In celebration of Memorial Day, my lifelong friend invited my children and me to spend the holiday at a Galveston beach house with her, three of her college friends, their children and one of her clients and his family. In total there were 8 adults and 12 children.  Rumor held that the house was big, but as I drove toward the beach I couldn’t help but wonder if the house could possibly be big enough to accommodate my fear of vacationing with strangers.

Preparing for the trip, I performed my typical packing routine that yields a final product the size of a large purse and truly holds everything possibly needed for a trip. My tiny trunk was loaded with precision and held breakfast and lunch food for 20 for three days.  Utilizing adorable canvas bags, all the food fit nicely and stylishly next to the one bag containing all my clothes and the clothes for my children.  Done.

When we arrive at the house, the women materialize like a team of bellmen to help unload the car. Little did they know that for the past 40 miles I had been obsessively rehearsing how I could lug everything into the house in one trip. Just five minutes before at a stoplight the children were forced to put away their one toy and police the backseat for any speck of trash that might be left.  My neurotic plan was to arrive with shoes on, hair brushed and lips glossed and when the car stopped each person would exit toting two bags and the car would be left perfectly clean. So much for indulging my OCD.

The women must have been disappointed with my dismal haul. Each of them had driven a Suburban packed to the roof with gear. One woman arrived after me, and I joined forces to help her unload: a kayak, beach tent, folding chairs, umbrellas, boogie boards, floats, life jackets, beach toys, an electric guitar and amplifier, personal blankets, pillows and numerous large stuffed animals and bags upon bags of clothes, movies and food.

Coping with the excess the best I knew how, I busied myself by unpacking three Container Store Packing Cubes (buy these today) and placing all my family’s belongings in drawers. I then arranged the toiletries in the bathroom and folded all the canvas bags into one bag that was stored in the closet. There was no evidence that my family had arrived.

Conversely, the other family’s belongings exploded. Within moments the rooms were littered with everything imaginable. Once I heard a story of a women who traveled with her Picasso and hung it everywhere she went, and I fully expected these women to whip out their wedding china and a full set of silverware. Unbeknownst to me, the next morning my superior packing position would be challenged. 

The plan was to head to the beach. Great. Bathing suit, sunscreen and towel, let’s go. “Uh, your children don’t have life jackets?” Shrugging, I say my kids are good swimmers and we don’t wear life jackets at the beach. Pack mentality ensued– the women circled. If this beach trip was to be produced into a musical, the women would sing a song with a resounding chorus chiding me to fear the beast of an ocean that was determined to drown my children. In the musical version, the choreography would have the women leaping onto the beach house-themed furniture as they lectured me in a sweet and caring way that I should not kill my children by sacrificing them to the turbulent waters.

Cranking up the car, I head into town for a pair of life jackets. Just in case I might be tempted to buy jackets not up to safety par, one of the women accompanies me. The locally owned store didn’t open until 9 am, so my chaperone insisted we patronize Walmart. You know how I feel about Walmart. I would like to claim never to have stepped foot into the big box, but since one of the women on the trip worked at Walmart headquarters in Bentonville, Arkansas, I kept my mouth shut.

At the evil store responsible for death and degradation of third-world families, I was encouraged to buy boogie boards, beach towels, more sunscreen (two bottles might not be enough), hats, floats, shovels, swim noodles and much other crap whose future would end in the landfill just three days later.

With my arms full, we proceed to set-up camp on the beach.  Like a NASCAR crew, the women erect a tent, dig a hole for an umbrella, assemble chairs, hang drapes, open food and before long it was like the house on Nim’s Island. Surely one of the women would soon run a line for electricity or at the least break out a generator for a refrigerator – beach-sized, of course.

My mind was smirking as I watched the women lined-up on the shore counting children.  Reading the newspaper I chuckled at the overkill. Of course, when I looked up to find my “good-swimmer” missing, my heart pounded through my skull as the women activated into a search team.  It was a long five minutes before we found my headstrong child aggressively walking the opposite direction of our camp. Never one to admit a mistake, she insisted she was not lost. Where does that bull-headedness come from?

Whipping out the ice, homemade bloody-mary mix and pre-cut limes, the women make me a drink. Boy, was I glad to be sitting underneath an umbrella in a recliner with cocktail. And, when I stepped on a  bee that stung the tender part of my foot, it was a literal relief when one of the women whipped out her emergency kit and gave me an alcohol swab to clean the wound and then handed me a medication specifically for taking the sting out of insect bites. Finally, when my child screamed because of ear pain, it was really nice that someone had brought ear pain relief drops in their beach kit.

I’m not sure I’ll ever change my ways and own several pairs of shoes that perform different beach and/or water functions, but I will admit that traveling with enough gear to transform an otherwise unattractive beach is a compelling idea.  Of course, when we vacated the house and I helped drag Rubbermaid containers of sandy beach toys and coolers packed with more food than is normally keep in my refrigerator to gas-guzzling SUVs it made me feel good to slip my few neatly packed bags into my car and average 48 miles per gallon on the drive home.

Comments

[hokgardner]

I think you and I may be sisters separated at birth. I am just like you with packing - what's the least amount of stuff I can get away with taking and how few bags can it all be put in. When we make our annual week-long pilgrimage to the beach in August, I pride myself on being able to load and unload the car solo in about five minutes.

And my kids have never worn life jackets at the beach - ever. I grew up at the beach, and we never wore them and no one ever drowned.

[MetropolisMom]

I agree with your ways. Packing so many bags would only make me confuse of what is important to bring. During outing, it is best to bring the important ones and there is no need to almost bring the whole house. ;)

[tootsie]

You gals vacation at the wrong beaches - we show up and the cabana boys do the digging and bring us the drinks!! And why even pack a bathing suit - that's why gift shops exist. Toiletries on vacation??? Salt water is way better than a bath!!

[Shelly]

I must be a reincarnated Boy Scout. I like to be prepared. I live in fear that I will get to Houston with no toothpaste, because, God knows, you can't buy toothpaste in Houston. I am not, however, quite as extreme as your friends. Life jackets are for boats. And I will buy ear relief drops if needed. I'm not packing them for a trip to the beach. They would just take up space I am using for beer!

[pillowprincess]

i agree with Metmom. we like to fo where people bring us booze pronto. packing is time consuming and i think i have ADD. hence why i wear the same clother over andover. i prfer to think of it as european.

[Karen]

Those others are reading with horror, not commenting. Beside themselves with our ability to live light like that! Those others must be my sisters! bah!

My sister always has the entire contents of the Dollar Store IN HER PURSE! Its A HUGE purse! Mygod! aaaagh!