Suitcases, sausages and sauce

The Dancing Queen is all very excited about the fact that she is off to New Zealand in six weeks time for a holiday.  She has proudly told me that she has in fact told the whole school how excited she is about her upcoming trip.  And I also know for a fact how excited she is because she tells me at least half a dozen times a day and sometimes three or four times in the same hour.  Word for word. And I must admit after the fourth time that day it is hard to find the right degree of enthusiasm. She also enthuses about bringing the date of the trip forward to tomorrow so she does not have to wait "hours" (again the time comprehension issue) and some days I also think that sounds a good idea as I am not sure how I am going to go with the same conversation for the next six weeks.

Along with the excitement about the upcoming trip is the need for her to pack her suitcase which at this point in time is staying firmly ensconced on the top shelf of an inaccessible cupboard.  Because if I allow her to pack it (and repack it and repack it and repack it) it means she will not be able to wear those particular clothes for the next six weeks which may create a few clothing shortage issues for starters.  I also have memories of her as a four year old trying to do a runner with a suitcase being dragged behind her down the street as she attempted to walk to the airport (less than 10 kms away from where we were living at the time) just because she wanted to go on a plane that day. And the scary thing is that if allowed, she would have walked all the way there (complete with her bob the builder pink suitcase and its broken wheels) and demanded to get on a plane.  So no suitcases allowed at this early stage.

Of course along with the incessant need to pack the suitcase is the need to figure out what is to go into the suitcase.  I am trying very hard to explain that New Zealand customs may take a dim view of some Australian foodgroups so the next line of (repeated) conversation is the fact that as soon as we get settled into my parents place in NZ we will go to the supermarket to stock up on RED sausages (she does not like the brown ones but will eat under protest if no red ones available), tomato sauce and shredded tasty cheese, all staple food groups in their own right (along with apples).   I would hate to calculate how many tonnes of cheerios and cheese has been washed down by gallons of tomato sauce over her life to date.  All I do know is that the rest of us in this household can not look at a red sausage without groaning and I am quite convinced my eldest daughter's current favourite foods of calamari and curry (not together) is in direct rebellion to sausage consumption.

So lets just hope the next six weeks flies by.