Elf on the Shelf Returns (Alternate title: How I Fail Elf on the Shelf Each Year)
Walt the Elf is back, ready to "watch" the kids and "report" back to Santa.
That's right. It's Elf on the Shelf time. Also known as "the four weeks of time during which I regularly jump out of bed at midnight - or 5 a.m. - and think: CRAP! I FORGOT TO MOVE THAT STUPID ELF!"
I really really dislike that elf.
You might remember last year when I blogged about my regular Elf on the Shelf failures. I'm not fairing much better this year.
The girls decided to read the "Elf on a Shelf" book Saturday night so that Walt could return from the North Pole (also known as the top shelf in my closet). I'll admit a small part of my soul died when I pulled Walt out from behind a pair of shoes I haven't worn in years. I really don't like Walt.
Look, I'm sure he's a good - although spectacularly creepy looking - elf. I just wish he could stay in one spot from now until Christmas Eve when I can throw him back in the Target bag in my closet. Because quite honestly, I never remember to move him anyway.
[It should be noted at this point that Olivia, who will be 10 in January, was the "elf instigator" this year. Which means she still believes in Santa. Which means I don't have to have THE TALK this year. This is the ONLY silver lining in the land of creepy elves right now.]
Back to Walt.
Saturday night I remembered to free him after the girls went to bed. I had zero motivation to do something "creative" with Walt. So I had him hang from the doors of my china cabinet. The girls had left him a note asking him to "not make a mess" - which really makes my job easier. This means I don't have to set up the whole "elf making a mess in the kitchen" scene.
Then on Sunday my girls inform me that Walt "moved" during the day. I know that this really means my darling husband found him on the floor and not remembering which cabinet door he had been on, simply hung him on the other door. This also means I had to quick make up a story about how Walt's arms probably got tired and he needed to move.
Note to self: Tell husband if elf falls to his death, just put him back in the same spot.
Sunday night I was all snug in my warm flannel sheets when I saw my sister's Facebook status that their elf was returning.
I forgot to move the elf.
I get out of bed, find the elf, and place him near some Christmas decorations in the family room. I made sure he was at "dog level" hoping that one of our old and slightly blind dogs would find him and eat him.
It didn't work.
Monday night....I go upstairs, ready for bed. Climb in bed.
CRAP. Stupid elf.
So I quietly "yell" downstairs and tell the husband to "move something" (code for "elf" in case little ears are listening). He hangs the elf from another cupboard door in the family room.
Yes, that's right. I have failed Elf on the Shelf on two out of the last three nights. I suck at this. The odds are never in my favor when it comes to the elf. And forget the whole "let's get really creative and have the elf hanging out in Barbie's dream house while plotting to take over the rest of the toys" scenario. It's not going to happen.
It will be a miracle if I remember to move the elf every night. Adding creativity to the mix is just a recipe for elf disaster.