Mama Nuggle

I thought I’d start by just laying it out there for you. I have a borderline obsessive / compulsive personality. I tend to throw myself into my latest passions with gusto. Although my addictions get replaced by new ones every so often, some remain constant. I thought I’d enlighten you with my Top 5 Addictions.

Addiction #5: I am a Sheetz whore. OK, so this one has earned me some crap from the people I work with. Much to the haters’ dismay, Sheetz has a cult following for those “in the know.” (I Love Sheetz so much that I *might* even turn tricks for a Sheetz gift card… I only take denominations of $50 and up, just so you know.) So, you’re asking “What is a Sheetz? And where can I buy a gift card?”

According to their website, the “definition of a Sheetz” is:

“… about providing kicked-up convenience while being more than just a convenience store. Sheetz is a mecca for people on the go. If you need to refuel your car or refresh your body, we have what you need to keep you moving on to whatever comes next.”

Basically, it is a chain of uber-popular gas stations that offer an espresso bar and brew every kind of flavored coffee under the sun. Their coffee is perfect for pairing with the Krispy Kreme donuts or enormous blueberry muffins that are delivered fresh daily. I know it sounds gross to eat at a gas station, but they have made to order (MTO) subs, salads, breakfast sandwiches, etc. that you can customize any way you like. Fresh and Cheap - what a yummy combination. Oh, and did I mention that their gas prices are usually the lowest in the area, rivaled only by Costco?

If you have been getting your daily java fix at a 7-11 run by people who don’t speak English, you NEED a Sheetz! Write your congressperson, your grandmother, your mayor, your HOA president (basically anyone you can think of) and demand one!

Addiction #4: I am a voracious reader, obsessed with cheesy romance novels and legal thrillers. Think Fern Michaels, Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, Sophie Kinsella, John Grisham, and James Patterson. Over the years, I accumulated an enormous collection by these authors. Jeremy insists that Nora isn’t a real person (even though she lives just a few minutes away from us) because of her prolific writing. Jeremy swears she is able to pop out a new best-seller every few months only because she uses a “Mad Libs” style template and just changes the character’s names / descriptive phrases before sending it to print!

I used to purchase paperbacks before I realized I was throwing money away. (Well, not really throwing it away. At our garage sale, I sold all but maybe twenty of the hundreds of books I have accumulated over the years. Turns out many others have the same obsessions I do too. Who knew?)

In an effort to save some ca$h, I discovered our local public library. I make weekly trips, usually borrowing five books at a time. Normally all of the books are ready to be returned within a week or so. (What can I say? Even with three kids in the house, I can read a 400 page novel start to finish in one day. I am gifted with the ability to speed read. Kinda freakish, huh?)

Reading is one of my guilty pleasures, if for no other reason than I can multitask while indulging. Think nursing the baby playing with Ty, watching TV, talking on the phone, and eating, all with a a great novel propped in my lap.

That brings me to obsession #3: Celebrity tabloid magazines. US Weekly, Star, OK! magazine… it doesn’t really matter which one.  I pick up whichever tabloid has the most scandalous headlines or best paparazzi photos - “BRAD AND ANGIE RETREAT TO PARIS AWAITING TWINS’ BIRTH!” or “LINDSAY LOHAN BUSTED WITH COKE-AGAIN!” or “BEST AND WORST BEACH BODIES OF 2008!”

Standing in the checkout line, I get a vicarious thrill seeing celebrities dressed to the nines in those glossy pages. Although I know they are a $2.99 publicity stunt, I still delight in seeing overpaid stars traipse down a red carpet in the harsh light of day wearing outrageously expensive couture at some random multi-syllabic event. (Think Jessica Simpson at the Grey Goose Marc Jacobs iPhone Smashbox Cosmetics Sex on the Beach bash brought to you LIVE by E! entertainment.)

Somehow, it’s easier to feel OK about the crazy stuff that happens in my otherwise mundane existence when I  witness the train wreck known as Britney Spears. I certainly don’t feel bad for these stars’ (literal) overexposure. Celebrities, take note: if you normally have photographers camped outside your front door snapping photos as you get your morning newspaper dressed in only your cashmere bathrobe and skivvies, hasn’t it dawned on you yet that when you drive your Range Rover the wrong way up an exit ramp on the 405 after a night spent in a Vicodin and pot-filled haze (a la Nicole Ritchie), don’t you think that someone will be there to chronicle the event?

A-list Celebrities have bazillions of dollars and have chosen to work in an industry that thrives on media exposure. They can afford anything they want, yet don’t have enough common sense to wear panties or hire a driver to take them clubbing instead of getting busted for DUI. Anyone else feel the irony here?

