Leeeeaving On a Jet Plane...

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Okay, maybe not so much a jet plane as Kelly's husband's Honda Element, but it is pretty nice.

Most of you know by now that I'm headed off (sans bebes!) to Nashville with my friends Kelly and Erin to the big MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) International conference.

I have a dilemma. My dilemma isn't a decorating dilemma. My dilemma isn't about leaving my kids with T for 5 days.

Yes, I am a bit nervous about that.

I know that there will be at least one day my children will be paraded through a Chick-fil-a or Bass Pro Shop wearing some form of non-seasonal pajamas, mismatched shoes, and sporting unbrushed hair.

There may be a few frantic voicemails on my cell phone asking me where we keep the canned green beans or how much TV is too much TV.

But my real dilemma is what to pack.

I know I can share this with you, because some of you may understand.

I suffer from FOPS.

Flagrant Overpacking Syndrome.

I can't help myself. As many of my life experiences can be summed up in a Seinfeld episode, I found this perfect clip from "The Trip." If you're a real fan, you'll remember it. This will give you an idea of the disease which afflicts me.

Hotrollers, Hair Dryer, SHOES, jeans, yoga pants, pjs, sweater, sweatshirt, going out to dinner outfit, make-up, pillow, jewelry (!), purse(s).

I can't stop!!!

T gets soooo mad when he sees my suitcases when we leave on trips, but he's the guy who used to throw some boxers and a toothbrush in a backpack and call it a day. That was before we were married.

Now I overpack for him too.

I promised Kelly that I *might* not pack any heels, since this thing is supposed to be pretty casual anyways. I said "might" because that of course leaves me a window. I know I'm bringing the PINK tennies, but what about my black slingback heels? If I have an opportunity to wear them, I will.

I'm so glad we're driving to Nashville and not flying. It's been a year or two since I've flown, and I hear that they charge you by the weight of your bag. That's just not fair.

In fact, it's downright discriminatory. What about those of us who suffer from FOPS?!

It's not like I want to pack my faux zebra print flats with the hot pink ribbon. I am compelled to pack them because they would go so nicely with my jeans.

I hope Kelly and Erin don't charge me extra in gas money for the extra 500 pounds by bag(s) will add.

Anyone want to wire me 50 bucks?

{I don't know how much access I'll have to my lap top in Nashville, but I promise to catch up and return visits when I get back to good old Virginia! I have some new posts lined up for while I am away!}

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