There are lots of clues to my current identity. It could be the prune-like fingertips from washing more sippy cups than I care to imagine. Perhaps it's the package of baby wipes that is constantly on my person. Of course, there's the mommy wardrobe of t-shirts and yoga pants. The most obvious sign, of course, is the appendage hanging off each leg (i.e. the children).
Last night I took this role one step further. I hosted a Tupperware party. Yes, Tupperware...those plastic containers your grandmother used to store her cakes in? Well, I cleaned the house, served some hors d'oeuvres, made some apple cider hot toddies (yum), and let a stranger into my house to sell my friends some plastic containers.
Okay, perhaps I am oversimplifying things a bit. Getting the house ready was actually a huge challenge, since the kids manage to make enormous messes in under 3.5 seconds. And after dumping the artichoke dip on the floor TWICE, I was forced to serve a modified version of it, since I had already used up some of the ingredients. Plus, despite the grandmotherly stigma, Tupperware does have some pretty cool products that are darn useful in the kitchen (love my Fridge Smart containers!).
But, I'll admit, when I was younger and dreaming of someday owning a home and raising children, this wasn't quite what I had in mind. Yet, here I found myself, completing the puzzle and adding "hosted Tupperware Party" to my mommy resume. And sad, but true, when the party lady was talking about how great the dishtowels are, I already had one slung over my shoulder, as I usually do.
I had to; it's the suburban housewife uniform.
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