Packing 'er in...can't have my kids not matching

There’s a scene in the 2001 animated Nickelodeon movie Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius that cracks me up every time I see it.

For those of you unfamiliar with this classic (really, it was nominated for an Academy Award for best animated feature) here’s a summary. Jimmy Neutron launches a satellite (which is really a souped-up toaster) into space to communicate with an alien species. The toaster is found by an alien race called the Yolkians who raid the earth and take all of the parents to their planet to be sacrificed to the god Poultra.

Eventually the kids launch a rescue for their parents – I won’t give away the ending – but not before celebrating the fact that they are parent-less with round-the-clock visits to the amusement park and the mall.

My favourite scene is when this kid emerges from a clothing store, wearing every conceivable combination of plaid, stripes and polka dots imaginable, and sings the little ditty, “My clothes don’t match, my clothes don’t match, I’m out in public and my clothes don’t match.”

I could be that kid’s mother.

I’m a big stickler for my kids being colour coordinated. And that folks, is my downfall when it comes to packing. Or should I say over-packing? It’s probably one of my greatest character flaws.

Which might explain why I hate to pack.

Take for example a weekend trip to our camp in Meteghan. I’ll pack pants in case it’s cold. Shorts in case it’s hot. Long-sleeved and short-sleeved shirts for the same reason.

But it doesn’t stop there. I pack a pair of shorts and a matching colour coordinated t-shirt. That makes one outfit. But I also pack another pair of shorts in case Shorts A get dirty. Which means I need another t-shirt that matches Shorts B, since the t-shirt worn with Shorts A might not match. And that’s just for Saturday. We’ll be there Sunday too.

How much more simple my life would be if I just sent a bunch of clothes to the camp at the start of the summer and left them in the bureaus. But then what if we’re in Melbourne and the t-shirt that absolutely goes with the pair of shorts my kid is wearing is in Meteghan?

I know, I know. Get over it. It’s clothing.

The thought did cross my mind the other day when I left my house for work. My oldest son had 3-on-3 hockey at 5 p.m. and soccer at 6 p.m. So aside from packing the hockey gear and the soccer gear, I had to bring the clothing we’d be wearing as we watched him. Which meant, for me, a pair of jeans to change into for the rink, a pullover fleece jacket for the rink, a lighter sweater for the soccer field (unless its colder than in the rink, then it’s back to the fleece). Because my youngest son had worn shorts to school, he needed long pants for the rink and a heavier jacket than the one he had worn to school that morning.

It got to the point that the back seat of my van looked like a bin at Frenchy’s.

I’m just hoping on the weekends I send my kids to the camp with their grandparents they don’t start charging me for checked baggage and carry-on luggage.

Given all of this it’s probably little surprise that there’s one thing I dislike more than packing.

That would be unpacking.