For some unfathomable, completely mysterious reason, we were...not...invited back for a visit with Jason's great-aunt and uncle at the beach this summer. I guess the Great Storch Family Tornado of Destruction Summer Tour 2012 was just too rockin' out. Too radical to the max. Some peeps just can't hang with our flow, our awesomeness, or our overall uncanny resemblance to a traveling mosh pit full of pointy toddlers.
So we're going it alone this year. Our usual beach house partners in crime couldn't make it either, thanks to "work" and "no time off" or possibly "DEAR GOD YOU HAVE SO MANY CHILDREN TO KEEP TRACK OF." This means 1) there will probably be a lot less late-night kitchen experiments involving reheated Velveeta, and 2) I have to remember to pack everything myself, since I'll have no one to bum forgotten essentials from. That shouldn't be a big deal but let's all remember who we're talking about here.
Last year I forgot washcloths and feminine products. The year before I forgot pillowcases and food.
Obviously, there are things like "stores" and "stuff" at the beach, but I try to make it a point not to go to "stores" and "stuff" with my children. Plus the more stores we stop off at on the drive over ("DID YOU PACK..." "WHAT DO YOU MEAN DID *I* PACK..." AND ETC.), the more berserk the boys get because beeeeeeeach! Beeeeeeeach! I thought we were gonna go to the beeeeeach!
(But then God forbid we arrive at our destination without the ability to immediately shove Cheerios in their mouths the second we walk through the door. The beeeeeach! It's the wooooorsttttt!!)
I asked Noah and Ezra to pack up their own toy and book collections in their backpacks. "We're going to be there for a WEEK, guys, so think about it. It could also rain and you'll want things to play with."
Ezra — who has not forgiven me, who will never forgive me, for forgetting to pack any socks for him during our Williamsburg trip — filled his with handfuls of socks, two toy cars, a random wad of Sculpey clay and four sock puppets. (JESUS CHRIST, CHILD, I GET IT. I'M SORRY ABOUT YOUR SOCKS THAT ONE TIME.)
Noah packed four Lego minifigures, my iPad and Everyone Poops.
So basically, the entire weight of our family vacation's success rests on my ability to pack us all up like the motherfucking shit. Aight. Let's DO THIS.
So far I have made some lists. I have not unpacked the toiletry bag Jason and I took on our anniversary weekend. I have opened our linen closet to make sure we have enough clean sheets for the condo. And I have added both "go back to rental listing to check bed sizes" and "wash some sheets" to my lists.
FUCK YEAH BEACH VACATION.
(If anyone needs me, I'll be rocking quietly in the corner, gumming on my lists and good intentions.)