If I did have pants on, those bitches would be ablaze. Likewise, it would also have to be about 20 below. I am not a big fan of pants. (Unless they are pajama pants, and yes I am that person who wears them to the Teeter)
I don’t like to lie and I don’t like to wear pants. 11 months out of the year I straight up preach honesty and truth, being your own person. Do things your way and stop comparing and contrasting. Tell your truth, own your differences. Don’t wear pants if you don’t want to, it’s freeing.
Unless it’s December. In December, I start lying my ass off and wish I was a better at all things Christmas. My cards get ordered around the 15th. I haven’t even started shopping. December brings anxiety especially about the lies we have to tell. About Santa? No, I got that shit down. Running up the credit card and hiding the bill? Nope do that all the time. We are talking December 1st and 24 days of trickery. We are talking…
Elf on a Shelf.
Have you guys seen Pinterest? There is some serious knocking it out of the park EOAS antics going down. I mean, nicely done. That looks fantastic. But it’s a lot of work, and even a creative mind runs out of bullshit at some point. Or energy. Or both. Once you start with this guy, you might feel Grinchy as hell, but just like how you cannot stop Christmas from coming, you cannot stop the elf from showing up. And being expected to do fantastic elf things, for 24 days straight. You are under contract. Kids don’t forget.
So even if his flight is delayed due to a connecting flight issue and bad weather somewhere in Canada, he is on his way. As soon as I find him.
The question starts right about the minute they take their costumes off on Halloween. When is Elvis coming? December 1st. Is he coming for sure? Of course. How do you know? I emailed him. Did he email you back? Not yet. The questions, the confusion, the tangled web of lies. And then it’s November 30th and I haven’t even gone on the search for the damn elf. If I had my shit together, I would put it somewhere easy to find. But I don’t. So I won’t.
I started dreading it then it hit me, this may be it. Oldest kids are well aware there ain’t no guy in red shoving his fatass down our chimney and the elf is no threat, he gives not one shit if they are good or bad because they found out long ago that I bought him at Barnes and Noble, I am the elf. I am the fat man. So they act like fools with no fear of a lump of coal. The youngest, my little Badger, she still believes but that kid is too analytical to buy this much longer. Her questions go deep, I can’t keep up.
Sounded sweet. This whole elf thing. Kept hearing moms talking about “our elf did this and our elf did that”. Finally I was like “what the HELL are you talking about??” I had to ask. It was bound to happen anyway, but my elf process started with a simple question: What the hell you talkin’ bout Sheila?
It’s what? Your own personal elf?? OH, ok I get it. So you just move it around? It writes little notes?? That’s adorable! Keeps tabs on the kids, I love it. No shit that’s genius, direct reporting to Santa. Awesome. Your youngest hates it, she’s scared of it?? Why? Oh yeah, I guess it is kind of creepy in a way, a tiny elf doll flying around your house while you sleep.
I’m totally getting one.
I purchased a box at a book store containing an Elf on a Shelf. It was great, our own special Elf zipped down from the North Pole and he will leave on Christmas Eve, until next year. Kids named him Elvis. Mom points were scored. It was so much fun! For about 2 days, then it was like, this sort of feels oppressive.
Our elf is magical, mischievous, and he REALLY hates whining. (I added that last part because if I am going to lie to their little faces, I’m throwing in something for me. Tiny sensitive ears. Hates noise.) Unfortunately, our elf Elvis also seems pretty damn lazy.
Every year as my youngest gets smarter, my lies get bigger trying to cover up me royally screwing it up. Often I wake up in a panic because I forgot to move the damn elf, then I lie lie lie lie my way around the obvious which is, this whole process is such a pain in the ass. In case you don’t know, the playing elf thing is like playing tooth fairy on crack. If you thought you were in a twist because you forgot, or didn’t have cash for a tooth, wait until December 20th when you are holding a creepy doll trying to do something you saw on Pinterest at 3am.
We couldn’t even find him this year so I struck with a preemptive lie.
Guess who is coming tomorrow?? Elvis! Now Summer, he is on his way, but he might be a little late. He had a layover in Montreal. Bad weather. Connecting flight issue. We could have stopped with that but Summer is a thinker. Why is he flying on a plane isn’t he magic? “Yes! Of course but, OH I forgot to tell you! Get this, this year they had to put restrictions on elf travel to the United States. The FAA had to crack down, last year it was a mess. Airspace and radar issues. I’d pull up the article but my phone is downstairs.”
Downstairs in HELL where I’m going for being such a liar.
