In eight days we will be leaving for our beach trip. We made mention of this at dinner tonight, specifically the need to pack everyone's belongings and hopefully not wait until the night before. Heath excused himself from the table, returned shortly there after, announcing that his stuff is ready for the beach.
I got my swim suit, t-shirts, shorts, pants, pajamas, a few winter things, and socks all packed, he said. I could tell even he was pleased with his own independence and initiative. Then he added, with the head shake of a weary older man, It's gonna take a lot of bags to pack all my stuff up.
That last sentence, along with the vague a few winter things, tipped me off that I had better go take a look at his packing job sooner than later. He was right. It was going to take a lot of bags to pack all the clothes he planned to take as he had simply dragged every last piece of clothing out of his three drawer dresser and dumped it in a pile in the middle of his bedroom.
He was trying to be helpful, and was even generous during the process. His old Thomas the Train swim trunks had been tossed into Stella's room. He had deemed them too small and thought she could wear them. She was thrilled and squealed, Pack this, and dumped it back in his "for the beach" mound.
I'll pack her Aqua polka-dot bikini, too. Just in case.
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