My packing list has twenty seven items on it, most of which are food and current, portable obsessive items of Conor. Who cares if I remember underwear, for god's sake, don't forget the rice cakes.
(Yes, I know they have rice cakes in Connecticut, Mom, but I don't want to have to run to the store and get them. And who knows if they carry the right brand. Generic rice cakes = blech.)
Travelling with Conor generates stress, for weeks on end. Forget that we're only going to be gone three days (two of which will be spent in an interminable seven hour stretch in the car). With Conor, whether it's an afternoon or a week, you have to plan, plan, plan.
I think we'll survive. Oh, our nerves will be frayed and I'm sure my husband will be pleased with the silent treatment I'm already planning for the return drive. (Best to plan ahead for these things, based on experience.)
But we'll get through it. And thanks to a friend who has a child on the spectrum, I know exactly what to pack. At least I'll know my bag will be light.
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