All packed up with nowhere to go

I do my absolute best packing when I'm two and a half minutes from leaving the house. I hardly forget things...and those that get forgotten? Really, they do indeed have a Target, a Walmart, a CVS or something similar nearby. This whole Let's Pack Today So We're Ready To Leave Tomorrow......Get A Jump Start This Afternoon?

Not my idea.

Is J's idea.

On paper, in theory, this looks like a fabulous plan. Unfortunately, it gives rise to the Inner Perfect Mom With A Cape (I am NOT that person, ps.) who whips the house into perfect shape, for a homecoming akin to entering a spa. Well organized outfits march across the bed, one with fresh sheets, a duvet cover with nary a dog print or fur upon it, all possible needs not only considered, but planned for. Dude, I'd be, like, so prepared I'd have time to whip up a healthy meal, in a shirtwasit dress, crinilin crackling, peals perfectly in place, before consulting my carefully already drawn plot plan for loading the Jeep.

Pucker? She's totally packed. Ready to go. Working out her Inner Energy Requirements for two days at doggie daycare. I'm so proud. It's 2pmish, and I've one child packed.

Three more, and myself to go.

Since the weather is going to be screwy at best - i.e., 70s during the day, but 50s at night, there's a good deal of layering going on. And while it was my (stupid, dumb, I don't even know why I suggested it) idea to pack for three days, and simply wash clothes while there? I honestly don't want to spend cocktail/snack hour wondering if it's time to roll the loads, if I got all the socks, underpinnings, tees and whatever else we got loaded with sand at the beach while everyone else relaxes with ease in the evening breeze. Pucker, laying, or playing nicely nearby.

Sort of Norman Rockwellish. Only with some Ozzy Ozbourne influence thrown in. I'm not sure any child has a collared shirt packed. While I've tried to make sure that each and every outfit matches each other on any given day (hello! photo ops!) I'm mentally preparing myself for that not actually occurring. Emotionally however, another kettle of fish altogether. One I have this distinct feeling that if I wade into those murky waters, J and all the kids will mutiny against me, totally not understanding the concept of how we will look in the pictures.

Okay, so I'm snotty. I think about these things. Not, mind, that that indicates I've picked out or packed a thing for myself; Lilly Pulitzer, for the record does not lend itself to matching camo shirts decorated with orange lettering of some coffee related thing or another. (I've learned to steer my eyesight away from shirts, so as to a, allow for someone to stretch his own stylish muscles, and b, not go blind.)

The real issue is that it's the first time that J et al is meeting my dad, and my step-mom. While I love them all dearly, the three kids when left to their own devices tend to resemble refugees washed ashore on the latest typhoon. Not exactly the impression I'm hoping to create. I figure, day three should be sufficient to display mismatched I didn't choose or approve of outfits that may indeed break the camera lenses.

So I'm doing my absolute best to respect style preferences, while instill some sort of decorum upon medium sized kids who really? Don't give a shit one way or another what they wear to play in the sand.

Damn.

I knew I should have waited until tonight to do this. At say, 4am since we're leaving at 5.