My dad is a lean, mean, packing machine, and I like to think I got those genes from him. I get a kick out of planning and packing efficiently, and love arriving at a location when everything I need and nothing more.
I also struggle with self doubt and the tendency to want be over-prepared.
Cylon and I have been doing our big trip to Tobago since about a year and a half after we got married. This summer we’ll have been married for 12 years. We have agreed that we can’t remember how many times we have made the trip, but are pretty sure this is #9.
I mentioned in my post about packing for travel with kids that I have lists detailing what each person in the family needs for the trip. I edit and hone them every time we come down.
The lists only work when I use them.
This morning I was awake and downstairs by 6:30 a.m., listening to Pentatonix Christmas and making lasagna.
It is a bit of a heavy burden I put on myself to make Christmas amazing, because I remember how amazing it was for me as a kid. My mom put up decorations every year. There were Christmas cookies and caroling, and hot chocolate in the church basement afterward that would melt the plastic spoons we used to stir the cocoa with.
Dad always took the kids to get a tree, and we would choose the biggest one we could get away with. When we got home and put it up, we would watch with glee as someone cut the net off of the tree and its branches bounced down to take up a quarter of our living room. We would all shrug and grin and tell Mom the tree hadn’t looked that big at the tree farm.
