We're going to Indiana this weekend. (Why oh why is "Going Back to Cali" stuck in my head now?) Staying in a hotel, hanging with some friends, doing a little training for volunteer type work. And it falls to me to do the packing. Of course it does; Slayer works long hours, and I don't. Rather, he works long hours out of the house and I work long hours IN the house, so really, I'm still the better suited of the two to do the job. And whew was that one heck of a convoluted sentence or what?
Anyway, I know I need to carefully plan what we bring. Twin two-year-olds and a five-year-old come complete with their own messes kinda like Barbie comes with accessories. We need extra clothes for them if we don't want to look like the messy white trash family.
And really, I've had enough of looking like white trash. At the end of my twin pregnancy, I was so huge that even extra-large stuff didn't fit me, and my belly stuck out of the bottom. Honestly? I contemplated a muu-muu. Don't tell anyone, though. It's our little secret.
What I really want to do is take a big handful of stuff and throw it in the bags. What I shall do is more responsible: I'll pick up LITTLE handfuls so that it's not wrinkly when we get there.
And with that, I'm off to try to find photos in our wreck of an office. Why do I promise people pictures and then forget about it until absolutely the last minute?
Answer: Because I am an idiot. But at least I don't look like white trash.