Lists. I am drowning in lists.
On little pieces of scrunched up post-it notes. On bigger sheets of A4 paper. On the back of old envelopes and empty cereal boxes.
Lists fill every nook and cranny of my house. No sooner are they written, then they are hastily discarded for a fresh list; an updated stream of random items all jostling for a place in my head.
Remember how, pre-kids, packing meant chucking a few things in a bag or a box and being on your merry way? How is it possible that once kids come along – even if, like me, you only have one of them – the level of packing hysteria reaches such a giddy new height?
Rather than a rushed ten minute task, packing is now a full day’s activity. It needs to be approached with purpose, methodically, with lists and highlighter pens.
I hate it.
We are currently in the midst of packing for various different events. As well as a few short breaks away (a couple of weddings, a week with my parents and a festival), we also have a huge, incredibly massive, scary, intimidating packing experience that involves numerous highlighters. I can’t think about that final packing experience without going a bit weak at the knees.
Pre-kids, I remember packing used to be part of the fun of an event. Whether it was a holiday, moving house or just an overnight trip to see friends, I used to quite enjoy laying out my clothes and whatever else I wanted, while I relished the fun or newness that was to come.
No longer. Oh no. Now, I would quite happily pay a large amount of money to someone willing to take the responsibility and faff out of my hands.
If we had a big pot of cash to pay for that kind of service, I imagine it would save many a family row. There would be no need for the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine to yell, “There’s NO WAY we need this much!” or for me to retort (sobbing), “WELL YOU BLOODY WELL PACK NEXT TIME THEN!”
My toddler wouldn’t get cross over not being able to wear her wellies to bed, due to them being stored safely in her suitcase. We wouldn’t all swear to never leave the house ever again. You never know, we may actually look forward to arriving at our destination rather than dreading the packing bit.
Surely I can’t be the only one to detest family packing with such a vengeance? In fact, I detest it so much, I’ve just put it off for an extra 30 minutes by writing a blog post about it.
I am a packing failure.