Maybe you’re a poor sap like me who was gifted one of these little bastards, maybe yours is self inflicted. Either way, we’re both less than 10 days into this horrific ritual and I’m already thinking about blowing this Christmas time sham WIDE OPEN.
As most of you know, we moved. Well, we forgot our original Elfie at my in-law’s house. So as I mindlessly scrolled Instagram, a friends “I’m baacccckkkkk!” Elf post made me stop and do the Home Alone “KEVIN!” yell. Not for Kevin obviously, but for our appropriately named “Elfie.”
“We have to get an Elf before Ana get’s home from your parents house,” I told Chris. “We can’t have your Mom bring it with her because Ana might see it and it’ll be ruined.”
So out we went to grab a make-do Elf.
“Damn, these are expensive!” Chris exclaimed a little too loudly in the Christmas section at Meijer. “Don’t they sell just the Elf?”
“I already checked Facebook Marketplace, there weren’t any.” I solemnly admitted.
So we bite the bullet of forgetfulness and bought the ridiculously expensive elf. Get home, have a brilliant idea to make Elfie the Second ride a dinosaur. Success! I had all the time in the day to find the ribbon and tie it in place. It looked awesome. I was super proud.
Last time, Chris would wake up in a rush to move Elfie because I completely forgot all about him. This year, I was determined to be more creative. Night two? Hanging from the chandelier in a swing. Nailed it. So clever.
Night three into the early morning is where it get’s sticky. I put Eleni down, Chris was snoozing away, so I get up to move the Elf. I’m super pumped too because ‘Elfie’ was going to have Ana go on a candy cane hunt. All goes well until I go to get back in bed.
Back lit against the hallway, my footsteps have awoken Chris who loudly yells “AHH! You startled the FUCK out of me!” Not ‘you scared the shit out of me’ like every other human being would have thought of half asleep. Oh no. I have the eloquent sailor mouth in this house. So we get the fucks startled out of us.
Next morning, Elfie is majestically sitting in his throne chair with a candy cane in hand and a left-hand written Elfie note. Ana’s excited. She finds all the candy canes. Then, she has questions. Plural, not just one.
“How can Elfie move? He’s just stuffed.”
“I don’t know Ana, it’s magic.”
“I saw the Elf box. What is that for?”
“That came from storage, it had the book in it.”
“Why does Elfie have a tag?”
Shit. “Because they come from the store.”
“I thought they come from Santa.”
Chris chimes in. “Well Santa wanted every kid to have an Elf, so parents can buy them at the store.”
Ana walks off in thought and I thought I had miraculously escaped the interrogation. Little did I know, she was just waiting until there were no witnesses to continue.
“I know Elfies not real,” Ana states matter of factly.
“Oh really? How does Elfie move then?”
“You move him.”
SAVE FACE ASLYN. Don’t blow it now or it’ll snowball from Elfie to Santa and I’ll be the one who destroys Christmas magic for a 6 year old.
“Why on earth would I do that? I have enough to do, I can’t stay up all night and move an Elf around.”
“Tell me the truth. Do you move Elfie?”
She even leaned in for that one. Existential crisis. Do I lie? Do I do what all the other bahumbug parents do and kill Christmas magic in the name of teaching a lesson to Ana about telling the truth?
“No Ana, I do not move Elfie. If you don’t stop harassing me about Elfie, I’m going to make you clean the cat box.”
The threat was for good measure so she didn’t pull whatever other tactics she had out and finish me off. It worked. She might have walked away with a side eye and very skeptical ‘okay,’ but I won.
So to my Elf comrades, I’m in the foxhole with you staring down that shady plastic grin in the name of fostering a magical Christmas for my child. We can make it. Only 18 days left till we ship that sucker right back to the ‘North Poe’ shoebox in the nastiest corner of the basement with a kick to that little red felt ass.