Mom “Vacation.” Yeah, right.
This is grammatically incorrect, Mom Vacation.
It also defies gravity, logic, and all other forms of science and reason.
It isn’t possible.
It’s like an unclear antecedent, dangling modifier, or some other Grammar debacle no one knows or understands.
Packing, organizing, scheduling, juggling… so as to relax?
Still, we are officially on our way to San Diego to see our #Marinebaby graduate from Bootcamp.
The negotiations a mom encounters, to prepare for a vacation are much more intense than for any other job on the planet, including pilots, brain surgeons, the president and also – the Pope.
My family sees a suitcase – I see 5 pairs of undies times 4 – plus an extra for each in case of “incidentals.” I have clothing planned for every single moment, including, but not limited to incidents of inclement weather – as well as golf ball size hail and tsunamis – from formal wear to pajamas
I know where your toothbrush is.
Yes, I packed Midol.
No, it’s not for me.
I have the tickets, the baggage pre-checked, and the heartburn meds for the over indulgence that will take place on 4 of our 5 days while we in sunny California.
Yes, repellants… mosquitos and otherwise.
Yes, your swimsuit… no, I have no idea if I packed one for myself. It is probably for the best.
Yes, Immodium and yes, laxative and gas-x.
Tweezers, blow-dryers, toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoos, conditioners, straighteners, curling irons, gels, sprays, deodorants, moisturizers, dehydrators, short socks, tall socks, sandals, boots, jeans, shorts, t-shirts, polos, button downs, powders for chaffing, oils for peeling, pantyhose, heels, flats, razors, shave gel, shave cream, bandaids, retainers, slippers, jammies, and a coffee mug… cause someone won’t drink out of a hotel room glass.
Mascara, waterproof and not.
Lip liner, lip gloss, lip stain, lipstick – red, pink, coral, and twisted berry bliss.
Eyeshadow, brow liners, highlighters, low lighters, concealers, and blush.
I am Vanna White in her vanity.
I am Cheryl Crow in my hippie-ness.
And as a young girl, I loved to play with Barbies. I had one of those fancy pink Barbie trunks where I kept all my plastic friends and their clothes.
I haven’t stopped playing.
The friends just aren’t plastic.
And the trunk just got bigger, and now it’s an uptown Gucci hard shell with a shiny brass lock. The code? BARBIEDOLL.
My husband is my life size Ken doll… but he isn’t as much fun as my sister’s Ken doll, who has an outfit for everything – golf, camo, Parcheesi, fly fishing, bass fishing, fox hunts, and bar-b-que’s. My Ken won’t wear 90% the stuff I pick. No, my Ken prefers greys and beiges, no prints, and boots only. When we open my magic trunk in California – he is at my mercy.
If we don’t call it pink, but West-Texas sunset, will he wear it?
If that’s his only choice, I submit… he will.
He’s going to look so cute! #adorbs
I’ve executed a shoe plan that might very well win me the Nobel Peace Prize.
Black shoes, white shoes, open toe and closed, flip flops, high tops, loafers, loungers, and swim shoes too.
The brain capacity it takes to plan a trip of this magnitude should earn me some kind of honorary doctorate from Harvard or Princeton. Ordinary citizens cannot conceptualize the depth of thought that goes into a family five-day getaway.
Mom “vacation,” please, more like mom “crossing the Sahara by three-legged camel, with shards of glass in my bra, and a rash on my sassy… hiney, breastfeeding six-year-old triplets.”
We aren’t taking our three and five-year-old on this trip… and I have their lives planned out too. What they’ll wear, eat, drink, and at what longitude and latitude they will slumber. It is all carefully orchestrated.
A note by the fridge that lists the essential and the weird includes, but is not limited to:
- Don’t get sunscreen on Sam’s nipples, he’ll lose his mind.
- Don’t let Charlie have more than 3 cups of coffee or he won’t take a nap and he tries to drown the cat.
- Milk on Sam’s fruit loops but not his frosted flakes. No milk on Charlie’s cereal unless he has Raisin Bran and then only almond milk, specifically on Fridays, but not in his Spider Man pajamas, then only Frosted Mini Wheats with no milk (cow or nut.)
- If I come home and Charlie is potty trained, you will be well compensated, don’t you have a daughter leaving for college?
If the stars and my super packing powers are in the precise alignment I believe them to be… my family will have a blast.
I have planned the perfect trip… for them.
I have Dramamine, Phenergan, Xanax, and gum… in other words – be it plane, train, boat or bike – your ears will be popped and your equilibrium and panic disorders will be balanced.
The bills are all paid, the checkbook balances to the penny.
The car seats are moved, secured, and Texas State Trooper approved.
I have books on Kindle, audio, paper, and Braille.
I have downloads, uploads, backups, and zips.
Our will is in order. In the event, we die in a fiery crash… please put this on my tombstone: She Packed Well.
I have chargers, power strips, and extension cords – in my purse with the snacks, beverages, and a flask full of “Jami Juice.”
Don’t even… that’s the only thing on this trip I think is mine.
I have a laminated schedule which includes, a meal budget, and fast food, seated fancy, and food truck fare with gluten, soy, and peanut free dining options. Page two is a list of bowel habits for my wayward band of travelers, with twenty-minute variables for incidents of food poisoning and lenience. *See page 9, item 12B for all other occurrences where you can extend your alternatives.
I have Maxis, tampons, liners, and chocolate – dark, milk, and caramel filled.
I have bandaids, anti-itch, anti-inflammatory, ear drops, nose drops, eye drops, antihistamines, Kleenex, Chapstick, and a tourniquet. Also, a travel size defibrillator and 3 left over antibiotic tablets from last year’s ear-infection ER trip… just in case. Don’t judge me.
Ear plugs, nose plug, goggles, floaties, snorkels, and flippers.
Sun glasses, sun hats, visors, ball caps.
Wipes, hand sanitizer, lotions, and balms.
If you can’t find it in my bag, you don’t need it.
If you need it… it is most definitely, in the bag.
Heads up: If you honk the horn one more time, for me to hurry and get in the car – we will have to check another bag… a body bag.
So, here we go… off on a grand adventure. I have your ticket, his ticket, her ticket and theirs, ID’s, earbuds, headphones, and string cheese.
Change for the valet, the bellboy, and the guy at the bar.
I have a plan for the plan when all other plans fail.
Final boarding call… to the countdown to the unpacking that will carry me through until October. Fasten your seat belt, let the “vacation” proceed.
May your floors be sticky and you get stranded on a beach… all by yourself. Love, Jami
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So much love for this week’s podcast! Season THREE with an interview with my good friend Katie M. Reid…. The Wife Life: Epidsode ONE