Addiction #2 Sephora, the cosmetics shopping mecca. I threw this one on the list so you don’t think I am total redneck white trash. Really, I’m not. In fact, I am a bit spoiled. Despite being a mom who doesn’t make it out of her Juicy Couture-inspired sweats on some days, I’m all about pampering myself (if it is in the budget. Although, there is NOTHING BUDGET about Sephora.)

Back in the day, I traveled quite a bit for work. On one of those trips, I first stumbled upon Sephora (in where else but L.A.? Hollywood Blvd. to be precise.)

I needed a great way to kill a few hours before heading back to the Roosevelt Hotel’s infamous hot spot - a bar named Teddy’s - to toss back a few overpriced cocktails. I swear I heard a choir of angles sing as I opened the chrome doors which led me into this sleekly styled beauty addict’s paradise known as Sephora.

Imagine you have come across a luscious oasis in the middle of a parched desert. You take your first sip of the cool, clear water. Ahhhh! Instant refreshment. Well, that’s Sephora.

They carry every major brand of luxury cosmetics and fragrance. No CoverGirl or Maybelline here, no siree. Everything is available to try before buying. It’s like being able to take a free test drive of every make and model car by every manufacturer in the 2009 line on the same day. Except here the thrill comes in the form of lipsticks and blush.

Popular brands have chic, ironic, and fun names like HardCandy, Smashbox, Urban Decay, Nars, Stila, Dior, Philosophy, TooFaced, Benefit, and Bare Escentuals. The #1 best selling item nationwide is a realistic flush colored blush called “orgasm.” Need I say more?

To illustrate my obsession, here’s a true story: on a Christmas shopping trip in Manhattan, I introduced my mom and sister to Sephora. We got sidetracked by Urban Decay’s edible sparkling body powder. In flavors such as gingerbread and marshmallow and caramel and honey. We dusted. We licked. We looked like freaks standing in this beauty emporium, licking our own arms. My dad and my brother-in-law left us in the store, slightly repulsed yet oddly intrigued by the spectacle we were making. TWO HOURS LATER they came back, only to find that we were still not done. We walked out with about $150 of delicately packaged, gold-foil wrapped, edible body bronzer, complete with leopard print powder puff. which I can’t tell you what it was used for or I’d have to kill you. Suffice it to say that Jeremy doesn’t mind my trips to Sephora so much anymore.

Oh, and by the way, allow yourself at least 10 minutes at the register to purchase a Sephora gift card. Exquisitely presented like wooden Russian dolls, gift cards are tucked inside a free dual-mirrored compact embossed with the Sephora logo, which is then slid inside a black and white Sephora box, which is then nestled inside a black velvet Sephora drawstring pouch. The pouch is then placed in brightly colored tissue paper, and placed in a glossy Sephora bag. It is like Christmas morning all over again. And I accept them in any and all denominations!

And finally, Obsession #1 - no shock here - Wal-Mart! I could go on and on about why I am obsessed with Wal-Mart. But I will spare you the details, and just give you the highlight: it is one-stop shopping that appeals to my ability to multi-task.

QUICK! Can you name anyplace OTHER than Wal-Mart in which you can buy gas, a cell phone, a Subway sub, McDonald’s fries, all your groceries and still have your oil changed, nails done, check cashed, eyes examined, taxes filed, prescription filled, fishing license issued, passport photo taken, and digital photos developed? I didn’t think so.

Thus, Wal-Mart will always remain my #1 guilty pleasure.

What’s yours? Any place you can’t get enough of? Starbucks? The gym? Any products, brands or activities you are passionate about? Drop me a comment and let me know!

When Jeremy and I both worked outside the home, we were consuming fossil fuels at an alarming rate, much to the delight of many Middle Eastern countries. We spent hours on our nation’s great gridlocked highways commuting to work. At one point, I estimated that I spent nearly 25 hours a week IN MY CAR. The only things that kept me sane were my cell phone and the radio in my car. (No wonder I always had a trail of pretzel crumbs alongside the driver’s seat and Diet Pepsi residue in the cup holder that even professional detailing could never fully remove.)

Tired of the grind, we decided to find a (somewhat affordable) house that put us closer to our respective jobs. Mind you, this was during the housing boom heyday, and thus proved to be much more difficult than we had ever imagined. At that point, we lived in “my first house” - a rather large townhouse in the Baltimore suburbs. I loved that house, and the community it was in. But the DC gridlock was killing us, and our wallets, even before the era of $4 gas. We searched for YEARS, finally agreeing on a larger house nestled in the pastoral hills on the edge of a historic, 250 year old railroad town (read:BFE).

