So. We're going to the beach tomorrow. I have been quietly and not-so-quietly freaking out about this trip for months now.
Two adults. Three children. One challenging five year old. One tempestuous two year old. One BABY. Five days. Two boobs, one minivan, 156 miles, three hours, two bedrooms, one bathroom, seventeen million pounds of luggage and not nearly enough bottles of wine.
Right now I'm packing. I'm kind of like this:
There's just so much crap to drag along now, and it's up to me to remember every last bit of it, because Jason likes to pack as if we're heading for a stint on Survivor instead of comfy family vacation. A bathing suit and some rice! A toothbrush! Sunscreen if you're fancy!
If I asked Noah to pack for the beach he'd toss one shoe, two red t-shirts and 500 Lego pieces into a suitcase and call it a day. Ezra might stick with the task a little longer, but would probably pack a lot of plastic food, a dozen stuffed animals and an outgrown Halloween costume.
And don't tell Ike, but he's pretty much the most useless one of them all. God.
So I'm here ping-ponging around a disorganized mental list of everything five distinct human beings could possibly require at the beach, like clothes underwear pajamas diapers pull-ups burp rags bathing suits sunscreen more burp rags toys DVDs toiletries towels swaddling blankets travel crib bottles?? macaroni and cheese granola bars peanut butter sippy cups Kindle Tylenol wipes onesies beach tent hats shoes shampoo oh FUCK THIS LET'S JUST PACK THE WHOLE HOUSE.
Status update! Now I'm like this:
This is going to be so fun! Priceless memories here we come! Please to pray for our survival thank you.