No, not a gun, which – let’s face it – should in fact scare the bejesus out of everyone who knows me. There are certainly some days that I could be the poster child for road rage. I wouldn’t shoot people, mind you, but I would sure as a Swiss watch shoot some tires that belong to the idiots, the texters and the people who can’t be bothered to thank me with a simple wave. What has happened to manners on the road, people? No, I am actually packing up to go back home to Atlanta. But you should still be a little scared of me right now.
You see, I am a Master Packer. If there were a class in packing, I would have
slept through every one then just showed up for the final gotten an A plus. I would have a Ph.D. in Stowage. Opportunus Plures res in vegrandis tractus. I can pack so much into such little space that I often amaze myself. And I don’t even need those SpaceBag things (while I must admit that they are quite amazing). My mind just sees a big game of Tetris and I can turn things and flip them and make them fit into other things and then into whatever space I’m working with. Or I’ll just throw it out/ not bring it with me.
But talent like this does not come without a price. In the hours leading up to a Big Pack I can become distracted and sullen and moody. My mind is working so hard to plan and calculate the puzzle that will soon lie before me that I have no time for common social mores, like feeding my hungry children (“Am I wearing a sign that says, ‘Carl’s Slave?'”) or not growling at people just because they have the nerve to speak to me.
I am busy doing laundry, finding duffel bags (they pack much better than inflexible suitcases), tracking lost items, planning for eventualities and random possibilities (do you think Mary Poppins’ bag got packed all by itself?), and re-assembling bike and roof racks. And then I have to check the DVR to see if the season premiere of Flipping Out recorded yet (priorities!). I love me some Jeff Lewis. He always makes me feel better because at least I’m not as crazy as he is. Plus, it was fantastically funny when he taught that 3-year-old girl to say her favorite drink was chardonnay. Then I have to pack. Dun dun dun.
Fortunately for those directly involved in the process, today is cloudy and not at all a good beach day. Before this weather actually presented itself I had some crazy scheme planned that involved a final day on the beach followed by last-minute loads and loads of laundry and cleaning (and subsequent drying!) of beach gear prior to a late night packing session. Right, because there is nothing less stressful than a Big Pack on a deadline. (guess what… I got that from my daddy too – heh, heh).
So today will be mildly taxing, but soon enough we will be on the road again. I am hoping for a drive day that is free of incidents, whining (by me or the kids) and speeding tickets. A girl can dream, can’t she? And when we finally get back to Georgia I will open a big bottle of wine. I am beginning to notice a trend here.
Wish me luck for tomorrow… (I really mean it, because that drive is going to be L-O-N-G)