So I mentioned the large Birthday Bash that the City of San Marcos held in my honor. It was a fun celebration where some kind citizen started a “party” that burned down hundreds of acres and left the hill by my house looking like Edwards Scissor hands’ wedding site. In fact, each morning when I gaze upon the ashy dirt hill, with its charred, wiry tree stumps, I can envision Helena Bonham-Carter twirling around on top, arms akimbo, in a moribund Tim Burton Sound of Music remake.
In the mad panic to vacate the drought-fueled tinder-box that is my neighborhood, my dear sweet husband filled two laundry baskets with the necessities that could not be replaced should nature redecorate our housing tract.
Here is the full list of the goods that made it out:
- The Dog. This foul-breathed, yipping ankle biter is our first baby. Not a chance this furball gets left behind
- Birth Certificates for my husband and the two kids. Mine was nowhere to be found. I guess the downside of falling straight from heaven is that you don’t get issued a birth certificate on the way down.
- One drawer of the boy’s clothes and one drawer of the girl’s clothes. My son scored eight pairs of jeans and seven pairs of shorts, while my daughter had a million onsies. Together they made one whole outfit. Note that no underwear made the cut. For anyone.
- A few prints and flash drives with all of our old pictures. This is important, because before Facebook and Instagram exploded into the over-sharing wonderland it is today, you actually save pictures on flash drives and/or print hard copies so you could share your memories with your friends and family. In person, and everything.
- The laptop. Now if you read my previous post, you would know that the laptop is completely dead. As in, can’t-turn-it-on-it-would-be-better-used-as-a-fly-swatter kind of dead.
So here I am aimlessly driving around with the kids, the dog, 3 out of 4 birth certificates and, most importantly, the DEAD LAPTOP. Next nothing was extricated from the house, but thank Sweet Baby Jesus we saved that! Unfortunately, by the time I realized that expensive little doorstop was taking up space in the Evacuationmobile, we were too far from the fire for me to discus throw that bad boy into the flames and claim the hell out of it on our insurance.
So, in preparation for the rest of what I am sure will be an overactive San Diego Fire Season, I have gone all Girl-Scout up in here and prepared a checklist of what we need the next time around.
Things You Will Need to Evacuate Without Shallow Mom Going All Preying-Mantis on Your Head
- The dog WITH the leash. While I love the little bastard, the neighbors are convinced he is spawn of the anti-Christ and they might take pot-shots at him if he is found cavorting leash-less in the driveway.
- The important papers, this time with proof I am not an illegal Canadian immigrant or run-away English soccer player. Its true, I have strapping Mountie-like shoulders and calves that belong on Manchester United.
- The laundry basket. Any laundry basket. Pick one. Chances are all five of our baskets are brimming with a healthy mix of complete, albeit filthy, outfits at any given time. The clothes may be stiff from weeks of sitting around unwashed, but at least my daughter won’t be the pant-less wonder and I don’t have to re-live those three ill-advised college days where I tested my well-meaning dorm mate’s theory that going commando was liberating. It’s not liberating; it’s uncomfortably breezy.
- The entire contents of my closet. Yes the WHOLE enchilada. Do you know how many Sales Racks I have meticulously shopping-raped to amass my color-coordinated collection of earrings, necklaces, scarves, cardis and, most importantly, 47 dresses that actually fit over my “voluptuous” curves. Read: its difficult to find a good fit when your stage name could be Chesty McBigButt.
- The scrupulously organized make-up drawer. The next time we are evacuated I fully intend to take a few more selfies–firelight is extremely flattering–and I look much better with a little contouring, blush and mascara. Also, it would be tragic to let all those glorious lip glosses melt into a pile of sticky goo should the house be torched.
- The Game of Thrones Season One Box set. The only thing that should melt around this volume is your panties—Season one features that hawt Drogo guy…insert dreamy look and lusty sigh…seriously, you can’t leave
himthe boxed set behind.
And that’s it. Everything else can be replaced by those nice folks at Target.
Although if the house does go poof, I will totally miss our ginormous Doomsday-Prepper-like stock-pile of TP and paper towels—but that’s a story for another day…