No Elves on this Shelf

I can't think of a creepier concept than telling your kids that you've invited some big-headed, lanky

armed freaky thing into your house to stare at them...for Santa. It's bad enough that we threaten/bribe our kids all year long with a promise that some big, bearded guy won't crawl down the chimney in the middle of the night if they don't behave. Now we are adding the Elf on a Shelf.

If you notice, it's not even enough to hide him around the house. Now people have to  be creative. He takes selfies with kids' phones when they aren't looking. He has tea with Barbies.
 He even gets crazy with the baking supplies.

As creepy as the little guy..girl...creature is, the real reason I celebrate the fact that the Elf wasn't added to the list of holiday lies we tell our children until after mine were to old for it, is this-- Elf on a Shelf would have simply been one more Mom Fail for me.

Case in point: The Tooth Fairy

When I was a kid and I pulled a tooth, I placed it in the "tooth glass" (a.k.a Dad's shot glass) that was filled with water and put it on my nightstand. In the morning, without fail, the tooth would be gone and in its place would be a couple quarters or a 50 cent piece.

When my kids pulled their teeth, it usually took about 3 days for the busy, busy tooth fairy to finally get to our house. By that time, the Mom Fail guilt from a string of morning cries because "the Tooth Fairy forgot" had hit and a five dollar bill would miraculously appear under the pillow--for one tooth. At that rate of return, I'm surprised the kids weren't pull them left and right and gumming their food. Five bucks for one little molar! Geesh!

The Easter Bunny was only slightly better. The furry guy never forgot to leave a basket, but there was that one mishap when he left a trail of jelly beans. The kids never saw the trail, but the dog did. Cleaning up rainbow colored dog vomit isn't as fun as you might think.

If I had had to care for that creepy creature, I'm sure that at some point, the stress of adding one more Big Holiday Bribe/Threat would have shredded my last bit of sanity and the inevitable would have happened. Yes, the torturous treatment of the devilish elf. Buzz Lightyear to the Rescue, folks!

Here's the thing I don't get. I know folks with no little kids who are inviting this eerie little elf into their homes. Sometimes, when we don't have the sweet souls of three-year-olds to reign us in, the humor goes right down the toilet pretty fast. Just ask my brother-in-law whose youngest is 21. His day to take care of "Clyde" resulted in an ugly, ugly trip to the crapper.

So maybe I can think of something creepier than bribing our toddlers with mischievous, stalking doll.

Adults, Grown Up People, Parents of Teens and Older Children Everywhere, hear me roar: You are off the hook! You do not need to shelve your elves. It's your turn to smile and smirk at the tired parents of toddlers who awaken on Christmas morning after only 30 minutes of sleep and 10 hours of constructing playhouses and forts and train tracks and weeks of creatively displaying Clyde.  Kick up your heels, sit down and relax, celebrate. You've earned it.

Not a Creature...was doing anyting to help me!

It didn't happen until 5:00 pm Christmas Eve, but when it did happen, it went something like this:

ME (dropping kids of at their Dad's to get dressed for 6:00 mass): Now, did you guys get everything you need?

FRANK: Well, you were hurrying me so much that I didn't have time to find my shoes.

ME (exasperated): What? You don't have shoes to wear to church?

FRANK: It's not my fault. You were rushing me.

ME: It's never your fault. Fine, just let me go back and find them. And wrap the last minute gifts. And hang the garland. And make the coffee cake. And make the fudge. And everything else you guys expect to have done for Christmas. It will just be the first time ever in my life that I have to miss Christmas mass because I am making sure that everyone gets everything they need for Christmas. But don't worry about it. I'll find your shoes.

I didn't find the shoes. The fudge got made. The garland was hung. The coffee cake was delicious. I didn't miss mass. Christmas was not ruined. Everything happened just as it always does--including my annual Christmas Eve meltdown.

