Mama Nuggle

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!

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