I feel like usually we give you a bit more notice before departing for Alaska. This year we have been too busy recovering from Utah and preparing for the tundra to do much notice-giving.

So here you are, far too late for the information to be of any use: we’re leaving for Alaska today. Right now. Our bags are packed. We’re (not really) ready to go. And we’re definitely leaving on a jet plane. Depending on when you read this post (if say, it’s after 5:50pmEST) we might already be gone.

But the past few days have been hurried and harried, a blur of domination and defeat at the hands of the to-do list.

There were just so many things to do.  

Example: yesterday afternoon, I drove to Dover, Delaware. We had just gotten a call from Robbi’s sister, who informed us that a vital piece of one of our four wheelers was no longer working. Could we, she asked in her nicest voice, track down a new one? After several hours on the phone, Robbi finally identified a dealership willing to sell us a new voltage regulator for a Honda Fourtrax. However, said dealership was in Dover and was not your typical motor vehicle fare.

And by atypical, I mean awesome.

I immediately felt right at home.

Much of the rest of the packing has just been a prolonged exercise in disorder.

Today, when we came home from the pool, Kato walked into the main room where the kitchen, dining room, and living room are and exclaimed “Mama, there’s been a DISASTER!”

And the salmon fillets frozen on the way home.

Because we have small children that keep getting bigger, we also have to bring some new clothes for Alden each year. Kato will be the lucky beneficiary of the outfits that Alden has outgrown. Many of them are pink. These are the sacrifices that a little brother must make to survive on the tundra.

Some people bring bikinis when they go on vacation. We bring jumbo rolls of FoodSaver vacuum sealing bags.

Before we could leave, we had a bunch of chores to complete. Various mailings.

Various correspondence. 

Our taxes. For some people, tax day is April 15.

For us, tax day is a moving target. It’s whatever day comes before the day when we leave for Alaska.

And then there was the matter of weighing our coolers. Most airlines have this irritating 50-lb limit.

Usually, we weigh our coolers on our bathroom scale, removing X number of pounds of ground beef, or X number of potatoes or onions until we reach the 49.99 pound mark.

Unfortunately, our bathroom scale is currently on the fritz. Fortunately, Robbi remembered that the Wii Fit Board has a built-in scale. And so I weighed myself both before and while holding a cooler.

The result was instant and dramatic weight gain.

The Wii was not diplomatic in reporting (and commenting) on my sudden change in body mass.

In fact, I’d consider its attitude downright discouraging.

Seriously, if you can’t count on your gaming system for moral encouragement, what can you count on?

Robbi, perhaps. She was stoic in the face of late night shenanigans. And why not?

This is, after all, her 36th consecutive summer of traveling to the tundra.

There’s something affirming, if not downright sexy, about a woman whose idea of a summer getaway involves a quilted parka.

As for that part I fetched from Dover? Here it is. Something akin to a flux capacitor, I think.

Who knew that this sort of high-end electronics are made in Argentina?

Not Robbi, apparently. Though we’re both so tired and punchy that we are surprised by everything and nothing by the time I snapped this picture. I don’t remember whether or not it was yesterday or officially this morning.

At some point we collapsed, and now today is under way, and the house is a disaster, but who cares about such things? The to do list is no longer a threat. The coolers are downstairs and waiting for the appointed hour, at which point we will drive ourselves to the airport and do it all over again.

I can’t wait to smell the tundra, to see the mountains around Anchorage, to be downright chilly in the middle of June. It’s always weird leaving here on a hot and muggy day in long pants and a sweatshirt, knowing I’m going to need it by the time we reach the end of the road.

The trip takes approximately 36 hours and includes a comically uncomfortable night spent sleeping on a bench (if we’re lucky enough to get one) of the Anchorage baggage claim. Check back for updates. And wish us luck.