Packing light is overrated

So much for packing light.  We endeavoured to change our ways on this trip and be minimalists.  I packed only one pair of pants besides the ones I wore on the plane, and everything went with everything.  The kids’ clothes fit into their small roller suitcases that they could bring on board.  All of Alec’s and my clothes—together—fit into a medium-sized roller suitcase.  Shoes, toiletries, etc. went into a bag with the kids’ car seats.  We were proud of ourselves when we surveyed the smaller-than-usual pile of bags to be packed into the car.  The Syracuse apartment came with a washer, so we figured we could do a couple of loads of laundry midway through the trip and we’d be fine.

What we did not expect was so much rain, and kids playing in the rain, and clothing taking more than 2 days to dry.  And kids getting filthy and wet in the snow and lava gravel on Mount Etna.  We did not figure in the fact that the only things I put in a drawer at the agriturismo—Alec’s socks and underwear—would not make it back into the suitcase.  I was in charge of the “final sweep” before we headed out, and I failed miserably.  Having also left the phone charger and Alec’s watch in the room in Madrid, I think I’ve lost that job for life.  Which means years of waiting for Alec to do the final sweep without huffing and looking at my watch, which will be really annoying for me.

We found a laundry service and dropped a load of clothes there—and between the wet clothes hanging in the apartment and the clothes out of commission at the laundry, we were a sorry sight.  C.C.’s jeans could have walked down the street by themselves.  Milo’s sweatshirt bore traces of his last three meals.  And Alec had been reduced to wearing a pair of my white gym socks with his black shoes, and pants on which the top button had broken.

Minimalism be damned—next time I’ll bring the extra suitcase.