So, I want to share with you something that has been bothering my family for a while. To whit: the Elf on a Shelf franchise.
For those of you unfamiliar with this little Christmas delight, allow me to explain. Parents purchase a genuine Elf (a little doll that makes Chucky look positively sane) and place said Elf in a conspicuous place to monitor the activity of the children. During the night, Elf visits the North Pole and tattles. When it returns, it sometimes brings a message or little treat for the children. You can tell the Elf went somewhere because every morning the little mannequin is in a new place, just waiting for the kids to notice. It’s not unusual to find the elf up to mischief; creating messes in the kitchen, tangling Christmas tree lights, going through the trash, etc. Supposedly this is an idea of holiday fun for some families. To them I say, “Bah humbug,”. But I digress.
The elf on a shelf is sheer genius, some of you will undoubtedly say. And for some families, this might genuinely be a wonderful tradition for Christmas. My own brother uses the Elf (they have two: Lizzie and Lollipop) and my two nieces love looking for her every morning and reading the letters she occasionally leaves. In fact, I was really impressed with how much they enjoy the little creature’s hijinxs and how they look forward to finding it in a new spot every day.
So, in the name of holiday fun and family unity, I decided to try this with my six year old son. Apparently, he’s too much like his mother, because this did not go over well AT ALL.
We introduced the Elf (Bernard) and explained his purpose (to tell Santa all the good things my son does). We then set Bernard on my son’s bookcase and said goodnight.
Five minutes later there’s a freaked out kid in my bed, saying the elf moved. And grew fangs. And was I SURE Bernard was a good elf, and not the kind that eats little kids?
So Bernard made a journey downstairs and my son went back to his bed, only to return thirty minutes later to tell me Bernard was chasing the cats. Cause everyone knows elves eat candy canes and cats.
I’ll spare you all the ways he woke us up that night, but the end result was that Bernard got mailed back to the North Pole. Along with a note from my son for Santa to use his magic ball and fire the creepy elves.
That was about a week ago. My son is STILL worked up over this elf business. He now follows his dad when we lock up at night to make sure there’s no way the elf can get in. Then we have to check under the bed, in all the drawers, and in the closet before he will consider going to sleep.
I haven’t told him the elf keeps showing up in the living room.