“Hey, I just found disposable women’s underwear online. Do you want me to order you a set?”

Most mornings, mom calls or texts to tell me the day’s bad joke, but this was not one of them. To be fair, she was being pragmatic. We’re preparing to spend nearly two weeks traveling by RV in the middle of a pandemic. Visiting a laundromat isn’t high on either of our wish lists.

“You may wear lacy little things that can be washed in the sink and hung up to dry in an hour, but my underwear has a lot more material,” she said. “Mine will never dry in that tiny little bathroom and you’re not allowed to hang your underwear outside at campgrounds.” Clearly, disposable underwear is the answer.

Also, I’m oddly reassured to hear this news about campground etiquette.

I plan to pack only what can be shoehorned into a carry-on bag because I’ll be flying home and have an abiding and possibly unreasonable aversion to checking luggage. Mom claimed she would be packing light because it would be easier and take up less space. Then she started talking about the impressive amount of storage space the RV offered and it began to look suspiciously like she might have other motives.

“I’m having some things sent to your house,” she said. Since then, things have been arriving in a steady stream.

So far I’ve stacked the following in the corner of my home office:

Two camp chairs, the different styles carefully selected according to what mom has determined each of us is most likely to find reasonably comfortable.

A matching pair of folding camp stools.

A paper towel holder.

Face shields to wear over masks whenever it seems prudent, with spares for backup.

Insect repellent with DEET. (“It’s terrible for you and I ordinarily wouldn’t get it,” she said, “but it really, really works for mosquitoes and ticks.” She’s caught Lyme disease from tick bites twice now, so I really can’t blame her on this one.)

A special cat box. (This is clearly going to be important. It purports to practically eliminate odor and prevent any cat using it from tracking litter all over the place. Considering the size of the RV and the amount of time we’ll be spending in it with two cats and a dog, I deeply and fervently hope that it’s true.)

Two brightly colored cat leashes with harnesses.(”So we can grab them if they make a dash for the door,” she explained. Frankly they’re kind of roly-poly, and completely and unapologetically languid, so it seems unlikely they will dash anywhere. But then again, cats. It’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.)

Today’s box arrived at my door badly beat up, but still containing:

Two brightly decorated reusable plastic place mats.

A shower organizer that is very enthusiastic about being made of sturdy, washable, mildew-resistant mesh.

Four wheel chocks.

A bottle of mold-killing spray wrapped in plastic. (This because she thinks it contains bleach, which has been damn near impossible to find lately. It does not, but it does claim to be virucidal so apparently we’re covered. For some reason the instructions give extensive details on the wildly different lengths of time the spray must be left on a surface to kill athlete’s foot fungus and Herpes Simplex type 2, and how to use it to properly decontaminate against HIV-1 on surfaces “soiled with blood and bodily fluids.” I’m not sure whether the manufacturers think we need it for a locker room, a trendy bar, or a crime scene. I make a note to ask mom where she’s buying this stuff.)

The underwear has not arrived yet. I’ve decided to consider that a small gift to me from the universe.