The Travails of Packing

Ok, I am only doing this to calm my nerves. I am very bad at packing and when my mother joins me to pack things, we become the worst duo ever.
Amma's philosophy is simple: Take the bare minimum. No wait, take only those things that you can cram together in one small Jansport backpack. That will definitely last you for two years.
Me? I just try to leave the bare minimum behind.
Everything I put in, she keeps pulling out. Just like in the movies. Though of course, for different reasons. She doesn't seem very bothered about my leaving the house; she only wants to make sure I don't have any excess baggage (literally of course).
And I have to admit, I am not the neatest person around. The one time my mother visited me while I was staying in Bangalore, she opened my cupboard to have half my clothes fall on her. Seriously. She spent most of the one night she stayed with me rearranging my clothes. Sigh.
But this time, I have taken extra pains to ensure everything is ironed, neat and folded. This way I can stuff, I can sit, I can bang on the suitcase and somehow create space. (The clothes are quite fine, thank you.)
The last straw for my mother was when she learnt of the number of pairs of footwear I wanted to take. She wanted to restrict me to two (the choice being between floaters/sneakers/bathroom chappals/sandals aside from the pair of formal shoes that she deemed mandatory) and in a fit of benevolence, she agreed to let me take (hold your breath) three pairs. But when she learnt of my brilliant idea of making her wear one pair of sandals to Bangalore in order to save space in the suitcase, she threw a fit.
Anyway, now I am supposedly packed. I am convinced there are more things I should take, but Amma has locked my cupboard and taken away the keys in order to prevent me from scavenging there.
Ooh, got to go. Amma's in my room and I don't want my suitcase to shrink.