Considering the number of visits I pay to family and friends over the course of a year, you would have thought I would have the Art of Packing off to a tee.
Not so. Rare is the trip when I do not either (i) forget to take something really important or (ii) leave something behind me. On our return from Wales yesterday, for example, My Boy texted me to say that Mr B had left his dressing
gown behind and that it was far too heavy to post. Mr B, of course, decided that this was All My Fault because I had been the person on Packing Duty, which seemed a little unfair as it was his dressing gown, not mine. This morning he had to resort to wearing
my red fleece over his pyjamas – I have offered him use of my white, fluffy dressing gown but he says nobody in their right mind would walk about looking like a polar bear every morning. Methinks a quick trip to Marks and Spencers may be called for in the
not too distant future.
The most spectacularly unfortunate example of Leaving Things Behind was undoubtedly when I left my handbag and its entire contents at the home of the Youngest of the Darling Daughters after a visit. As handbags generally do,
it had just about everything in it from money to house keys, from bank cards to motor insurance and the proximity card which would allow me access to the office where I then worked. I was quite lost without it until it was posted back to me, at great expense.
The Y of the DDs always checks now that I have my handbag with me before I leave her house for home. It’s not going to happen again, not on her watch.
At least if I leave something behind it can be posted back to me. Forgetting to take something in the first place is marginally worse, in my opinion. Last weekend we forgot two things, both of which had unfortunate consequences.
Firstly we forgot to buy the three 1.5 batteries for Young Morgan’s birthday present. This meant that we were unable to see the dinosaur (you remember, the one which I mistook for a hippo) in action. Young Morgan forgave us – he was far too busy climbing all
over the box to worry about what was inside. His father, however, muttered that you’d think we would know by now. You would, you would, I quite agree. It’s the same with the wrapping up of presents – I always use yards and yards of sellotape, so much so
that tiny fingers find it impossible to undo my parcels. It has often been said (as in, on every Small Person’s Birthday) that I Never Learn.
I also forgot to take my swimming costume and towel which meant I was not able to join the family in the pool yesterday. This was not totally down to me as I had not been pre-warned that a Family Swim might be on the cards, though
perhaps I should have guessed. Still at least I was able to keep Mr B company in the spectator area at the side of the pool. He bought me coffee and a delicious piece of shortbread which went some way to temper my disappointment. I am, as you know by now
and as Mr B is wont to remark, Always Thinking About My Stomach.
Actually much as I would love to have been in the pool, splashing around and pretending I was an ace swimmer, from our prime position at the side of the pool we were able to see so much. We could see James, our Middle-Sized Boy,
venturing down the water chute for the first time – and all on his own too. We could see the very new baby, with his / her anxious parents, taking to the water for the very first time. Most of all we could see Young Morgan, in his inflatable baby swim ring,
paddling across the water for all he was worth, with his mother trailing along behind him. Young Morgan is a Boy Who Knows Where He is Going.
I had the pleasure of drying and dressing him. He endured my fumble-fingered efforts with the buttons and the press studs with sweet sufferance. Then we joined Mr B (aka Grandad) on the pool-side and played the Guardian Angel
Game. Over and over again. I would tell you about the Guardian Angel game but it would take up a lot of space and if you don’t have one (a Guardian Angel, that is) you wouldn’t be able to play anyway.
Though I am pleased to be home after a weekend away, it’s tinged with more than a touch of sadness. How I will miss my Little Welsh Boys! Fortunately, if there is one thing I won’t be forgetting, it’s all the fun we have had.
Just as every time I set off for home, I leave a little bit of myself behind...