Elf-Me

If you asked me if I were willing to spend 30 straight days launching myself out of bed at 5am in a panic and running down the stairs to move an inanimate object from one insomnia inspired place to another I would have said “Are you f’ng nuts?”

However, if you asked me if I were willing to participate in a “tradition that is sweeping the country!” and if you disguised it as a cartoon Christmas special to seduce my impressionable, Santa crazy children, I would be forced to say, “Uuggghh, okay.”

Candy Jane is her name. Cute, huh? The girls named her before they even had her. We were visiting their cousins over Thanksgiving and learned about Herbie, their Elf on the Shelf, who was due to arrive from the North Pole the next morning. Once he arrived, I could see the wheels turning in my kids’ brains, “Why don’t we have an Elf?” Then the entire family watched the CBS animated Elf on the Shelf special. It was like sitting through a time share presentation; soon everyone was romanticizing the possibility of our family having an Elf.

“Of course Santa is going to send a girl Elf,” China Doll said. What the cartoon didn’t show was how to get a girl Elf. 4am on Black Friday, their devoted grandfather ran to Target only to discover that misogynist marketers don’t make girl Elves. But they do make a white, sparkly snow flaked “Claus Couture Skirt” which magically turns the plastic Chris Colfer look-a-like into Chris Colfer in drag.   

$6.50 later, we fell full victim to the little felt juggernaut.

The girls were completely sold. The first few days were hard for Rafael. When I overheard her in her room saying, “I can not touch her…I can not touch her…” I got a little worried. Then the unthinkable happened: when they showed her to our babysitter, she touched her. The girls burst into tears. They were inconsolable. Our sitter, in a panic, called her friend with a low voice who pretended to be Santa. He told them it was okay and asked him what they wanted for Christmas. China Doll asked him for two unicorns, “one as a pet and one to take me places”. Since she truly believes that was Santa, I am now expected to pull two unicorns out of my ass by December 25^th. Damn it, Candy Jane.

The reason I am typing this at 6:24am is because again I forgot to move the little bitch. I tried to put Hubby in charge but his first attempt at a clever location was the blade of a ceiling fan. It was 71 degrees and humid that day and we couldn't use the fan for fear of making Candy Jane an Elf missile. He has since been fired. I know I should be more organized and do it before I go to bed. But that is when Hubby and I have our glass of wine and catch up on Breaking Bad. We have priorities. 

Bah Humbuggin’ aside, sure it’s a cute tradition, sure I have resorted to the “Candy Jane is watching so you better stop fighting” threat, but really she is a red and white pain in my ass. And since Breaking Bad got snubbed by the Golden Globes for Best Drama, Elf or no, I’m having second thoughts on Santa’s philosophy of rewarding those who are good.