1) All packing must be done by the mother and the mother alone. This is an unwritten rule. No-one really knows why this rule exists but for some reason
IT IS A RULE (FFS).
2) You will not be able to find one of your suitcases for some reason. You can’t remember where you stored the missing suitcase but this will certainly be the suitcase that holds the important things like travel plugs, or the travel iron (never to be used) or just stuff you f*cking well need.
3) When you find
most of your suitcases they appear to be smaller than they were last year which means you have to rethink exactly what you will pack. Can your whole family live with no shoes for a fortnight maybe?
4) Travelling abroad somewhere nice and hot and luxurious? Your packing will be easier and consist of your nice light summer wardrobe for the kids and maybe a brolly to be on the safe side. As the Mum. You of course end up making do with your leggings and a flowery frock you wore pre-kids whilst they trot around in Boden and Joules.
5) Travelling to somewhere in the UK? YOU ARE SCREWED! You have to scrounge around your house to locate and pack for four different humans – sun hats, scarves, sun tan lotion, wellies, summer dress, cardigans, jelly shoes, rain mac…and so on…anyone seen the kids gloves?
6) Half way through packing you realise that this is the most disheartening of jobs you never signed up for. So you hide in the bedroom watching Netflix pretending you are packing. Whenever anyone walks in your quickly pick up a jelly shoe and look like you’re doing something important.
7) You start to cry a bit.
8) Packing recommences with renewed vigour! You ensure each child has an outfit for every day, then one to go out on the night with, then one in case someone (will) poo, vom, then a set of pyjamas for each day. So that’s four outfits, per child, per day. You realise you won’t be taking any clothes for yourself on this holiday. Bar the leggings natch.
9) Packing is done! You have replaced the missing lost case with a rucksack full of wellies, Uggs, gladiator sandals and mock crocs.
10) You begin to unpack at your chosen destination (another bloody unwritten rule) – you forgot your husband’s underwear. He shouts at you. You have a small giggle and suggests he thinks about rewriting rule number 1.