Some of us are good at the elf thing, some of us have really shitty game. Let’s face it – it is how we do parenting in general. Differently. For every Pinterest post with some mom doing fantastic fun elf things, there is a me type mom phoning shit in and hoping your kid isn’t a big talker. Your elf is hysterical and does some crazy shit, my elf is lazy. We love him anyway.
“Mommy mommy Elvis didn’t move 😢”
WHAT? You know what guys, I bet it’s all the fighting and whining, it makes him depressed. 2 days later… Again?? He didn’t move? Oh man Elvis, pull yourself together. Finally after 3 days of not moving, we decided he may have a headache or was exhausted from all the infighting. Who knows. We laid out vitamins, Tylenol, a little medicine cup of espresso, and promised we would try to be kinder to each other and keep the bitching and whining down.
It worked.
Here is our lazy but sweet elf Elvis. Note, he is not too lazy to find earplugs. HATES whining. 😂
(Wow, that close-up is a wreck. Elvis also got into the chocolate last year and somehow managed to not shower or change his uniform). It’s fine. I haven’t flossed since my last dentist visit.
Parenting methods in general, it’s best to not compare. Oh you helicopter parent? That is cool, but I really just buzz the tower once in a while over my free range chickens. You don’t allow TV? Amazing, that is awesome. I took my son to Straight Outta Compton**. (Great fucking movie BTW see below for a bonus ruffling uptight feathers moment)
We do things differently. Not necessarily right or wrong, good or bad. (Unless you are an asshole or a bully, then you are probably teaching assholery. That is bad. The world needs less of those.)
The temptation is to feel inadequate when we see bang up “doing it right” parenting – but why? Are you a bad parent because Betty Lou makes her own organic gluten free vegan bread and you fed your kid a bowl of Chex Mix for breakfast? Nope. I don’t get you Betty Lou, but I’m impressed. Go you Betty Lou, but I am going to stick to the bread on sale at the Teeter. Making bread sounds like many steps. Maybe I will try it. Someday. Maybe. Probably not. But I’ll pin that shit, just. in. case.
We could probably learn a life lesson from this pain in the ass plush toy we really try hard to make something… well something we are not.
Not everyone can orchestrate spectacular and cute elf antics, not everyone can even care to. It is ok to not all be the same. Apply that to all the other shit we get judged for as parents, and we are good. No one is doing it any better than anyone else.
Your elf is a lazy motherfucker? Well so are you, and so am I. You are doing just fine. Your kids will hate you for something, if elf disappointment is all they have to go on? You win.
Since this is possibly the last year, I hope I can pull it together to at least give it one last best effort. I may try to do some fun things with Elvis. I may not. But, I am not going to feel a bit bad if he doesn’t move, that guy has a shit ton going on. I certainly won’t come out of the box with something fantastic. Same reason I don’t wear real pants the first day of school to walk my kids in. Why put on airs, I can’t keep them up.
That is just not the way I roll.
So, wish me luck. The next 23 days with this creepy flying Santa spy, I’m going to try have a little fun. But not every night. Let’s not get crazy.
BTW, Elvis did arrive yesterday. Not in the morning when Summer woke up. No worry. Glad I had already told her he had a delay with his connecting flight in Quebec. Or did I say Montreal?? Anyway, it was ok. He sent a text letting me know he got in super late and decided grab breakfast and run downown for his elf work permit. He did stop by and leave a note. ✔️
Elvis is quite the bullshitter.
So with that, 2015 elf season and lying my ass off has begun. When she figures out it was me all along I think she will be sort of relieved. She didn’t get screwed, she got mom! All good. Don’t let the elf stress you out. Don’t let parenting stress you out. If you are doing your best, you are doing it right. Shitty elfing and all.
This year if I hear “Mommy Sally’s elf Nutmeg got in a snowball fight with the TOOTH FAIRY!!!! Elvis never does that. Can we get a new elf?”
Nope. I picked him, and besides we can’t just fire him he, that would make him very sad. He is doing his best. We just have to love him the way he is.
^^ And look. She already forgot “Elvis” had a rough year. She remembers the good parts. “Best Elf Ever”.
Bam, mic drop. Take that Nutmeg.
Love,
Rebecca, aka “Elvis”
** P.S. Bonus Straight Out of Compton funny story:
I was telling another parent at Blake’s soccer game that I was either the best mom of the worst mom because I took him to a 10:30 showing of Straight Outta Compton. As we were discussing and laughing, a parent from the other team on my right loudly and in my direction said “I think we should pray for values”.
What??? I’m surprised I didn’t say anything. What I wanted to say was “pray away because if you dial up my God he’s going to pissed off at you for judging. He knows me, we go way back. He’d say it’s fine. She’s a good mom. Wish she’d wear some pants though.”
Namaste, it's fine. 