in a state of panic about camp this year. My Mom assured me that I survived the past two years with BigBrother and will thus be fine. But BigBrother was a) a great sleeper and b) one child. LittleBrother is a) a very light sleeper and b) a second child, thus meaning two. Panic! At the campground!
Off track again. See the panic?
I have most of my clothing packed. And three books that I hope to read while wrangling two children. I’m going to start packing the boys’ clothes today. I would have started yesterday but I had to do laundry. I have more laundry today (whites! We need socks!). Did I mention that we’re cloth diapering while camping because LittleBrother’s bum can’t handle the general ick of chemicals that come with the alternative? Thankfully, washing machines are available. This vacation doesn’t seem all that relaxing right now.
Off track. AGAIN.
My most pressing internal dilemma is what toys to take for the boys. I know how I transport them: via laundry basket! Yes, that was a stroke of genius two years ago. But my rule is that I don’t take more than one laundry basket of toys. But BigBrother needs his bag of Mega Blocks as they are currently his favorite imagination toy (he makes tunnels which he calls tuh-tuh-funnelts and houses and towers and boats andandand). LittleBrother needs some things as well. And as the exersaucer has just been retired (lesigh), I was thinking of taking the music table to keep him entertained but that definitely breaks my laundry basket rule. And one cannot forget the smörgåsbord of books. BigBrother will be emotastic if I don’t bring all three copies of The Very Hungry Caterpillar so that he can find one any time he absolutely needs one. But LittleBrother can’t have BigBrother’s paper page books because he eats them so he needs his own books. Which he also eats, by the way. Maybe I need two laundry baskets this year? Which works with the diaper laundry, no? Perhaps I wasn’t off track above? Interesting.
And things like infant ibuprofen (teething), children’s ibuprofen (what if BigBrother gets a fever?), my ibuprofen (can you see the headache forming?), bug spray without DEET (LittleBrother), bug spray with DEET (the rest of us), my Fenugreek because the cycle dips I’m experiencing thanks to the return of my cycle have been big and what if he skips a feeding anyway and oh, crud, I should take the pump as well.
This is so different than how I used to prepare for camp. I was packed a week in advance. I’d live in clothes that I didn’t want to take to camp so that everything was clean and packed and ready. And I had no cares. I didn’t have to make sure three other people had the appropriate things for an eleven day stay. I just worried about me. And I still forgot stuff but I could call home and have my Dad bring them down when he came in the evenings. But who would I call now?
Did I mention that BigBrother, LittleBrother and I all eat different kinds of yogurt? We’re complicated like that, especially when you consider that I don’t have enough room in the cooler in the first place and need to get the yogurt once we are there… and there is twenty minutes from the nearest grocery store that would possibly carry LittleBrother’s yogurt.
And yes, this post was one big procrastination stop. Tomorrow I’m going to whine a bit about the BlogHer conference and my forever-lack-of-attendance. And Wednesday I’ll say goodbye. Hopefully with a picture of a fully packed truck. Either that or a very, very upset FireMom pulling the hair from her head. In fact, I think a picture of both might be a possibility!