Hee haw. Do my ears look like they're growing longer, like Pinocchio's when he ran away?

Because, when you're a mom, you often feel like a pack mule, hauling all your kids' junk from one place to the next.

Sweatshirts, snacks, juice boxes, crayons, coloring books, water bottles, soccer cleats, baseball glove — it seems like everywhere we go, there's a new stack of stuff to be hauled along.

The kids might get cold at the game. They might get hungry at the museum. They might get restless in the restaurant. They might need a spacesuit for a NASA launch.

Maybe they'll get a last-minute invitation to the White House and need a shirt that's not decorated with today's lunch special.

Other people may go for the chic leather clutch purses. Maybe a nice Louis Vuitton handbag. I can only dream, because my purse is a big sturdy backpack.

Pack mule momism is never more true than when you go on vacation.

You spend half your trip packing up your kids, and the other half unpacking them.

Recently, I was pondering this as I remembered my two kids packing themselves for their week long summer camp away from home.

That's right, I said packing themselves. If you teach your kids to pack, then eventually they will learn to do it without you.

Until that time arrives, I can think of some memorable mishaps.

The one that immediately comes to mind is the time I packed and repacked my kids' suitcases three times, to make sure they had everything before we got on the plane to Thailand.

When we got to the hotel, though, I discovered I had forgotten something: My own underwear. I hadn't brought a single pair of underwear for myself. Believe me, they don't sell underwear in my size in Thailand.

After that mishap, I started abiding by the same principle as airplane oxygen masks: I pack my own bag first, then go and pack the kids up.

As the kitchen sign says, "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

I have this wonderful fantasy: Someday, when I'm a really, really old lady, all doubled over with my cane, one of my kids will have a really heavy backpack.

It will be full of all my stuff: my sweater, my knitting, my book to read, my denture adhesive.

And I'll just be walking along, slowly, with a smile.

Marla Jo Fisher was a workaholic before she adopted two foster kids several years ago. Now she juggles work and single parenting, while being exhorted from everywhere to be thinner, smarter, sexier, healthier, more frugal, a better mom, better dressed and a tidier housekeeper. Read her blog at themomblog.freedomblogging.com/category/frumpy-middleaged-mom-marla-jo-fisher/ .

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