A Game of Packing

I have done myself proud, and been totally restrained with my packing.   The result is one large suitcase which is HALF EMPTY.  And as a glass half full kinda girl, I see that as half a large suitcase which must be filled with loot for the return journey!  Perhaps I can also knuckle in on Cam’s space (shh, don’t tell him, he’s fiercly protective of his own 3/4 empty suitcase).

Being male and straight, Cam has packed one pair each of jeans and shorts, six t-shirts, and is taking ONE (1) pair of shoes.  His theory is that he will be overtaken by a strange New York spirit force that will enter his body and send him on crazed shopping sprees where he will buy enough to last him for the next five years.  Somewhat strange, for a guy who would normally rather stick pins in his eyes than enter into a clothing shop (let alone be forced to interact with the sales assistants).

The kids have been farewelled in fine spirits, and without so much as a tear (it was me I was worried about there).  Excellent.

In order to quell my anxiety about leaving them, I must admit to going a little OCD with the lists and instructions.  Behold: The Instructions Wall!  Everywhere you look, there are calendars (one for parents, the other for children), itineraries, instructions, lunch box guides, house rules, morning checklists – you name it, I’ve made it, and had it laminated.

So If all goes to plan from here, the next update should be from our little apartment near the West Village.  Over and out.

The Wardrobe Chronicles

I have decided that I really dislike packing.  Pre-committing and restricting my clothing choices to one suitcase for two weeks is really tricky.  For example: what the feck does one wear to best blend in amongst the Brooklyn hipster crowd at an event such as the Great Googamooga?  Yes, it is a real event, and indeed, Cam informs me just now that he has purchased our tickets.  Rad.

The closest I have come to actually packing, is to stand in front of the wardrobe, staring.  How do I decide whether they make the first cut, without trying each piece on?  And when a combination has been assembled, do I photograph?  Or enter said item and corresponding accessories into a database?  Surely there must exist some kind of universal outfit algorithm I can use, which reduces it down to a simple yes or no.

So instead, I will procrastinate, by compiling my list of the top three things that will be in my suitcase:

1.  Control undergarments

How could I set sail without my vast collection of lycra beauties?  80% of my wardrobe hinges on their sturdy construction.  And I’m not under any illusion that they actually make me look slimmer.  They simply iron out some of the bumpy bits that I would really rather be without.

I know there are women out there who regain their former taut midriffs six weeks post-birth (including one of my best friends), but I really do believe they are genetic freaks.  I’ve long since resigned myself to the fact that

a) I didn’t have an especially taut midriff to start with, and

b) The wobbly, poochy bits are here to stay, unless I become one of those odd women who decides to take up body-building and painting themselves brown, eating only broccoli and boiled chicken breasts at each meal.

2.  Cowboy boots

Love them.  They go with lots of things to make me feel a bit cool.

3.  Straightening iron

No explanation necessary.  Mad hair has no place in these chronicles.