Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Dear Tupperware Cupboard

Dear Tupperware Cupboard:

I loathe you.

You are the bane of my homemaking existence.  You are the single most infuriating part of my kitchen.  The Achilles Heel of my organization.  The cupboard-version of Miley Cyrus to my otherwise "this-makes-so-much-sense" layout.

You are everything that makes me sigh at the end of a long day when the dishes must be done.

"Why," you might ask, you disdainful storage closet, "do you have so much hatred towards me?  You must be overreacting.  I can't possibly be that bad."

Oh.  You have no idea.

See, herein lies the problem:  I have four partial sets of Tupperware that fill you to the brim, all of which are just slightly different in size, plastic composition, color, and so on.   

And they multiply.  Not like adorable rabbits, but like a flu virus.  Like mosquitoes from a body of still water.  Like evangelists that feel it's necessary to ring the doorbell at nap time.

They don't multiply necessarily according to your desire, Tupperware Cupboard.  I will grant you that.  It's more a matter of my mother sending me home with a piece or two of cake after a birthday party in what was once a plastic container holding lunch meat.  Or my mother-in-law sending my hubby back with some of her salad from the last barbecue (which is covered by tin foil, not a specific lid).  These get washed, and we attempt to return them to their rightful owners...but since everyone is dealing with Tupperware Cupboards from Hell, and no one wants to publicly acknowledge it, the rightful owners will stare at me blankly and claim that they have never previously owned that plastic contraption before.  So, the container comes back to reside with us forever and ever.  Typically, with no lid. 

When trying to organize you, Tupperware Cupboard, I begin to fully appreciate what the creators of Tetris were trying to teach me in life.  The music plays in my head the second I swing open the door and everything tumbles out at me in warp speed.  I frantically sort things according to size-ish, color-ish, and brand.  Tupperware, Rubbermaid, Ziploc, off-brand, butter containers...I finally accomplish my mission to see towers of plastic teetering to and fro as I slowly close the door.

...Only to have the miniature Godzilla that is my daughter squeal with delight and tear it all apart while I'm cooking dinner.

Or to have my husband throw the recently-cleaned containers and lids haphazardly in and close the door as quickly as humanly possible. 

Or to just be hit with a case of the "screw-its" and just let it all pile up until I can't take it anymore.

There's no winning with you, Tupperware Cupboard.  You're never satisfied.  You always demand more and more of me, and you give back so little.  I want this relationship to end.  Forever.

...Right after I make my lunch for tomorrow and use a couple of the Ziploc containers.  

A point of frustration.

The hubbs and I are huge fans of the Renaissance Festival here in Michigan.  Not to the point where we dress up or start speaking in foreign-ish tongues, but we enjoy making a date-day out of it once a year.  It's our time to go out, buy a few trinkets that we really don't need in any capacity, listen to dirty jokes from roasted almond vendors, and treat ourselves to lunch at The Laundry in Fenton afterwards. 
One of the things that we really enjoy, though, is seeing the same astrologist each year for a star chart/psychic reading.  Mind you, we don't put any stock into it at all.  It's usually just a weird form of affirmation and some curious things to ponder while we walk through the rest of the festival, trying to find a gentleman selling pickles that won't harass us. 

The readings are typically pretty positive and light-hearted.  Last year, we had her quickly look up the star chart for our daughter before she thoroughly read ours.  She glanced at it and started laughing.  "Well," she said with a cryptic smile, "you guys have a tough one.  Very smart, sensitive, and tough."  Granted, I 100% understand that could apply to almost any child on the planet, but it was perfect for our kid.

We got through the reading with nothing truly ground breaking, and we were about to get up and leave when the woman looked at me and said somberly "Dear, you need to just put your head down and get through this year.  You're going to question many of the decisions you've made this year, but you're on the right track."

....Odd.  And, frankly, not the best business practice, leaving your regular-ish couple hanging on a foreboding note.

Honestly, I haven't really thought about it at all up until this point (now that we're planning our next date-day to the festival).  But, looking back, I have to admit that this year hasn't been "my year" in regards to, well, anything

Standing up for my convictions.  Holding firm to my promises to myself.  Knowing what I want out of any given day.  Really understanding what success means.  Not expecting perfection out of myself.  Prioritizing my life.  Finding ways to stay physically and mentally healthy.

Understanding that the clock only moves forward and never ticks back.

There's no happy wrap-up here, friends.  I'm still struggling, and I don't anticipate this struggle dissipating anytime soon.  The stage that I'm currently at in my life, though, allows me to turn this into a level of exhaustion and frustration that doesn't evolve into self-bashing.  That, believe it or not, is a massive step in the right direction for me

So, in conclusion...I haven't decided if I will go back to that astrologist this year.