Packing

I’m not very good at packing.  I discovered this today as I almost put an entire roll if plastic wrap in my suitcase.  You just never know when you’re going to need some plastic wrap, amiright?  I wasn’t always like this.  Girls Camp would roll around and I’d only pack a couple pairs of socks and reuse them all week.  You can’t avoid stinking up there so why not embrace it?  But I didn’t have a child with me then either.  There must be something in those mothering hormones that trigger some preparedness OCD’s.

For example, I am paranoid I won’t pack enough clothes.  This week I’ve been trying to launder all of my favorite articles of clothing, as well as some essentials, so I’d be able to pack on Saturday and relax on the Sabbath.  However, this week was also my birthday, which means it is Andrea’s half birthday, and we had doctor’s appointments, birthday engagements, and celebrations galore.  Because I didn’t want to overbook my weekend with travel preparation, I began my laundry festival early in the week.  Monday and Tuesday I washed a couple loads of colorful clothes.  Wednesday I took the day off because, hey, it was my birthday, and Thursday I did my very last load.  Whites.  Which in my house is mostly complied of underwear.

My little OCD brain took over when I stared that load and told me that although there will be a washing machine available to me in Illinois, I must pack as much of my undies as I possibly could.  So I put every pair I owned into the wash, including the ones I was wearing, and hopped into the shower with the intention of transferring the load to the dryer as soon as I got out.  But as I stepped out the shower, the door bell rang.  I wrapped up in my towel, threw on a bathrobe, and peaked through the peep hole.  There stood my two visiting teachers.  I opened the door, dripping wet and asked them if they could wait outside in the blistering heat for just a minute while I got dressed.  They kindly agreed.

But you may remember I had no dry underwear.  It was still sloshing around in the washer.  And the time of month made going commando out of the question.  I streaked through my apartment searching for something to wear underneath my clothing, and Andrea followed me, clearly amused by my desperation.  When I finally found a solution, I threw on some smelly pajamas and invited my visiting teachers into the house.  While I wrestled the soggy towel on my head, they gave a sweet message and politely left before I became too embarrassed to breathe.  No, I will not be making eye contact with them on Sunday.

You see, none of this would have happened if I wasn’t so bad at packing.