It happens every year--I force my expectations on everyone else and then get mad at them when they don't help me pull it all off. It really is my own fault. Here's an example: I bought a Christmas tree 3 days before Christmas. I went through a lot of trouble to get that tree. First, I had to find someone with a truck to come with me to get it. That someone had to be strong enough to help me carry it into the house and set it up in the tree stand. Then, I had to purchase decorations for it because all of my decorations were already hanging on the Christmas tree we'd set up three weeks ago. That's right, we already had a perfectly good tree with all of our traditional, beautiful decorations, including the hand-made tree skirt and angel topper set up in the family room.

So why did I go through the trouble of buying another one three days before Christmas when I still had gifts to wrap and cake to bake and garland to hang? Because I WANTED one! I guess I didn't have enough stress to ensure a decent meltdown. I wanted to add something more to my already overburdened schedule.

So I forged ahead with my idea for the most glamorous, glittery, gorgeous red and white tree ever decorated in the history of pre-holiday panic! I should have known better. Not even the tree could cooperate. She ended up looking more drunken saloon girl then glittery glamour.

If you read my Thanksgiving blog, you know that my best laid holiday plans never actually work out. I'm not over exaggerating. It took our holiday house guests only 24 hours to figure this out. In fact, I could only shake my head in appreciation that he "got it" when I saw this message on Twitter: "Enjoying a Christmas with my fiance's family. I see National Lampoon Christmas-esque in future."

I should know by now that the one holiday expectation that will always be fulfilled is chaos--noisy, raucous, hysterical, panicked, laugh-till-your-side-aches chaos.

In the end, the panic and melt-downs and sloppy trees were worth it. It didn't happen until about 5:00 on the day after Christmas, but when it did, it went something like this:

CARMEN: This was the best Christmas ever! Thanks, Mom!

Let There Be Light!

Let there be light!

Okay, so apparently my God complex needs a little work. No matter how many times I command it, nothing happens.

Up and down the block, gorgeous, festive Christmas lights adorn garland trimmed houses. And then there is my humble abode.

Several years ago when there was still a husband and money to pay someone to hang the darn things, there was light! (You thought I was going to say a husband to hang them? Hmmm...not so much. But the professionals he paid did a good job.) In my attic I still have the boxes and boxes and boxes of strands and strands and strands of bulbs. The little clips to help making hanging easier are even still attached. Awesome. No problem. I can do this.

First, however, I have to borrow a ladder. That went with the husband. So I call my wonderful neighbor who frequently takes pity on me. Then I need need a detangler. I call my wonderful son who also frequently takes pity on me. Neighbor provides the ladder. Son detangles the strands and makes sure they work. And he also reminds me of how I threw a big 3-year-old fit and stomped to death the strand that wouldn't light for me last year right there on the front porch for everyone to see. He shakes his head, still embarrassed. I straighten up and announce that it is moments like those, when witnessed by pitying neighbors, that help us obtain things like ladders. He doesn't get it.

So I'm up on the ladder, still having to reach on tip-toe having my son hand me clips and keep the light cord from wrapping itself around the ladder or me or the landscaping. He's a good little helper. Every few feet, we have to move the ladder. We get to the overgrown Rose-of- Sharon bush at the corner of the garage--the one that has harassed everyone for the last 6 months by extending its branches and grabbing hold of any person who dared try to use the sidewalk leading up to the house. Its a very territorial shrub. The ladder can't reach the garage. Rose-of-Sharon forbids it. I call my quite, yet secretly cunning and vengeful daughter. I hand her the pruning shears. She smiles!

In a mere 2 hours we finish our Christmas lighting project. My son and I have successfully strung two strands of lights across the sides and front of the garage. It's the only part of the roof low enough for us to reach, even with the ladder. We are very proud. There is light!

For 3 days.

Not sure what happened. Maybe its karma for the violent slaughtering of Rose-of-Sharon.

I have to laugh. I HAVE to! In such a short time I've gone from a professional holiday gala illuminating the night, complete with a giant nativity scene, shining candy canes lining the path, perfectly placed colorful bulbs blinking a Merry Christmas greeting to two burnt out strand of twinkle lights and a butchered bush. No wonder my neighbors take pity on me.

But I am laughing, which means I'm smiling. And that's the point of it after all, isn't it.

And if you are reading this and it brings to mind your own holiday disaster, please post it here so we know we aren't alone!

Merry Christmas!

--D