After a much-anticipated weeklong summer vacation with my husband’s family in Michigan, my dining room has transformed into a chaotic dumping ground, and I’m utterly fed up. We stay in quaint cabins that require us to pack everything, from bedding to kitchen essentials, which means two minivans filled to the brim with our stuff.
Let me give you some context: I have four kids. I love them to bits; they’re adorable, witty, and full of life. However, when it comes to packing, they are completely useless. It’s like they have a sixth sense for figuring out how to do just enough to make me step in and handle everything myself. So, I take on the massive packing task for our family of five. My husband, bless his heart, is mostly on his own—he can handle his own suitcase, but I still sneak in extra underwear because he always underestimates how much he’ll need. This year, he declared he hadn’t had an accident in 46 years and didn’t need my extra supplies. I couldn’t help but wish he’d face a little digestive trouble, just for the irony.
Once I’d packed enough supplies to withstand a zombie apocalypse, we hit the road. My parents joined us, and we crammed into the minivans with pool noodles, tech bags, and enough entertainment to last a month. The drive was manageable, split into two days, keeping the kids entertained with their devices.
The week was blissful—beach days, fishing, campfires—but soon enough, we faced the lengthy journey home, filled with complaints like, “Are we home yet?” and “I need to pee!” On top of that, I was dealing with a knee brace, which did not help my mood.
But when we finally arrived home, the real chaos began. My children unpacked the car but left all their belongings scattered in the dining room like casualties of a family vacation. Suitcases overflowed with clothes, sheets piled high, and a Rubbermaid tote filled with snacks just sat there, while they were already off to play Minecraft.
I had made it easy for them; I’d already done the laundry before we left, neatly folding everyone’s clothes according to their rooms. All they had to do was take them upstairs. But of course, the whining began immediately, and before long, it escalated into a full-on brawl on the stairs, with clean laundry becoming collateral damage.
You’d think they’d at least take the empty suitcases to the basement, but nope. I vowed not to touch those bags, even if it meant I’d trip over them for days. I even blocked the basement door, hoping the inconvenience would motivate them. But instead, they stayed upstairs, blissfully ignoring the mess.
By day three, I lost my cool and flipped from a patient mom to an unhinged one. My husband stepped in to help, but I was overwhelmed by the chaos, especially the pile of toys that seemed to multiply overnight. My daughter only moved when I threatened to donate her beloved doll.
Suddenly, it clicked for my son, who asked, “Why are you mad now when you never get upset when we make the mess?” Finally, a light bulb went off in his head, and I hoped the others would follow suit.
I documented the mess for posterity, thinking my grandkids might appreciate seeing the havoc their parents once created. I wanted them to know that I’m not their maid; I’m not here to clean up after them without some effort on their part.
So here’s the deal—moms don’t get vacations. We’re always managing someone else’s needs. Next year, I might just skip packing altogether and let them fend for themselves. Who am I kidding? I’d miss them way too much!
So, off I go again on vacation, armed with my Xanax and enough underwear to last a month—it’s a necessity. But when we return, they will be responsible for putting everything away.
For more insights on similar experiences, check out this blog post or learn about home insemination from Make a Mom.
Summary
The chaos of a post-vacation mess can be overwhelming, especially when kids leave their belongings scattered everywhere. A mom recounts her struggle to manage the aftermath of a family trip, emphasizing the need for children to share in the responsibility of cleaning up. The humorous yet relatable narrative highlights the challenges of motherhood, particularly in balancing care for children with personal sanity.
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