The year my daughter came of age, that is, she was old enough to understand The Elf on the Shelf, I, like all other (unknowing, naive, unsuspecting, moronic) first-time moms was beyond excited to introduce the Elf to our family. “Jingle” as she was soon named, was welcomed into our home with the holiday cheer and merry magic that accompanies all the wonders of Christmas. Every night, Vivian went to bed speculating on where, oh where, Jingle would be in the morning. And every night, my husband and I took turns finding new and creative ways to move that impish little thing. Oh, what joy! Or so we thought…
Chapter 1: The First Year
- No alarm was needed to remind us to move Jingle. We could barely wait for the kid to fall asleep!
- There were so many choices of where to place Jingle! She could peak from the window, sail through the wind on a toilet paper swing or sleep soundly in a Kleenex box! Hooooray!
- When we got low on ideas, there was Pinterest – waiting to provide “1,001 Ways to Pose Your Elf on the Shelf”! AND lucky for us, you only had to spend 2 hours a night (not counting travel time to the craft store) with your hot glue gun, bag of chocolate chips, sewing machine, welder’s mask, soldering iron and eye of newt.
- Every morning, Vivian flung herself out of bed and with utter joy searched our home for Jingle. When she found her, she would have whole conversations with her and then regale us with what she thought Jingle was saying in response.
- The threat of Jingle telling Santa about bad behavior was enough to make Vivian hop to attention military-style and remain obedient for a day or two. Ahhh… parenting at its finest!
- I took pictures of every single spot where we found dear Jingle. Come Christmas morning, Vivian found a special note documenting the elf’s travels around our house now that she had returned to the North Pole.
Chapter 2: Every Year Since
- I set an alarm on my phone to remind me to move that MotherPucker. I turn the alarm off because inevitably I am in the middle of something when the alarm sounds. I finish the night’s chores, get all snug in my bed, await visions of sugar plums and… OH SHIT! I forgot to move that MotherPucker.
- There is not an inch of this house where that MotherPucker hasn’t sat its tiny felt ass. Some spots more than once.
- Pinterest is an asshole. And I don’t want to build an entire scaled scene from the Mesozoic era to incorporate that MotherPucker into an historically accurate lesson on tectonic plate shifting.
- It’s 6:30 am. I don’t want to look for that MotherPucker and frankly, Vivian isn’t all that thrilled at that MotherPucker’s antics either. Where the hell are you? We’ve got shit to do.
- The threat of that MotherPucker telling Santa about bad behavior makes little to no difference because… well… yeah, right.
- One of my Christmas miracles is getting to pack that MotherPucker back up and hide it in a closet for another year. PEACE.
It’s less than a week until that MotherPucker returns. I have zero new ideas and not much more inclination to think of any. BUT… I will move and hide that little shapeless shit, Jingle, every single Christmas of my life if that is what Vivian wants. If it makes her believe in magic and gives her faith, I will fill the house with Jingle’s entire genealogical line. Because that’s what matters. Her smile. Her happy.
Still. Jingle = MotherPucker