I took 56 pairs of underwear to California
I haven’t counted how many pairs made the return trip.
If all 56 made it back, it was a rousing success. If one or two are missing, I won’t be sad. I can’t even make if from my boys’ bedroom to the washer without leaving a trail of the tighties and the whities.
If more are missing, I’d like to humbly apologize to hotel housekeepers along the I-80 corridor. You’ve probably encountered worse hotel room stragglers than faded Shrek faces on cotton, however. I bet you have some wild stories to tell.
If we gained any? I’ll be gagging myself with a vintage 1982 spoon.
I find vacationing with seven children to be challenging, especially when the plan was to drive over 2,000 miles over the course of 12 days. I started mentally packing for the trip months in advance. It kept me up at night.
So this is how Marco Polo felt when he looked at all that pasta and firecrackers.
My plan for the vacation was to pack a suitcase for each of the first eight days of the trip. After that point, I’d have access to a washing machine and dryer. It would be fine. By that point in the trip, I was going to be sick of having fun and freedom and would crave the drudgery of stain removal.
I labeled the suitcases: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and so on. The idea was it would be much easier hauling the one Saturday suitcase into the hotel, rather than 9 bags for the kids, my husband, and I. This sounds brilliant, no?
In practice, it was less of a success. This bag-packing theory only works if you have exceptional tidy children. The first full day into the trip, the baby sprung cringe-worthy leaks on Friday’s clothes, Saturday’s, and half of Sunday’s ensemble. I had the foresight to skip the shorts as we sponged him off from head to toe on a patch of grass in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City.
Sunday’s shorts were saved.
It’s a good thing I didn’t forget my sense of humor at home. You need that every day of the week.