At our house, the summer thus far has revolved around packing and unpacking. Our suitcases and duffel bags are dug out of the basement and then hidden away again. They have been used and abused and look it. Our sons have come and gone and returned, collectively, from an apartment in Brooklyn and from a dorm at university to home, to camp, to Greece, to home, to school, back to the borough of Kings and soon back home again. This may sound confusing, but it makes perfect sense to me, since as the mom of our family I keep five persons’ schedules in my head at all times. I write down the details in my pocket calendar, but that’s just a reminder of the various comings and goings.

This week, three of us are getting ready to fly out to a family bar mitzvah in Austin. Yes, in Texas, and yes in August. I was a bit nervous about dealing with the heat there, but honestly it’s been pretty darn hot right here in New York. Instead I’m focusing on the task of packing for a long weekend. In recent years, I’ve decided I don’t want to waste time checking in luggage and waiting for it to appear, or not. It’s always the last one out on the conveyor belt at our destination. For shorter trips, I’ve challenged (forced) my family to minimize what we take to carry on size.

Packing for a drive to camp or college or a flight for a year in Israel is one thing; we take the largest luggage allowed and fill them up with assorted clothes and toiletries for every possible occasion and eventuality. Packing for a weekend or week long jaunt is quite another thing; we squeeze in only the bare essentials, taking along those tiny three ounce containers of liquids and gels and curtailing the shoe count.