We leave for Amsterdam in the morning.
My seventeen year old thinks she’s going to get stoned with her parents. Isn’t she cute?
How do you say, “Not in this lifetime,” in Dutch?
We will be gone for a week in our attempt to see as many of Van Gogh’s paintings as possible. I’ve been to Amsterdam before, but our kids were little both times, and those trips are blurred into so many other adventures reduced to “Where are we going to change a diaper?” and “Holy hell, it’s time to eat again?”
We are only taking our youngest this time. The three of us hitting the canals while the other two get to stay home and practice being adults.
Back in the day, I was happy to have underwear and a pair of pants that fit me. Now that I have more time, I find myself fighting the urge to bring an extra pair of jeans or that weird sweater I try on once or twice a year but never wear. Maybe it will look just right in Amsterdam. Maybe I’ll want two perfumes, my new blow dryer, and three or four scarfs.
I will not need, nor will I wear, any of this.
There is something about having to pair one’s daily routines and habits down to one wheely box that brings clarity. What do I really need for a week? And if I don’t need it for the seven days I am away, why do I need it when I’m home?
I’ve been working on making the inconsequentials in my life more turn-key. Eliminating the garbage and the things that take up space.
Ignorance was bliss when I was schlepping kids and simply hoping everyone minded the gap. Now that I am no longer wiping tears over failed souvenir runs or who got to choose the breakfast place last, there’s time to think.
Should I shower now or tomorrow morning? Which travel app is the best or will I need a hat? Don’t even get me started on chargers and cords.
Sigh… My youngest probably has the right idea. I should just get baked and then it won’t matter what shoes I’m wearing.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Travel Pillow.