When “The Elf On The Shelf” first came out, I swore our family wouldn’t be sucked in.
The holidays are stressful enough without having to remember to hide a slightly creepy, weirdly stiff stuffed toy each night before bed….or, more correctly, to quickly can come up with crazy explanations as to why the elf hasn’t moved since yesterday morning.
“Remember yesterday when you didn’t clean your room like mommy asked? The Elf obviously didn’t like that….so he became petrified…like wood…so be good or he won’t be able to move…”
(For more “Why Your Elf Didn’t Move” excuses, click here!)
Well, obviously, after numerous years of begging and watching their cousins have soooo much fun with their beady eyed Santa’s helper, we caved and had one delivered to our door.
They freaking adore the bastard.
I woke up this morning 45 minutes before my alarm would go off, to the excited tinkling of tiny voices. I didn’t think much of it, I hadn’t slept well and neither had the baby, so I plopped my pillow over my head and closed my eyes.
Before long a little naked human flopped on top of me. Apparently someone forgot to pee in the potty and not their bed, but that’s not the most annoying part…
“Mommy, mommy, mommy! Mama, mama! I wanna find Huckleberry Snow (our Elf’s name) all by myself!”
What the crap?! OMG it’s freaking December 1st, that little demon is supposed to have made an entrance!
And so, while I wondered how to hide an elf that has already been searched for for an entire hour, I also silently plotted his demise….
Maybe, we could cover him in peanut butter and hide him in the dog’s bed? I have images of a ripped up red suit, a hat that will not be found until someone picks up the dog poo the next day….Fudge. My plan will be foiled by our obnoxiously good dog who has never destroyed anything. I need Cujo darnit!
Perhaps, he could hide in the oven and our morning could be started with amaze-balls cinnamon rolls. He won’t be found until, sadly, the oven has already preheated and his face has melted off….
Or….Mr. Huckleberry might choose to hide in the bathroom, precariously perched above the commode. He might slip on some oddly placed soap and fall into someone’s poo (cause no one in the house flushes ANYTHING). Such a sanitary disaster would call for a watery burial for the Elf…
I believe I had a scary sneer on my face while day dreaming of Huckleberry Snow’s death. The freedom of not worrying about re-hding the little devil, much less coming up with new and fun adventures for him to have been on during the night, is just too exciting not to smile about. If Huckleberry Snow disappeared, kidnapped by an angry yeti on the naughty list, I wouldn’t have to clean up his powdered sugar snow angels, or the confetti he throws around in celebration, or sacrifice my ice cream to his whims.
It would be glorious.
My children, however, would be devastated beyond belief. They have become very attached to this plague that infects our house the ENTIRE month before Christmas.
I guess, I have to admit that his appearance suddenly fills the home with an excitement that is unparalleled by any other tradition.
Argh! I will endeavor not to OFF him just yet….How many more years do I have with him? OMG at least 10….
Is there a wine Elf that could come for me? Snowflake Sangria would be the perfect name….or Merry Merlot…Chappy Chardonnay…
Now I’m thirsty, and it’s only 8:18am….It’s gonna be a long month.
This post was featured on