It’s that time again.
If you’re on Pinterest, you know.
If you’re on Facebook, your feed is soon to become littered with picture-perfect elven shenanigans.
You know…the Elf on a Shelf.
I must restrain my excitement to want to hurl the little bastard through the window.
Whatever do you mean? Isn’t he the SHEZAM?! Isn’t it FUN?!?!?!?!
No. No, he is not. And, no, no it is not.
And, I will tell you why:
I have two remaining brain cells. On most days it’s a godsend that I remember to pee. I came clean about the Tooth Fairy because I simply couldn’t keep up my parenting duties (after managing the Everything that is raising five kids to begin with) and remember to put the #$%#$ twoonie under the pillow.
Nix that. There was never an ”under the pillow”…there was a box.
Nix that. There was never a ”box”…there was a small Rubbermaid lunch container that contained their tiny, itty bitty, ”where the actual fuck IS it?” tooth that I’d sworn I would never trod upon another piece of LEGO whilst crossing the room in order to root around under their snoozing heads to no avail, ever goddamn well again.
*takes a breath*
Okay. So. Elf Dude of Nope.
I can’t. I maybe, kinda, sorta wanted to, but, frankly, the actual Elf dude creeps me the hell out. Shifty little beady eyes. Nope. Then there is the actual, deep-rooted issue: This shit stresses me the hell out.
Stresses. Me. Out.
Having to remember to not only move the goddamn beast every night…but also make him FUNNY? Do shit like get into the marshmallows and make himself some hot chocolate??
Dude. I put a hot chocolate Keurig pod in a machine in order to simply press a button. Why hell does HE get made-for-self hot chocolate? And, more importantly, who the hell is going to clean up the marshmallows? Will there even be any marshmallows?!?! The cats would most certainly use them for batting practice, thus annihilating the whole ridiculous scene and pissing me off, entirely.
Thus, enter Alfont: Elf of Mischief.
He moves whenever the hell he feels like it, and he does it throughout the year. There are elves in our traditional lore, and I think it was a genius (thank you, IKEA!) idea of mine to have procured something a little more…true to home.
And, in our home, Alfont does do some stuff… sometimes…with some things.
The kids knows he reports back to YuleFather…and it’s done on occasion. Throughout the year. True to form: be decent human beings all the year long.
Also? Simply because momma doesn’t have the friggin’ stamina to Martha Stewart crafty, picturesque scenarios with ribbon and marshmallows’n’shit. Truth be told, I’d probably put Elf into those adult situations with Barbie. Or, with Storm Troopers hanging him over the porcelain throne. Y’know, honest stuff. Little bastard.
So, I continue to be the Anti-Mother during the impending holiday season, I guess…I shun all things that require more than two brain cells-per-use…I’ve got shit to do and it ain’t trying to remember to move Alfont, or even any kind of Dude of Nope, on any regular or consistent basis. Of course, my older son helps…he’s up later. He loves it.
Whatever takes the already overwhelming pressure off of this chick. Just sayin’.
Feeling the pressure to conform to societal standards of motherhood??
Pop one of those pods into the Keurig, sister…because you most sure as shit aren’t alone in NOT needing to.