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Sunday, January 11, 2009

1/11/09 Packing B***h!

Today’s the day. I’m sad, I’m gloomy, and I need some comfort food, which is why we ate homemade lentil soup for lunch. I know, soup can no longer be the comfort food of choice post-band…slider and all that, but it’s perfect on a cold, snowy, bummer day like today. DD just left with DH to take her back to college. It’s been a fun three weeks of coloring hair, going to the movies, renting chick flicks, lunch out- just the girls, shopping, and yes, cooking. Now it’s all over…back to my ‘Boys Club’ here at home. Waaah!

The only thing that always makes this parting easier is that she’s a ‘packing b***h’ like the generations of women in my family. We’re a little OCD and like everything ‘just so’ when we’re packing. We’re not the type who could even fathom just ‘throwing a few things in a suitcase’ and hour before leaving for the airport. Therefore, we get very stressed out when packing to leave for anywhere and it brings out the absolute worst side of us.

I remember from the time I was tiny my Mom fighting with my Dad every time we left for a vacation. My Dad would always be sitting in the car with all of us honking the horn while my Mom was vacuuming her way out of the house. She would finally come out, angry, red faced, and with the last few items she’d thought of for Dad to fit in the already overstuffed car. Like me, a few minutes into the trip she was fine…I could hear her loud sigh and I knew everything was good. My Mom has always had everything we could possibly need when we arrived (usually for a camping trip-one huge canvas tent with all seven of us in it) and I marveled even then how organized she was…I guess with 5 kids you had to be. She always had everything we needed.

I got the ‘packing b***h” gene…in spades. Even worse, I also got the gene from my Dad that compels me to write everything down and pigeon hole things to the nth degree (a deadly combination). Yes, my Dad danced a jig as he saw the birth of the sticky note! He has to have a certain kind of calendar every year, because it fits the tiny sticky notes perfectly…I’m not quite that bad, unless you count the fact that I have labels for every row of food in my walk-in food pantry…OK, I’m that bad (the Doc ought to have a feild day with me at my Psych pre-op tomorrow huh?). I’ve had a packing list on my computer since our first vacation; I update it, print it out for every trip, and check each item off as I start packing weeks before a trip (thanks Dad). I am a total grump, OK ‘packing b***h’, the day before and day we’re leaving (especially if we’re leaving somewhere I want to be)…DH now knows just to steer clear of me, keep the kids out of the way, and ask me if I need help every once in a while. My house is never so clean as when I leave for a trip (thanks Mom)…what if you died and company had to come to your house…would you want them to see how messy you left it?...Mom’s words. Yes, I am my mother. Like my Mom, I’m fine once we’re on the road…I let out that sigh and I’m instantly on my trip/vacation/whatever. Even better, once we’re there I AM Mary Poppins as my extended family has dubbed me. Ask me for anything, I dare you to, I’ll have it. Once we were sitting at one of those Japanese steakhouse places at WDW. My nephew put his hand on the grill in front of us even though they’d warned us 100x that it was hot. My sister, who didn't get either of these genes, asked if I had anything as she was planning a frantic trip across the park to the first aid station. Did I have anything?!!! I had tissues to dry his eyes, antibiotic wipes to clean it, I had antibiotic lotion WITH the pain anesthetic, I had bandages of every size, I had pain reliever pills for Jr. kids even…after the ice, I hooked him up and we were good to go…Mary Poppins! (thanks Mom & Dad)

DD has definitely got the ‘packing b***h’ gene…I went in her room this morning to chat and started helping her put the clean laundry on hangars…I wasn’t doing it right…then I wasn’t sorting them right…when I turned off her TV to pack it up all he!! broke loose. Eventually I was asked to leave the room so she could ‘just get packed on my own’. ‘Packing B***h!’ It’s OK, in fact it makes the parting easier for her…she’s leaving us, I get it, I’ve been there. As she was giving me a long hug goodbye she whispered in my ear ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier Mom.’ and then with a kiss it came…the sigh…it was all good…she was ready to get back to her life at school.

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