All packed?

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Yes, we’re finally going on vacation. I feel pretty safe making that information public because, even if somehow (God forbid!) thieves were to hit on our home while we’re away, there’d be nothing left for them to steal. We’ve packed it all.

Seriously. Even the laptops, for the kids’ entertainment, toys, books, more food than our fridge can hold, half of our clothes… the good half, the one we don’t fell embarassed wearing in Italy… We’ve got it all. We’re ready for the spiaggia. Sure, I’m not yet sure we can make it out of the garage, heck, I’m not even sure we can make it to the garage, because I’m pretty confident we have to carry everything short of cupboards and closets. We’ve got three gigantic suitcases, one humongous foodbox on wheels, I don’t even remember how many boxes full of everything from stuffed animals to shoes and toothbrushes… and we’re not done yet. We still need to pack water, baby bottles, water heaters, a buggy, diapers, a travel bed and possibly also sleeping bags, just to be on the safe side. It’s pretty incredible all the stuff you have to hoist when you’re traveling with children. I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to see out the windows of our car anymore. As usual, we probably won’t even use half of the things we’ve packed, we probably never will fully unpack once we’re there, and the stuff that’s on the bottom will not see the light of day. We’ll just rummage through the superficial layers of our suitcases and decide that whatever was good enough to wear yesterday is good enough for tomorrow too, I mean, why risk getting tomato sauce on my most beautiful dress or my 50-dollar pants… We always do that. Once we’re there, we somehow succumb to more mundane worries, like, “Honey, did you get the girl’s buckets and shovel?” “Son, do you have sun block on?” “Where IS that baseball cap?” “Are you done in the shower?” “We’re out of bread!” “Have you seen my purse?”  “She’s hungry, we have to hurry !”… etc etc etc.

I still haven’t figured out why they call it vacation. Probably because you vacate your home. Completely.  Certainly not because it’s relaxing. Are you kidding me? The whole week prior to departure I have done nothing but frantically wash clothes and hang them up to dry, and that’s what I’ll be doing the week after we get back, too. I have cleaned out the department store, broken my back arranging everything in piles, and done paperwork to leave my office in order. You’d think we’re emigrating. You’d think we’re moving for a year.

Well, all that matters is we’re ready for this. Ready as we’ll ever be. Just as ready as 20 million more Germans, who are probably going to hit the road tomorrow, and now, with this Lufthansa strike, I guess what we should brace ourselves for is pandemonium on the roads.  But who cares? At the other end beckons none other than Italy. Our beloved Italy.  The insane reason we can’t bring ourselves to leave Europe.

So I’ll let you know how it went when we’re all back safe and sound, wearing a large smile and – hopefully – a tan. Ciao and take care!

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