One of the first clues you get that you are finally an adult is the sudden compulsion to maintain a neat and orderly house. (Anyone else remember hearing as a kid those choruses of “Clean up your room, or you’re not going ANYWHERE today”?)

With any luck, as adults, we become our parents in that respect. And hopefully the condition of our house reflects that.

Enter kids into the equation.

That shattering you just heard? Yup, that was my crumbling illusion that our kids would aspire to uphold our standards of order. That our house would not be overrun with kids’ toys. Yeah, right. (Seeing it in print, I realize just how ridiculous that thought was. It’s not like I am running a military barracks here.)

What I envisioned when we moved into this house was a Better Homes and Gardens abode worthy of Martha Stewart and HGTV. Pillows perfectly plumped. A table always set with adults-only dinnerware. High thread count sheets.

What I got was a house in which our son controls the remote to our flat screen. A house under siege by toys strewn all over the family room. Even though we have established that Elmo is EVIL, I broke down in a moment of weakness and bought Ty an Elmo Sit-n-Spin chair. Certainly, an Elmo chair smack dab in the middle of our family room was not in my initial design scheme.

Ty commandeered Elmo like an armchair quarterback in a La-Z-Boy on Super Bowl Sunday. He would lean it all the way back, bottle of milk in hand like it was a Heineken, and would chill for hours just watching TV. I call it the “Big Pimpin’ chair.” Man, he loved that chair. Until I moved it to the basement. Like a fickle teenage girl, Ty suddenly decided he hated it.

Elmo’s successor in the family room was a big, hulking, brand-spanking new,faux-wood plastic picnic table (courtesy of Grammy and Pop-pop) that takes up every available square inch of floor space. Yes, I now have a ginormous picnic table, in the freaking family room. (Again, not in the original design scheme.)

Meanwhile, Elmo was banished to the unfinished storage area of our basement since he absolutely refused to sit in it in its new location. He decided to favor an aquarium-themed swing that was a holdover from his infant stage. (Which is ironic, really, because as a baby Ty screamed each time we went to put him in it. Go figure.) At 39 lbs., Ty is WAY OVER the swing’s approved weight limit, and strained poor Mr. Swing so much he actually demolished its cheap plastic frame today.

So, this morning, I had to resurrect the Elmo chair. And you know what? He pitched such a fit (Ty, not Elmo) when I took Mr. Swing away that I decided to let him finish his demolition off right so I can ultimately just throw it out. And restore our basement to its former decorative glory.

As a final homage, I decided to include a photo of the early days… of Ty and Mr. Swing in happier times: As you can see, Ty has certainly outgrown his favorite seat in the house. Secretly, I just think Ty didn’t want baby Caitlin to be able to use it.

Has anyone else out there witnessed the life cycle of a toy, from MVT status to future Goodwill donation? What was the toy? What triggered its demise? Give me a holla and let me know!

Anyone else notice that after you have kids, a weird thing begins to happen to your TV? You see, a few months ago, Jeremy bought me a new flat screen TV for our family room. At the same time, we got digital cable with DVR. I wonder if it is a programming issue or something but since that time, our TV no longer displays anything other than PBS Sprout, Disney Channel, or ONDEMAND movies like Open Season or Meet the Robinsons.

Like all good members of the male species, Ty has always had a healthy appreciation for all things electronic, particularly cell phones, the mouse to our computer, my laptop, the TV, and the DVD player. But nothing ever topped his love of the SIX remotes it takes to operate our TV/VCR/DVD/DVR/CABLE/SURROUND SOUND. While Ty has always had a rather advanced vocabulary for his age,  one of his first words was “mote” … meaning he wanted us to change the channel, to something else HE WANTED TO WATCH.

No, not what we want to watch. What HE wants.

I guess Ty takes the words “ONDEMAND” quite literally, because when he wants to watch something, he means NOW.  If we aren’t quick enough, Ty becomes… ah, how shall I say this delicately?… rather… demanding (pun intended.)

Guess that targeted advertising really works, huh?

I suppose I can take the blame here. I think I am a very good mother, but perhaps I introduced Ty to the concept of watching TV a little too early. Like most first time parents, I wanted my baby to be smart. I wanted him to speak clearly at an early age. I wanted him to have a broad vocabulary, and exposure to a wide variety of concepts.

