Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt personally victimized by Regina….er….Elf on the Shelf.
I know, I know, there’s an entire mob of cookie baking, Christmas caroling, magic making mothers out there who are going to shake their glitter covered fists at me. To you, I offer my deepest admiration. I am not you. I am the mom-friend wearing flip flops and her husband’s oversized t-shirts in the snow as she dashes to the school to drop off a forgotten jacket. Don’t get me wrong, I am capable. Of a good number of things! Just not…this thing.
Like many of you, I came away from my daily perusal of Pinterest, complete with anime heart eyes, at the thought of the magic this elf would help me bring to my children’s Christmas memories. It didn’t take me long to find a used elf to purchase from a fellow mother. Perhaps if I’d had taken just a moment longer, I would have looked into her haunted eyes and seen the warning they held for me. But alas….I tucked that tiny little person under my arm (the elf, not the mom) and gleefully ran back to my van with my treasure.
The first day went well.
And the second.
The third is when it got a little iffy. Our elf forgot to move.
“Mommy! Why didn’t the Lucy move?”
I stood frozen to the spot, eyes wide in terror.