Wanted: Elf On Shelf

Being a good parent is hard these days. There are standards of Facebook and Pinterest type living that we all get to feel guilty about instead of just enjoying our kids, like back in the good old days. My mom didn't know what five hundred of her closest friends were doing with their kids for the three weeks leading up to Christmas and she didn't have time to care. She packed lunches, washed clothes and made crafts, all without the gut wrenching "benefit" of photographing every tedious step and posting it online. There are days I have to revert back to the 1980's, leg warmers and all, in order to actually enjoy my life and stop wondering if someone has Liked my pot roast pic. It's a a bit of a time waster and I will admit that there are days that it consumes more of my life than it really should.

Christmas has to be one of the worst times of year to be an insecure, unprepared, impatient parent. Social media has its stocking filled to bursting seams with craft ideas, cookie recipes, photo opportunities and that motherfucking Elf. You know, the ugly one with frighteningly long limbs who scampers around your house looking for trouble, and apparently keeps a close eye on your little shithead children as they flush your earrings down the toilet. Better stop sweetheart, Elf on the Shelf is watching. If that kid knew what was good for him, he would drowned Mr. Elf and bury him in the backyard. The concept is that Mr. Elf is checking in with Santa, all the while making rounds at your house and popping up in the most unusual spots. Courtesy of Mom and Dad. Most days I don't even get myself dressed, eat a full meal or take a crap. Time restraints, you know. That being said, I don't have an extra ten minutes at night to stage some sort of holiday photo op with a stuffed toy and a bag of cookies. My son asked about Elf the other evening, so thank you parents who are allowing your kids to brag at school about your stupid traveling Elf.

"Mom, why don't we have one of those little toys that watches you and moves to a different spot in the house every night?"

I should have said something holiday-ish or at least something sweet, but after prepping my house for twenty people, cleaning out the litter box and making dinner, I had nothing nice to say. Instead, I screamed like a toddler.

"Well, because it's a ridiculous idea and I'm a bad parent." Yep. I admitted to being a bad parent in front of my kid. He wasn't phased at all and continued his inquisition with his father, who in turn promised to rustle up an elf somewhere in the house and place it in secret spots.
"No, Dad, it has to be a real Elf on the Shelf. You have to buy it from the store and use the real one." 

During that exchange, we learned that Mr. Elf is just another way to create consumers at the tender age of seven. Any old elf won't do, we needed the one in the box with instructions and a creepy little face. The thought of my husband hiding an elf every night was almost enough incentive for me to buy one. With all the love I have in my heart for my husband, he wouldn't make it three days with that elf before he ripped it limb from limb and blamed the dog. If we did buy one, for my husband of course, it would end up staying in the box and being used as a White Elephant gift next year when some asshole kid at school ruins Christmas for my son by informing him that there is no Santa and therefore no need for an Elf checking in with him nightly.

After a few glasses of wine, I made my own 'elf on a partial wall' holiday scene with a half naked Barbie wearing a football jersey. I'm snagging that Bad Parent award for sure.