I am packing today for a 5 day trip. A trip sans children and spouse. I am speaking at the BlogHer conference in Chicago. While I am thrilled to be going, I am mired in the all the tasks that I need to accomplish before I leave at 5am bright and early tomorrow morning.

Finish the laundry. Put it away. Tidy up the kitchen. Make sure there is food. Put my daughter’s hairbrush and pretties where they belong or else her hair will will not be done at all while I am gone. Make sure the DVDs get returned while I am gone. Library books returned– do we even have any out right now?

And pack for myself, remembering the quart sized baggie liquid rule. Though I think I am just checking everything except my laptop. Mostly so I can complain about all the clueless people holding up my security check in line.
I don’t do all this prep work because my husband is incapable, far from it. In many ways he would be a better stay at home parent than I am. He loves to be outside “playing.” He loves to make fun foods (I have already been informed that Wed night is going to be bonfire bonanza– with all foods cooked over the backyard bonfire. And smores for dessert!)

I am not that fun. I am mostly okay with that. I can not compete with Fun Daddy.

I get everything ready for him so that it is easier for him. So he is free to be in the arena where he really shines. That of Fun Daddy. (He is also the one you should go to should you need anything sewn. Mama don’t sew.)

I would say wish him some luck while I am gone, but really wish me luck. Coming off of the Fun Daddy high is always difficult. “What do you mean there isn’t going to be non-stop fun all day long every day? What is this cleaning of the bathrooms of which you speak?”

Whenever I return home from a trip I feel as though upon opening the front door the soundtrack in the house changes from Cool and the Gang’s “Celebrate” to Elton John’s “The B*&%#* is Back”