So we're back from Christmas holiday and I'm pleased to report, everything fitted in the car.
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
It didn't look good on the day of departure for the one-way, 10-hour interstate drive, what with additional adults aboard across varying age demographics and toilet break capacities.
There was always going to be competing luggage requirements with only a finite amount of space available and infinite capacity to imagine wardrobe crises across a seven-day sojourn. But you get that in the people-moving business.
Pack light was the aspiration, from the packer. Don't have a panic attack was the instruction to the packer, once he'd informed those who weren't doing the packing, that we were packing too much.
And excuse me, all that sweating and mumbling wasn't a panic attack. That was the packer sucking in the big ones after lugging things to the car unnecessarily and confirming it wasn't all going to fit.
Funny how those who aren't doing the lifting encourage those who are to lift their attitude as well, once obstructive behaviour is detected. Still, no one to blame but yourself if things don't fit in the car first time, even though it always feels so much better blaming someone else. Just have to unpack the car and try again. Ideally in blazing hot morning sun, so you really test your zen limits. Because obviously the blazing hot sun has already affected your zen judgement about what fit where in a boot.
One thing I've learned over many years of holiday packing is you can only control what you can control. And in my case, that's undies. Like literally, that's all that's usually in my case to start with.
Then the packing reflex gains momentum and next thing I've packed the entire wardrobe. The chances of attending the academy awards on this particular Christmas visit were slim, but never rule out an Oscar-worthy dummy spit. In fact, being an organised hot-blooded family, we try to schedule it so everyone gets a go over Festivus. But let's unpack that later.
Back to packing the car and this individual tendency to overpack, times how ever many adults are along for the ride. Naturally cages can get rattled. Particularly if you challenge the necessity of certain items in the wrong way, which is usually any way, when coming transitions into going.
In the end we didn't take the portable fridge, or the tent, or the double roll-out mattress, or the oversize zen faux brass 'gong' drinks chiller even though it would have set the mood on Chrismas Day. Of a bogan monastery. And you know why?
Because the young family member we visited lived in a house, not a box. A box-size house yes. But it had a roof and walls and running water and most importantly, air-con. Oh yeah, and a toilet helped too.
And just like packing the car, we all managed to fit without too many breakdowns. In the house, I mean, not the toilet. And thank god that didn't break down either.
Now looking back you realise that's possibly the true spirit of Christmas right there. A trip packed with fond memories.
