In two weeks my family is going on a cruise. Along with all the other hassles like passports, flight connections and potential seasickness, there’s the issue of packing.
Now, I’ve been warned — those ‘staterooms’ are a tad smaller than the ones on the Love Boat set. Space is at a premium. I’m determined to pack sparingly.
It can’t be too bad. It’ll be hot. Swimsuits and shorts don’t take up much room. So I get out the suitcases, find the summer clothes that were packed away and start throwing stuff in.
I’m off to a good start. Three days worth of outfits for me and the bag is scarcely filled. I’m good at this. I lived for a month in Vietnam out of two bags I packed in 20 minutes.
Now, I give my family their packing orders, “Bring me your stuff.”
The next day a camera, an iPod and a suspicious looking item called a ‘netbook’ appear. Still looking lean and mean!
Meanwhile, I work on the “essentials” list: first aid kit, passport copies, Tylenol, insurance cards, reserve credit cards, sewing kit, detergent, Margarita mix, Purell, stamps. Then I add the ‘souvenirs’ already purchased to save money -– the light stick, mouse ears and an overpriced coloring book (even more overpriced on board).
A few days later I add the preschooler’s stuff. He gets dirty and still has accidents, so I begrudgingly allot him three outfits a day – the total volume should still be less because size 3T takes up hardly any room. Suffused with pride that I got it in half a medium suitcase, I graciously add those security items – the non-TSA kind – the favorite blanket, the half-eared monkey, the lucky Matchbox car he takes everywhere.
The teenager brings down his collection. Not much there, and typically, wrinkled and torn in places. I ask for something less lived-in, provoking a disgusted, “Whatever!”
Minutes later, a hand emerges through the door with a pair of Ralph Lauren chinos from sophomore year and his Best Buy work shirt. But hey, it’s a polo shirt! Better, but still no formal dinners for him. When he’s not looking, I can cut the logo off…Sshhh!
At certain intervals hubby deposits his stuff in the room. He’s never been cruising before. Although he normally avoids anything but jeans, he’s included everything from cut-offs to Dockers to a tuxedo, lest he embarrass me. He’s also solar-phobic, so in go tubs of water-resistant SPF90, ray-blocking face cream, all-over sunscreen spray, aloe and mosquito repellent.
I mean to ask him about that, but then his choices force me to re-consider. Do I really need two pairs of heels? There’s a formal AND a semi-formal dinner. I’ll definitely need jewelry for formal night, if he’s going all out with the tux. Which also means one dress should be floor length. I toss in something sequined and frothy. But wait! It might get cold, the dress has no sleeves and barely any back. I consider my choices. Jacket or wrap? Velvet or silk? Hey, I’ll take them both, just in case.
Meanwhile, the teenager has suddenly dumped a cart worth of electronics in the room. Drat that company discount! A hand-held DVD player, a GPS marking device, folding keyboard, gaming unit, photo printer and something so cool he says I’ll never understand it, plus chargers and cords for everything.
I wanted to have a word with the teenage one, but I then notice my husband’s rapidly growing pile. Vitamins (four kinds), laptop -– “Honey, we won’t have Internet.” “But I need to work on contract changes”–- two hats, one baseball, one safari-looking, swim fins (“They’re expensive to rent”), address book, flip flops, shave cream, after shave, ‘curly hair’ shampoo, pajamas? (he never wears those!), digital camcorder(and cords), more shirts (I always spill stuff!), a book (isn’t the backless dress enticing enough?), hiking boots, loafers, sneakers, his ‘tux’ shoes, docksiders (No fair! That’s more shoes than I’m taking!), water bottles, a wet suit, and…a walking stick.
We need to talk!
Before I find him, I turn to my closet. He might have a point about needing more shoes. I forage under the bed and am rewarded with my silver slip-ons, perfect with my silver lamé swimsuit wrap. Where is that? I find it and toss it in. That leads to the wide-brimmed Panama hat that looks so divine with that suit and those shoes.
I can also add the wrap skirt and wear the ensemble into town, with a purse to match! In that goes. Speaking of glamour, I need that long, flowy thing. Perfect for standing fetchingly on the moonlit balcony.
Moving on, who wants to wear great clothes and look like a hag? In the bathroom I fumble through drawers and grab my curling iron, flat iron (options!), hair dryer (theirs is never powerful enough), special conditioner, leave-in conditioner, hair spray?- can’t hurt, razor, bronzer, extra make-up kit and pumice stone (‘cuz people will see my feet!). And the usuals: deodorant, toothpaste and toothbrush.
I’m ready to unload the lot into my suitcase when our little one appears, sniffling. Daddy says he doesn’t need any bedtime books, he wails, like his pet just died. I look up at Daddy standing there guilt-stricken. Pulling the tyke close, I soothe, “Daddy was just being dumb! Of course you can bring books!” Little guy recovers and takes off. Faster than you can say ‘weight allowance’ he re-appears with nearly every book he can reach. Oh, and Pooh Bear!
Winking at hubby, because I’ll take some out later, I arrange the books and tuck in Pooh.
Order is restored.
Then I look around. Like rabbits, the luggage has multiplied. We’ll be away 10 days and there’s almost one bag per day! A large roll-on, several medium roll-ons, hard-sided bag, make-up case large enough for the cast of Cats and an over-sized duffle. My husband quips we haven’t even packed the scuba tanks and I sock him.
How did this happen?
Was it the two pairs of khaki pants? The one piece and the bikini? Or was it the extra dinner jacket he added because I said the white made him look like a purser?
I could take out some of little guy’s books, but with my luck, I’ll leave behind the one he can’t live without! Does travel insurance cover a vacation ruined by a cranky toddler?
Oh well, thank heavens we’re flying Southwest! With one carry-on, one personal item, and two checked bags per person, why, we’re under the limit!
“Honey, can you get me another bag? I forgot to take my walking shoes.”
