On Packing (oy)

There are at least four things that my husband and I will always have arguments about:

1. Towel folding*
2. How late I was to our wedding**
3. The yard tools I sold in his garage sale***
4. How much to pack for (long international) trips.

Kent, raised as an army brat, has lived in at least 31 different houses. He has moved so much that within weeks of moving into a new place, he grows so restless he has to rearrange all the furniture in the house so that the space feels new. As our old landlord said, it’s in his DNA. Our old landlord continued on to say, that he felt kind of sorry for me, because moving so much is not in my DNA, especially since giving birth and breastfeeding, all my hormones are telling me to nest and create home. Yet I have moved a fair amount myself, and have gotten rather good at moving and moving often. Still, it stresses me out a little more than Kent. I generally spend a week oscillating between dread, tense stress and general funk. I don’t get excited about our new location or potential adventure until mid-transit.
Consequently, Kent and I pack very differently. I have a few habits that are not conducive to moving. One is bringing stacks and stacks of books home from the library and used book stores. Books are my security blanket. Even if I know I will never get around to reading all of them, I like to have them around. I also have a love of odd collections of dishes. Really, I love odd collections of anything that make my space feel cozy and homey. So when it came time to pack our suitcases for Singapore and our house for storage I had to be closely supervised as I fought temptations to stick my favorite coffee mugs not into boxes but into my suitcases.
Kent, on the other hand, abhors clutter and collections of anything (especially – and I agree with him – collections of ducks). He packs for a month or six months the same way he packs for a weekend. Before moving or traveling, he goes on a rampant purge. His ideal is to get rid of everything and start over fresh, keeping only the absolute favorite things. The arguments/discussions start when he’s trying to throw anything not nailed down away, while I’m trying to shove it in my suitcase.
In coming to Singapore, we brought two bags each (including two for the baby) plus one extra (we paid for) plus our carry on (my smaller rolling suitcase, and our respective back packs). Truth be told, in comparison with a lot of expats, we didn’t bring very much at all. But now, we’re at the end of our stay in Singapore, and for the moment, plan to put most of the things we brought to Singapore in storage, and then take just a bag or two with us to Vietnam for a month. We each agreed to not take many clothes because Vietnam is a relatively cheap place to buy clothes (and when you’re essentially only alternating between shorts and your swimsuit, how much do you really need?). I do feel I am making progress in packing, in that I no longer have to bring everything I own. And I did go to Thailand and Cambodia for a week, with one suitcase for both the baby and me(including the diapers! Impressive!)
Yet I still have two urges battling with each other. One is the urge to pack as lightly as possible; the other is the urge to create home for us, but especially for our son. I want him to have his favorite toys and books. I also have things I like to have: my good knives, my favorite salt shaker, my favorite salt, and, of course, my dictionary. I have yet to achieve the delicate balance, of having what makes a space feel like home while still traveling lightly.
My sister, however, seems to do this effortlessly, though she hardly moves at all. When I traveled with her around Italy, she traveled with a footstool in her suitcase. I had bought her the footstool I think at a Siena flea market. Now, I think of this every time I travel or move. I think, after traveling with her around Northern Italy, that I too should be able to travel internationally with my favorite piece of furniture wedged into my carry on.

*The towel folding argument: K folds towels like a man. He brings the short ends together, then folds that in half, then I think the remaining part either gets folded into thirds or half again. It is a lovely fold. One the Gap would be proud of. Problem is when you go to actually hang the towel on the towel bar, (you see where this is going right?) it requires refolding the towel so it hangs properly. Which is why I fold towels in the same way hotels do, so that you can just hang the towel on the bar with no refolding. I say it’s like a man, because I argue that women, especially women with children attempting to climb up the walls, don’t have time to do things twice.
**I was an hour late to our wedding. K says it was an hour and a half, but actually, whenever he tells the story, my arrival gets later and later. Whatever. I was late. But I was late because my sister’s plane was 2 or 3 hours late. Not because I had cold feet or anything.
*** I sold K’s yard tools at his garage sale. In my defense, I have this to say: where I come from, when you have a garage sale, you sell things that are in your garage. So if you don’t want to sell something, it should probably be moved out of the garage. I also sold his tools for cheap. Because, again, where I come from, when you have a garage sale, it is generally because you are trying to get rid of things, not get a return on your initial investment. Finally in my defense, since I sold said tools, we actually haven’t lived any place that had a yard where we would use them.