Elf on the F’ing Shelf

So I consider myself a bit of an expert on the Elf on the Shelf. After all, he has been a seasonal part of our family for about 7 years now. Based on my expertise I have a few changes that I think would make the Elf, and the whole Elf experience, a little easier to manage.

First, an example of what I am trying to avoid:

sleeping elves

Two elves (yes, two) snuggled up with Sensei from Club Penguin, being serenaded by a pink monkey Beanie Boo and her side kick the tiger striped rubber ducky.

Things would just be a lot easier if we made the following changes…

There should be a rule that no one in the family can make stuff for the elf. There can be no tie-dye shirts made out of paper that the elf is expected to wear for the remainder of his time here. (See above picture.) No capes that anyone has to try not to rip every time they move the elf from point A to point B. The creating of little elfin accoutrement needs to stop immediately.

There should be a hotline that you can call 24/7 that will give you some reasonable and quick ideas about where to hide the elf so that at midnight when you are wandering around the house trying to come up with a creative way to hide the idiotic thing (while your husband is snoring loudly from the bedroom) you can just call and get a bunch of easy ideas. Note: Yes, I know that Pinterest has a million creative ideas. But I’m not talking about anything fancy like the elf “pooping” out chocolate chips, or making snow angels out of flour. I need basic boring “have you tried hiding him on the branches of the Christmas tree, yet?” And then maybe the operator could tell me that I’m awesome…but that would just be a little extra something special.

There should be a support group for all the elf movers. At the end of the elf-moving season all members of the group should get together and help each other as we transition back into the real world where we are no longer expected to lurk around the house under the cover of night hiding a creepy little toy. And there should be an open bar at each gathering. And taxis to cart all of our asses home.

The part of the story where it says that you can’t touch the elf or he’ll lose his magic should be revised slightly. It should also include a few sentences about how you also can’t leave the elf questionnaires that he is expected to fill out and then leave behind with the answers. The dead of night is not a good time to be trying to write (in disguised handwriting) a good answer as to why Santa isn’t getting them a dog for Christmas.

The elf’s body should be manufactured using a completely different material. The body should be made of that gooey stuff that you whip at the wall and it splats and stays there until you take it off and whip it at something else. Tell me that wouldn’t come in handy as you are trying to get down the stairs before the kids. All you would have to do is grab the elf off of one wall, and then quickly huck it across the room at another wall. And it would just stick there in some weird, but funny, position. It would take, like, three seconds to move the elf. (This is my favorite idea so far.)

Barring the above suggestion, all elves should come with an emergency remote that lets you suspend time. So when your darling little child comes in your room and says that he is going downstairs to find the elf (at 5:00 in the morning) you can just push the suspend time button and leisurely head down the stairs to find the elf a new hiding spot. Important to note that this emergency-suspend-time remote could come in handy in many other situations as well.

Depending on your sense of humor, perhaps the elf’s body could be hollow so you can fill it with with slim jims. Then you could “hide” the poor little sucker next to the dog’s dish. The kids will be sure to always remember the morning when they woke up to find that the family dog ate their little elfin friend, leaving behind only the head. You could even squirt a little ketchup around the head to make it look like blood. I don’t know, I’m just thinking out loud…

And lastly, 2016 should mark the end of the elf era. On Christmas Eve all elves should disappear into thin air, never to be seen again. And all children should have their memory erased so it is as if the crazy elf fad never, ever even happened.

Going forward, the Elf on the Shelf madness should be replaced by a new and improved tradition that I like to call, “The Alcohol on the Shelf”. Each night the other adult in your house should have to buy you a bottle of your favorite wine. Then when they are sure that you are fast asleep they will need to pry themselves out from under the toasty warm covers of the bed, and slink through the cold house to hide the bottle of wine somewhere fun and entertaining for you to find each morning. They should also be required to take pictures of the hidden/disguised wine each night to post on Facebook to show all their friends how clever they are. Good idea, right?? I’m confident that it will become a fine tradition in no time…

p.s. Christmas Eve is in 14 days. Help!!!!



That Damn Little Elf

elf picture

I’m not the same person I was a week ago. I’m all twitchy, and nervous. I’m biting my nails and looking over my shoulder and mumbling incoherently to myself as I walk aimlessly through the house. This happens to me every year at the same time. Same exact day as a matter of fact. The day after Thanksgiving. The dreaded Friday. The day that the Elf on the Shelf is supposed to magically return to our house.

That little elf is ruining my life.

Whose idea was this? A magical doll that mysteriously moves to a new location in the house each night…THAT seemed like a good idea? Really? Every night for a MONTH I’m supposed to remember to move this thing? You’re talking to someone who can’t even remember what I went in the next room for. Is it not enough that between Thanksgiving and Christmas my life is basically just a mish-mashed whirlwind of shopping and wrapping and hiding and baking and visiting and crafting and decorating and smiling and singing? And now elf repositioning? Am I really supposed to perform all this holiday ballyhoo while carrying on my normal everyday routine as if nothing at all is amiss? As if I’m not the mover of the elf…

It’s not a matter of just simply moving him to a new location in the house, either. I mean, you can do it that way if you want. But do you really want to be the lamest elf-mover on the block? I didn’t think so. The elf has to do something cool and creative in his new placement. The other night after everyone was asleep I moved the elf to the table with the kids’ school pictures. I then photographed the elf, uploaded the picture to my computer, printed out a nice 4×6 photo, framed it, and put it next to the other pictures on the table. Seriously. I did that. I was pretty proud of myself actually. I plan to be proud of myself again tonight when I move the elf to the counter in the kitchen and use flour and a cookie tray to make it look like the elf made a “snow angel” in the flour. This is how it has to be. And don’t get me started on the time that my husband moved the elf without telling me. Yes, maybe he was trying to be helpful…but at 4:00 in the morning while I’m rummaging through the garage looking for fishing line and tape so that I can engineer the gravity-defying illusion that our elf is being magically suspended in the air, the last thing I need is to not be able to find the star of the show. It was an unauthorized movement of the elf. I didn’t speak to him for days.

The good news is I hear that when the oldest child in the house doesn’t believe any more you can give him the job of moving the elf each night. So at least there’s that. But I don’t know what my oldest believes right now. He won’t admit it. I’m pretty sure that he knows what is what… but short of writing a note and tucking it into his school lunch bag there is no way to know for sure.

elf note

He and I are stuck in a weird “Christmas Magic” staring contest and neither of us is about to blink first.

And still, much as I do hate that creepy little elf, I can’t help but get sad when it is time to pack him up and store him away again. I always vow that next year I will enjoy it more. Next year I will relish in the joy of the magic that the elf represents. Next year I will have a better attitude. Next year. But not this year. No, this year I will keep up my bitter stance about that little bastard. This year I will still grumble and curse as I move the elf to his next (brilliant) position in the house. This year I just can’t help but continue on in my hatred of that damn little elf.