So… we bought the entire series of Baby Einstein DVD’s. As an infant, Ty watched them with rapt attention.

He learned about all kinds of interesting topics. Like animals (of the rain forest… of the seas… on the farm… in the forest… in the jungle… in the neighborhood… you get my drift.) And vehicles. And body parts. And art. And music. And action verbs. And counting. And the alphabet.

From the time Ty was a few months old, and could focus on objects more than 12″ away, I snuggled him into the Boppy pillow or the swing and plopped him in front of the TV. “Baby Einstein videos are so educational!” I thought enthusiastically. “He loves them!” And when he started to talk a few months earlier than expected, I congratulated myself on having made such a smart choice by letting him watch all those DVD’s. It didn’t hurt that while he watched, mommy could work diligently on her laptop, rapidly firing off e-mails while my colleagues were still asleep, so that I could get home earlier.

Basically, what I am telling you is that I cheated.

I allowed the TV to stimulate my son, because it required less effort. And he seemed so happy as the classical music tinkled from the surround sound and the brightly colored images flashed across that 37″ surface. My intentions were pure (you know the road to hell is paved with good intentions, right?). Well, it didn’t take long for those choices to come back to bite me in the ass.

Fast forward a few months: Mickey’s Clubhouse became his new favorite. Month after month, he clamored for Mickey. As soon as Ty heard the lyrics “Hot Dog, Hot Dog, Hot Diggity Dog Song,” his arms and legs would flail wildly in time to the beat. Pre-DVR, Mickey and pals weren’t always readily available. And Ty wanted them. NOW.

To satisfy his ever-increasing demands, I started playing clips of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song by They Might Be Giants on line for him at Playhouse Disney. Like a crack addict jonesing for his next fix, Ty would cry “More!  More! More Mickey!” In a desperate attempt to navigate the Net, Ty would grab the mouse, randomly clicking away in order to get his next Mickey high. It never seemed to be enough.

In what turned out to be the equivalent of swapping methadone for heroin, I began to expand Ty’s viewing options to whatthef***wasIthinking Elmo and friends on Sesame Street. Turns out, Elmo is even more irritating than Mickey. I found myself dreaming phrases such as “Are you ready? Yeah!” and “Let’s ask Mr.Noodles what he would like for dinner. Oh, Mr. Noo-ooo-dddles?” It was the darkest period of my TV-and-DVD-watching existence. Elmo had to go. IMMEDIATELY.

Why didn’t I just turn the TV off you may ask? Well, I was very sleep deprived. At 4:30 AM (the time at which Ty wanted to start his day) you’ll do anything to not have to be fully coherent and/or entertaining. Yeah, I know. I SUCK.

So, Elmo went bye-bye. And in came the Little Einsteins. I felt slightly better about this choice, namely because of all the references to dead composers and important works of art. Again, I hid behind the notion of ”educational programming.”

Over time, Ty’s viewing preferences changed somewhat. Not the frequency of viewing- I’m embarrassed to report that he hasn’t kicked his habit yet- but the programs did. Oh, he still watches the Einsteins. But he has added some “new favorites,” like Dora and Diego. Unfortunately, he discovered Pingu, which is the second most obnoxiously irritating character, right after Elmo. But I must say the variety of his viewing habits has gotten better.

Like any good parent, I remember the milestones. Not, say, how old he was when he said ,”Dada” for the first time. Nope. I have no clue.  But I’ll never forget the day he watched Ratatouille for the first time. At 19 months, Ty sat, motionless, in a trance, for two solid hours. He did not move. Not once. He clearly inherited his love of movies from his daddy. Normally, I do one of two things while watching a movie: 1) multitask by reading or doing laundry or dishes or 2) fall asleep. Unlike Jeremy, I cannot sit still that long. Needless to say, we don’t go to the movies. EVER. But, I must confess I heard a choir of angels sing when I realized Ty has a better attention span than I do!

In any event, I don’t want you to think that watching TV is all the little man does. Nope. We read books, go to the park, play with a bazillion toys, splash in the pool, dig in the sandbox, play hide-and-go-seek, draw pictures, go for walks, build with blocks… all sorts of things to stimulate Ty’s imagination and encourage physical activity (not controlled by the remote).

But I must confess I long for a little “adult” TV … get your mind outta the gutter! Not porn, you freak! I meant shows like Dateline, CSI, Law and Order, True Hollywood Story, and E! News. Maybe someday Caitlin and I can take back the house!

Anyone else have these issues? What are/were your kids’ favorite shows? Which ones do you love? Hate? Ban? Drop me a comment and let me know!