On Facebook, everyone was talking about the Elf on the Shelf. This little Elf would bring happiness to the lives of all parents across the globe, simply by sitting on a shelf in your home.
The Elf comes with a storybook which explains that he is sent from the North Pole to watch and make sure that all the children are being nice instead of naughty. At night, when all are asleep, he reports back to the boss man, aka Santa, and gives him the scoop. In the morning, the Elf returns to the home and hides, only to be found by the joyful children who live there; so excited are they to know of his return.
"Oh, how could I get this wonderful Elf to come to stay at the Schmitty house?" I wondered, thinking I too could experience a holiday full of rainbows and unicorns.
I searched and searched and finally, I found him. Our Elf we would name Spencer.
He took his spot on a shelf in our dining room where he was discovered by my children. We read the story and I waited to see the world around me brighten and to hear the singing of the angels.
Instead I heard crickets chirping.
"BWWAHHHAAHA!" Escaped from the mouth of my oldest who immediately picked Spencer up and shook him.
"He's creepy looking!" Exclaimed my middle child.
And R., my baby, she just stared at him with a look of fear.
I replaced Spencer on the shelf and told them that he was cute and not creepy at all; that he was Santa's helper and not an evil little troll.
Okay, so I might have also whispered to W. that I would break his fingers if he touched it again. But then again, I might not have.
They shrugged, lost interest, and went to play.
The next day, upon waking, they searched for the Elf. He had indeed returned from Santa's Workshop and was now perched on the coffee table.
"Wow, that's it?" Asked T., "He only moved to the table? He's not very good at hiding."
He approached the couch to sit and in doing so he bumped the table. Spencer fell over.
"Don't touch him," I said. "He will lose his magic if you do!" I shot W. a look and cracked all of the knuckles in my hands.
I left the Elf on his side, not wanting to sit him up until there were no children around. My husband did not follow my lead. Apparently, he decided this was a great time to mess with them. Every time they were distracted, he would move the Elf into a new position.
He found it hilarious. They? Well, they did not.
"Oh My God!!" Shouted T. "It moved!!! Mom, that thing is freaking me out!!"
Mr. Schmitty, hiding like a coward in the kitchen, was hysterical.
I glared at him, "You, my friend, YOU will be getting up with them in the middle of the night!"
When bedtime approached, I noticed that R. kept looking sideways at the Elf. She was eyeing him up and I knew it was coming.
"Daddy, he's scaring me. HIS EYES ARE FOLLOWING ME! Get rid of him!!"
So, alas, Spencer was given his walking papers and was sent packing back to the North Pole.
Now, gone are my dreams of a stress free holiday season. Gone are the visions of gathering around the tree, singing Christmas carols, and stringing popcorn garland. Gone. Gone. Gone.