I’ve just made a really rash yet definitive decision:
Next time we go on vacation, I’m not packing for anyone but myself.
If my daughter wants to pack thirteen chapter books (including four she doesn’t want to read) AND the actual Guinness Book of World Records hardcover in her carry-on backpack, then FINE.
If she wants to pack twelve training bras for a ten-day trip, then FINE.
If she wants to bring a coloring-journal and nothing to color with, that’s FINE.
Also:
If my son wants to bring a heavy knit sweater to a place with palm trees FINE.
If he wants to bring two – yes two – rolling suitcases and drag both of them behind him, one in each hand, instead bringing just one and wearing a backpack, THEN THAT’S FINE.
If he wants to carry his slingshot and 97 pieces of bluestone gravel through security, then fine! Good luck with that!
And if he wants to wear the tackiest, most outgrown and stained outfit he owns (his “emergency play outfit”) then FINE.
But don’t expect to be included on my Instagram.
My Instagram will just be me and my Piña Coladas;
my husband's on my shit list too.
-Mom