Pack the Sleep Things First, Then the Shirts

Sleep things go in the bag first, before the shirts and the cooler and the good flashlight David will ask about twice. Ben's sound machine, Lily's duck night light, the flat pillow Caleb says he doesn't care about, and the purple index card Lily keeps her bedtime prayer on. I'm typing at the cabin table with the list still folded in my back pocket, and I can tell you which shirts I'd have left home without a pang. The sound machine I would have driven back through Logan Canyon for.

What I'd pack again and what I'd leave

The shirts were the only part of packing that went the way the internet said it would. Gallon bags, one outfit rolled in each, seven days plus two spares for every kid, and since there's a washer here nobody needs fourteen. Caleb rolled his own and I found out Thursday that he'd packed eleven pairs of socks and one pair of shorts.

The thing I'd do again is wrap a few cheap toys in newspaper for the car. Pencil sets and a small bag of plastic horses for Lily, a pack of cards for Caleb, and for Ben a wooden spoon from the drawer, wrapped three times, because the paper was going to be the real present. Unwrapping took up forty minutes somewhere in Logan Canyon, and I'd pay twice what the dollar store charged for that.

The sleep bag itself took me longer than everything else together. Ben's machine has a loose cord that I wrapped in a rubber band at the door, and Lily wanted to carry the duck herself so it rode on her lap from our driveway to the canyon. Caleb's pillow went in a trash bag at the last second because he said nobody would see it, and I said nothing.

What I'd leave is the idea that we'll do something every day. One outing in any three days is what I plan now, and the other two are the porch.

Why the second night is the hard one

Tonight will be the easy one, and I know it. They were in the car for hours and the loft ladder is the best thing Lily has ever seen, so they'll go down on excitement alone. Tomorrow night the cabin is a room with a strange mattress and a window that lets in too much light, and that's when it starts.

A child-sleep clinic in Texas put out a line this June that I wish I'd had when Caleb was four. Tired children don't go quiet, they frequently respond to sleep loss "with increased emotional reactions, impulsivity, or hyperactivity." That's the second day at our house, exactly. Caleb at eleven gets defiant instead of sleepy, and Lily cries about nothing she can name. Ben, who is two, throws a spoon with real conviction, and last summer it was a fork at the Bear Lake raspberry shake place, which I did not see coming from a boy that size.

By day four they've mostly come back, at least when the blankets and lights made the trip. I stop bracing around then.

So tomorrow stays small. An hour at the water and back with no go-karts, and the one to two quiet hour from home, because it's the one rule that needs no equipment. When somebody melts down I try water and something to eat before I ask about attitude, which I spent my first years as a mother doing in the opposite order.

Nights up here drop into the forties, so pack sweatshirts for sleeping in, and not only for the beach. I got that wrong in 2023.

Where family prayer goes when the table is different

At home we pray around the kitchen table and it's loud and sometimes a crayon is involved. The cabin table is a plank with a bench none of us fit on, so tonight I expect we'll pray in the bunk room doorway with Ben already zipped into his sleeper. It will be short and nobody will be kneeling right, and I've already decided that counts.

Lily's purple card is why I'm not worried. When she couldn't manage the closing prayer at home we started smaller, and a two-line prayer from a card in a cabin doorway is the same small thing in a different room. Our morning prayer usually slips on trips. Mine will go to bedtime for two weeks, along with everything else.

Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day.

Alma 37:37

Alma is talking to his son Helaman there, and I notice the verse is mostly about the two ends of the day.

Monday family home evening will happen wherever we are at seven. The Church's own description says it can be held on any night of the week and activities can be as simple or as structured as a family wishes. Ours will be a short lesson and a game.

Frequently Asked Questions

How long until my kids sleep normally in a new place?

Two or three nights in my house, and the second is always the worst one. Faster if their own blanket or noise machine made the trip.

Should I skip family home evening on vacation?

I wouldn't skip it. Cut it down to a prayer, one short thought and a game, and do it wherever you happen to be sitting. Going home is easier when Monday still meant something.

Is it okay to loosen up on screens during the drive?

On the drive, sure, I hand over the tablet somewhere past Logan. Once we're at the cabin the usual limits are back and the complaining lasts about a day.

What's the one thing I shouldn't forget?

The sound machine, if you have a baby or a toddler. Ben's is the one thing I'd turn the car around for.

Pack the sleep things first and plan nothing big for day two. Keep the prayer short and say it wherever you are.

with love, Melissa