We’ll be traveling south for the winter in about a week. While I like spending part of the winter in a warmer clime, I strongly dislike the prep—mainly packing. There is just too much decision-making involved in packing. Thinking about it alone stresses me out.

How much luggage can we fit in the Traverse? How much luggage will I need to take? How much luggage will Macho Guy allow me to take?

What types of suitcases? What sizes to use? Expandable or not?

Then there are the clothing choices. We stay in Florida’s panhandle. It can get chilly or downright cold there in winter. I have to pack for both warm and cold weather. Choices, choices. Can I stand the strain?

I approach my wardrobe with trepidation. Should I take this? Should I take that? How many dressy outfits? How much of everything will I need? How much of it can I stuff in each suitcase? If I don’t wear all of it while we’re down south, must I endure another of MG’s lectures about over packing?

Shoes are always a bone of contention. MG doesn’t understand a woman’s dilemma. He takes six pair: slippers, tennis shoes, golf shoes, sandals, loafers, and dress shoes. He says I only need five: slippers, tennis shoes, sandals, casual flats, and dress shoes. Only one of each? Even if they don’t coordinate with all my outfits? Give me a break. And don’t get me started on how many purses I may take. I’m a well-known purse slut. How can I possibly choose? Nervous breakdown, here I come.

Then there are the essential toiletries. MG fits all of his in a 10”x6”x5” leather dopp kit. I fit most of mine in an 18”x12”x1^1/2” hanging toiletries bag—that does not include my cosmetics, brushes, mirror, hairdryer, plus miscellaneous necessities too numerous to mention.

I also pack for Schnoodle Dog, but he is so easy to accommodate, bless him.

In addition, we can’t do without items from home that the rental condo doesn’t provide. We make a list of those necessities when we inspect the rental prior to booking. Somehow, we must fit all those additional items in the Traverse, along with MG’s golf bag, and my computer and office equipment plus a folding table and chair to set up my temporary office. No way can we live without those things. He must golf, and I must write or my head will explode.

This year, it is Firstborn’s turn to put up with us for Christmas, so we’ll be down south with his family over the Christmas holiday season. That means squeezing Christmas gifts in the Traverse along with everything else. Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry madness!

By the time we jam all our stuff in the Traverse’s cargo area, plus on and surrounding one of the rear passenger seats, poor Schnoodle Dog will be boxed in atop the lone rear passenger seat remaining. Occasionally, he whines to be allowed up front where he curls up on my lap. Are we there yet? Please, please let us be there.

Once we arrive at our destination, we then take part in the activity that I strongly dislike almost as much as packing. Unpacking.

You see, the reason I dislike unpacking almost as much as packing is that when the visit it over, I’ll have to repack those cussed suitcases. We’ll go through the unpack/pack drill again when we drive further south to visit my Baby Sister, when we get to and then leave our beach condo, and endure another torture session when we arrive back home.

I’m not sure I can bear it. Just thinking about it makes we want to weep.