25 Jul Hit the road packed

Lucinda Bertram has a packing list for all excursions but wonders whether she goes a little too far.

“Have you got your bag packed?” a friend of mine asked an expectant mother we both knew. “Not yet,” came her flippant reply, even though she was almost 36 weeks pregnant. We gave each other knowing looks. ‘She had better be getting packing,’ we both thought. She really needs to because it’s all about being prepared for motherhood. Not that she’ll need anything in her labour bag, but it will prepare her for the relentlessness of packing and unpacking bags of unnecessary items in the event that somebody related to her needs them. However, we chose not to fill her in on the life that lay ahead, deciding instead to let her live in blissful ignorance a little longer.

Since my children arrived, I have become the manager of the whole bag-packing business. When they were babies, it was nappy bags, then daycare bags, followed by kindergarten bags and finally schoolbags—and occasionally also an excursion bag. I also used to keep a spare bag packed in the car (just in case) filled with a change of clothes for the baby and a top for me in case of a baby vomit. You would not believe how often it was required.

Then there are bags for the beach, gym, long day out, going to the cousins’ house, play dates with friends, and, of course, bags for holidays. Bags are not the joy of my life. I look at a bag, and I see work. It either has to be packed or unpacked.

I learnt early on to delegate the task. It astonishes me now to recall that I had my younger daughter packing her own bag even before she was two years old. I can verify this because the date is stored on my computer, where I keep the ‘packing lists’ I have compiled – so I can’t fudge the dates in order to appear to be a bit nicer. The first packing list I made for my two daughters was complete with pictures. (Alice was three, and Felicity was not quite two but, I tell myself, quite capable!)

The important thing was that I had to be adult enough to handle the concoctions of clothes they put together—not always easy when they decided that a stripy top matched a stripy skirt and stripy leggings…

Over the years, the list has changed, and I have a packing list for almost any occasion: mild weekend, summer week, five days over winter and so on. The only time when I totally commandeered the packing was in preparation for three days in the snow, which I figured required adult thinking. Fortunately, I am married to a list-maker who is very receptive to additional lists. When it comes to camping, I am in awe of his packing skills and am oh so happy to hand over the managerial responsibilities. He packs the car like a jigsaw puzzle for adults, and I think I could almost sell tickets to watch. It’s fascinating!

I know there is a difference between the female and male perspectives when it comes to packing. When my husband went on holiday with our youngest daughter, he was fortunate to be accompanied by my sister and my brother-in-law and their kids. I didn’t bother to give him a list since my husband was quite capable of packing for himself and our daughter. Yet, when the kids unexpectedly got wet on one day, who had packed the spare clothes? My sister!

Perhaps children raised by men are more resilient – especially when it comes to being wet, cold, sunburnt and hungry. Maybe I over-pack, and I am prepared to debate this point. Yes, we could head out with less, but so often, a catastrophe has been averted by having goggles, a teddy bear, or an extra set of clothes on hand. When my children watched Mary Poppins, they pointed out the similarities between the title character and me. “She’s like you, Mum,” they cried. “She has everything in her bag!” This is all true. I like to travel with wipes, tissues, spare underpants, Band-Aids and sunscreen. (However, I do not carry around a rubbish bin, which is mind-boggling to my kids, who try very hard to hand over every sticky wrapper that ends up in their hands.)

For slightly longer trips, I like to have hats, jackets and a change of clothes. If my kids go near anything wet, it spells a sloppy, happy mess until someone starts crying. Whatever the time of year and whatever the weather, they seem to find a way to fall in water. They may blame it on the dog… but I’ve seen it all while sipping a coffee at the closest cafe, and don’t really see how they can accuse him, considering they’ve dragged a rather reluctant Jack Russell into the watery depths.

On our recent family holiday, I avoided eye contact with my bag and also with my husband as he heaved my over-packed and apparently overweight suitcase onto the airline’s scales. I realised that perhaps I’m my own worst enemy. Next time, when I print off a list for the girls, I might do an extra one for myself. I’ll use it as a guide…

Illustration by Cat MacInnes