Before I had my daughter, I had this glorious mental image of myself as, well, Laura Petrie. I’m not sure why, but I think it may have had something to do with capri pants.
It has come to my attention in the three years since Lucy’s birth that I am not Laura Petrie. I do own more than my share of capris, but that’s where the similarity ends. I am the mother who sometimes forgets the sippy cup of water. I never manage to pack the right objects of amusement on trips, although I make up for it in quantity of objects packed. I’m not certain I ever saw Laura Petrie actually pack anything, but for some reason she comes to mind every time we plan a trip. I suppose she’s my inner nag.
This is all pertinent because we are currently planning a trip to Disney World. Or, I should say, my far more Petrie-esque SIL is planning the trip. We’ve been left with little more to do than figure out what we’re packing and what we want to do while we’re there. There is a part of me that feels a bit babied by the arrangements, but she’s been mostly overruled by the part of me who feels as though packing five days’ worth of stuff for three people is enough to send me into the closet with a six pack of microbrew.
I have no idea what we need to take. I don’t even know if we own what we need to take. I can’t figure out where I need to go to shop for what we need to take. I must confess, I have NEVER taken a vacation to a place where there was no laundry facility. I’m 32 years old, and I have no idea how people pack for places where laundry is not an option. How embarassing is that?
My greatest fear is getting to Florida and realizing I have packed a suitcase full of nothing but ill-fitting pants and odd socks. I know intellectually that I will spend days poring over websites devoted to packing for family vacations compiled by people far more organized than I, and I will compile elaborate packing lists weeks before we leave.
In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be in the closet with that six pack, crying into my capri pants.