PACK MENTALITY

Marley’s bag is overflowing with ‘essential’ items!

It used to be that going on holiday with a small baby involved packing literally everything in your entire house. Wet wipes, nappies, bottles, toys, blanky, muslin cloths, wraps, baby seat, baby front pack, stretch and grows, rattles, teething rings, snacks, bibs ... I’m exhausted just typing all of these, far less packing them.

When they’re so tiny, and require that much effort and “stuff”, you look forward to the days of less high-maintenance kids. Ones that are a bit older and can make do with a few undies and a change of T-shirt. Better yet, ones that can pack for themselves. But here’s the rub. Just when you think it’s going to get simpler, it doesn’t.

You see, older children absolutely want to pack for themselves, but it’s what they want to pack that becomes problematic. Recently, we took a trip, for which I supplied my daughter with a small roll bag. I envisaged a nightie, knickers, toothbrush and a change of clothes going into that bag. But she had different ideas.

“Mum!” she sang out from her bedroom in frustration, not long after the bag had been delivered to her. “I need another bag – a bigger one!”

”Why?” I replied, before walking in on what looked like a stocktake at The Warehouse.

“This one can’t fit anything!” she harumphed.

On her bed and strewn across her floor were the things she was trying to pack.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Marley, what are the essentials, babe? This is way too much.”

“These are the essentials.” She pointed at the sea of stuff.

“Wow, OK, we need to rethink this,” I tried to reason.

Among her “must-haves” were some slime, three fidget spinners, a pack of cards, a pencil case, eight pairs of shoes, two books, a Lush bath bomb, about 10 million hairties, her favourite pillow, hand sanitiser, two hairbrushes, an iPod, some headphones, four nail polishes, a scarf (never mind that it’s summer), some lollies, a jewellery box, a couple of random unidentifiable objects I was told “could come in handy”, a collection of Smiggle rubbers and about 16 outfit changes (for all seasons).

“This is not happening,” I announced sternly.

“Mum,” she exhaled, hands on hips. “You just don’t get it. I don’t know that I won’t need this stuff. What if I do and then it’s too late? I don’t have it – then what?”

She looked up at me, all big blue eyes and confusion.

“Babe, you just won’t need any of this, I promise you,” I tried to reason. “It’s too much. We can’t fit it and in packing all this, you have to lug it around and then unpack it all at the other end. You’re far better to pack light.”

“Mum,” she said. “I am doing this. I know what I need.”

We were at a standoff. There was silence. She finally spoke first. “Fine.” “OK, great,” I sighed. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Yep,” she chirped back, while picking up two nail polishes and sighing loudly. “I won’t bring these then.”