December...

It's almost that time of year again. December. Time to shop. Time to go see Santa. Take Christmas card pictures. Order Christmas cards. Send Christmas cards. Decorate. Get a tree. Decorate tree. Bake cookies. Wrap presents. Plan parties. Shop for parties. Wrap for parties. Attend parties. Eat too much. Drink too much. Stress too much. Attempt to remember reason for the season. Anxiously await end of Holiday season. Take down decorations. Take down tree. Wonder where I'm going to put all this stuff. Wonder how to pay off credit card bill. Go on a diet.

Resolve to do it all differently next year.

Oh, but wait, there's more. Apparently, I also need to buy an elf. On a shelf. Because, you know, I don't have enough to do.

OK, so I don't have to buy an elf. But I keep hearing the hype, and the kids have mentioned wanting one, and it occurs to me that, in twenty years, they won't remember that I shopped for presents, decorated the house, sent Christmas cards, wrapped presents, or stressed too much.

They will remember that they didn't get an elf. On a shelf.

People, by the way, can get way into their elves. And by people, I mean moms. Apparently, these elves are known to be quite mischievous. Some moms have told me that, sometimes, their kids wake in the morning to see that their elves have baked cookies. As in, the kitchen is covered in flour and sugar. Other moms have told me that their elves have been known to have pillow fights, and the kids wake to find feathers all over the floor. Some elves even get into the craft supplies and leave glitter all over the house.

Call me a Scrooge is you will, but if we do get an elf, his little elf ass better be staying on the shelf. I don't need any more mischief in my life. You want mischief? Try having to buy a new water dispenser because your sweet two year old put chicken into the old one when you had the bottle off to refill it. Then, two weeks later, try having to buy another new water dispenser because your no longer quite as sweet two year old poured milk into it. We now know how to make yogurt. Too bad we have no way of getting it out of there. Mischief is having your husband snake the toilet on an almost weekly basis because someone keeps putting something into it.

My point is, I have enough real live people trashing my house. I don't need the pretend ones to start doing it. And I'm certainly not going to help them.

Mischief is also waiting at a red light, happily singing songs with your two and four year olds, only to get smacked in the back of the head with a sippy cup. Mischief is listening to two boys come up with twenty five different words that rhyme with "stupid", so they can tell you that "I just said a word that sounded like "stupid", mom. I didn't really say "stupid". I know "stupid" isn't nice, mom, so I wouldn't say "stupid". I just said a word that rhymed with "stupid", but I didn't actually say "stupid". OK, mom?"

At least Elves don't talk.

The good things is, I have heard that sometimes these elves can help keep the kids in line, since they know he's watching them and he has a direct line to Santa. That's reason enough for me to get one.

But that Elf and I will be having a little chat. He needs to know his place in this family. Not in the kitchen. Not in the bedrooms, and definitely not in the bathroom.

On the shelf, Elf.

Our elf wont be baking cookies, or having pillow fights, or getting into the craft supplies.

But if he wants to be helpful, we can work something out.

He can start by pouring me an eggnog.