Holy cannoli, I’m on vacation. I mean, I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. I had my last session of the week, so technically I’ve transitioned to the end of the workday—with a mild panic that I won’t cross all the i’s, dot the t’s, and will somehow get everything mixed up.
With that said, I’ll do what I’ve done before and brain-dump my pre-vacation to-dos. Honestly, I do look back at it later, and it’s helpful.
In no particular order: I need my shaver and shaving cream, because there’s nothing like a little hotel-tub, lay-down self-care time. Also—where is my blue wide-brimmed hat with the chin strap? It’s the sun-shield extraordinaire, and on those Disney, 20,000-step days, I’ll need it (or something similar) to protect my bang-less forehead and the exposed part of my neck.
Shoes, shoes, shoes. I have my Asics running shoes, which may be all I need. Even trekking to the pool, I’m fine being barefoot in those bad boys. Plus, it’s one less thing to pack, and at this point, with the sheer amount of food we’re bringing, I’ll take all the space I can get.
Fill the bunny’s water. My mind got a little bogged down worrying about the cats and bunny, and you know what? Right next door is my niece. She’s a phone call away, so even if I forget something or something runs out, there is a literal human here who is willing to help.
At my Walmart trip, I need Chobani creamer and distilled water for Paula, and I want to peek at the swimsuits for me. After that, one last check on my to-do list tomorrow after Dave hosts Lego Club for our homeschool group.
And you know what? I’m not going to tub my plants this time. I’ll give them a solid drink with the watering can, but setting them in a couple inches of water—and the dirt that ends up all over the tub—is too much right now.
I’m in “just enough” mode. Coming down from “everything has to be perfect” mode, and hopefully arriving at my final destination of “who gives an eff.”
Typing “final destination” made me feel weirdly fond of those movies. Something about knowing people are going to die in extremely weird and horrific ways—with a slice of silliness—hits a nostalgic nerve. The latest one is rated decently on IMDb, which, after so many in the franchise, you’d expect it to be terrible. But maybe not.
Okay, I’m going to wrap this up and actually practice what I just wrote. I’ll see you on the first leg of our trip to Orlando, where we’ll be staying at an Airbnb on a farm with mini goats.
I will absolutely get a picture for you.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 