BAGGAGE

The PTSD of always packing wrong has me almost guaranteed to do it again while my husband stares at his shoes.

No, my stuff doesn’t match like this! (Photo by American Green Travel on Unsplash)

We’re soon heading off on a long, exciting family vacation. We’ve been saving and planning for years, and now, it’s here! I’d be full-steam ahead if not for the empty suitcase in the corner of my room, taunting me with a sinister open mouth, as if saying, Go ahead. Do it wrong. Again.

I have a long history of packing wrong.

• Like the weekend of my senior trip in high school—two straight days of rain, no umbrella, no waterproof shoes, and a bucket hat bought both as self preservation and a souvenir.

• Or the time we went to Cape Cod, where the weather was predicted to be sunny and low 80s, but a storm front moved it, and it was in the 60s and windy and I had to wear the same jeans and sweatshirt for 4 days because I had nothing warmer.

• Or the time we traveled to equatorial hot springs to soak our cares away and I forgot every one of my bathing suits. Word of caution: hotels gouge for emergency bathing suits, thankyouverymuch.

Don’t even get me started on travel mishaps when my children were babies. Diaper blowouts. Clothes that had to be cut off because they were hazmat material. Or pet-related incidents, like rifling through suitcases on the side of the road after the dog had an accident on your lap in hour two of a ten-hour drive.

Now, rereading all of this, I’m wondering why I travel at all…

• I’ve packed the wrong shoes, resulting in angry blisters and tweaked ankles.

• I’ve packed the very, very wrong undergarments.

• I’ve packed too few pajamas, forgotten a sports bra, and lost not one but two contacts while having only my reading glasses on hand.

You might now be able to tell why my packing lists have lists right now. And yet, the gnawing anxiety that I’m forgetting something persists.

Not to mention, we’ll be away for two weeks with no access to laundry service. That’s a lotta underwear. And socks. Speaking of socks, I just ordered a bunch of new ones because my daughters and I generally share athletic socks, but we certainly don’t have 36 pairs between us! (Well, now we do.)

But you can rinse things out in the hotel sinks…

I mean, this is probably the fate of my bras. But we’re hopping around to several places, so I have to be strategic. There needs to be adequate drying time.

I will not, I repeat, will not be like that gross woman who posted about washing her thongs in the hotel Keurig. I will also never use a hotel Keurig again. (And now neither will you.)

My husband’s biggest packing stress is the size of his shoes. They’re big. They’re heavy. Big whoop.

puhleeeze

I, on the other hand, have to make sure I have precisely enough face moisturizer, cleanser, toner, and makeup remover. Don’t get me started on serums or the fear that I’ll put the pricey stuff in luggage and it’ll get lost. I have no choice—it’s over 4oz.

I’ll keep my medicines, contacts, and vitamins in my carry-on, but I’m debating if a full size shampoo/conditioner should be my problem or if I should let the whole family fend for themselves with minis. I’ll definitely need each of us to have a laundry bag, and I rue the day those dirties come home to roost. I’ll be in our laundry room for a full week to catch up. And my kids better put all their lotions in Ziplocs, because if I hear one complaint about how something exploded, I’ll follow suit.

Plus, let’s be real: teenagers are slobs. The idea of sharing small space with them for weeks is a little daunting. I’ve already laid down the law: if I trip over your shoes, I will throw them down the hotel trash chute. I’m not bluffing.

Mainly, I’m just scared to be cold.

Or hot.

Or both.

I’m already surrendering to having curly hair the entire trip. Travel hairdryers are no match for Mediterranean humidity. But, will it be windy, chilly, oppressively hot? Are the ferries as nauseating as people online claim? Will my feet chafe under the straps of my sandals? Should I bring slippers for the hotels or just walk around in flip flops? These are pressing questions, people.

Protein. That’s on my husband’s mind, and has been easily solved with a handful of bars from Costco. He’s definitely not wondering if his hormone creams will escape their plastic syringes.

Purses. That’s my younger daughter’s concern. How will she best accessorize her ‘fits for the ‘gram?

Gluten. That’s my older daughter’s travel nemesis. It’s not easy to be somewhere foreign and maintain a gluten-free lifestyle.

Everything else. That’s my territory. I have bug repellent wipes, sani-wipes, and voltage converters. I have band-aids and sunscreen and aloe. I have toothpaste and floss, hair gel and pomade, methylated chewable vitamins and dramamine. I have Advil and vaseline and AirTags for each checked suitcase. I have cash in small bills and a printed itinerary. I have chargers and an international phone plan, and I have photocopies of everyone’s passport.

This is normal right? Totally normal.

Ohmmmmm

Don’t get me wrong: I’m extremely excited about this trip. After all the plotting and planning and researching and emailing, I’m thrilled to be able to finally pull it off, and I feel incredibly lucky to be able to share it with the people I love.

Oh, I just remembered I have to pack up the dog, her beds, and her meds. Where’s my list?

But I’m already exhausted.

And I’m fairly sure I’ll need more socks.

xo

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