The Suitcase Standoff:

You know that feeling when you finally get home after a Shabbos away—tired, slightly bloated from eating too much potato kugel, and emotionally unprepared for the war zone that is your minivan? Yeah. That’s when it happens. The moment you see the suitcases.

They’re just sitting there. Silently. Menacingly. Daring you to open them. And I don’t know about you, but my luggage gives off big “don’t touch me, I bite” energy by Sunday morning.

Let’s be honest: packing for Shabbos is a full-time job with no benefits. But unpacking? Unpacking is a spiritual test. A test I routinely fail.

Stage 1: Denial.
“We just got home! I’ll do it later.”
Narrator: She would not do it later.

Stage 2: Avoidance.
I walk past the suitcase 12 times like it’s an awkward guy I once dated and met at Target. I pretend I don’t see it. I throw a blanket over it like I’m casually decorating, when really I’m hoping it’ll just... disappear. Spoiler: it does not.

Stage 3: Bargaining.
“If I just take out the food bag and my 3 year old's wet underwear (yes, ANOTHER accident), that counts as unpacking, right?”
(It does not. You know it. I know it. The still-full laundry bag knows it.)

Stage 4: The 48-Hour Luggage Standoff.
Every time I walk by the suitcase, I whisper “not today, Sir.” My children begin using it as a stepstool or tiny stage for their uncle Moishe concerts. My husband lovingly suggests (read: begs) that I maybe, possibly, at least just remove it from the space he keeps tripping over.

Stage 5: Reluctant Acceptance.
Fine. FINE. I’ll unpack.
Seven mismatched socks, four pacifiers I thought we lost in 2022, and one still-damp undershirt later, I emerge victorious. Ish.

Because somehow, even when it’s all put away, I still find one lone baby shoe in the pocket of the diaper bag next Friday. Why is it always one shoe? WHERE IS THE OTHER SHOE?

Moral of the story:
Do yourself a favor. Unpack as soon as you walk in the door. Rip the Band-Aid off. Power through while the Shabbos adrenaline is still lingering and the kids are momentarily distracted by finding all their forgotten toys. You’ll feel smug. You’ll feel clean. You’ll feel like someone who has her life together (don’t worry, that’ll pass). But you’ll thank yourself when you’re not digging through a half-zipped duffel bag on Thursday night trying to find your child’s other Shabbos sock.

Because unpacking immediately doesn’t just clear your floor—it clears your soul.
(Okay maybe that’s dramatic. But also… not.)

Next time, though? We’re staying home. Probably. Maybe. Definitely not. But I will unpack right away. (Probably.)