Mez, my sidekick, mimics my moves. He follows. He parodyzes me. In most of life, no problem; but in packing, oy vey! The "M" factor plays out like this:
Gather all socks, underwear for 6 people, and bras for mom. Fastidiously, place in the guest room on the bed, otherwise known as collection station. Leave to gather shoes. Take shoes to collection station and expose a meandering trail of socks, missing undies, and a white, cotton bra on the toddler's curly-head-o-hair. Ask the baby where he placed mommy's socks and undies. Baby delightedly chirps back in the same uniformity as to all other questions, "Da, da. Da, da, da, do. Gunk." Hunt for socks. Regain undies (most of them that is). Return to guest room to find Curios Mez sporting Daddy's shoes and rhythmically chanting, "Da, da, da, do. Abbaba." 9 of the 12 shoes remain on collection station; and again we begin the effort of discovery and acquisition. Begrudgingly, "M" factor meanders alongside mama to avoid future pilfering of the packing items. Mez's help only makes my task more arduous, so I resolve to retire my efforts until nap time.
Rewinding and watching my life in my mind's eye, enjoying all the mayhem that accompanies parenting, I cackle aloud. I love my life. I love the "M" factor, the "H" factor, the "A" factor, the "P" factor, and mostly, the husband factor. The countdown for Ethiopia is officially on; and I am anticipating a month in Ethiopia loving my ET family and my US family. Now, if I can only get packed!