Earlier this week, while I was putting the kids to bed after a long day at work and a hellish commute, my kindergartner chose a vulnerable moment to ambush me.
“Simone’s elf bought her tickets for Cinderella today,” she whined, her voice filled with righteous indignation.
“And yesterday, she and her brother got reindeer slippers.”
Next up, the question I’d been dreading since the day after Thanksgiving: “What’s our elf bringing me?”
For non-parents, people living under rocks, or those with children young or old enough to have not been initiated, “The Elf on the Shelf” is a wildly popular, one-foot-high felt doll, the eponymous hero of an accompanying picture book. It’s the brainchild of a family in Georgia who originally started selling the elf and its book at holiday trade shows. Now, more than 6 million of the $30 kits have been peddled in the US since its launch in 2005.
According to the rhyming story, the elf acts as a scout for Santa Claus, jaunting back and forth daily between the North Pole to report on children’s behavior and check whether they’re still on the nice list.
Every morning leading up to Christmas Eve, the creepy-looking spy resumes its watch from a different place in the house. (The whole “sitting on the shelf” element is misleading, because he doesn’t stay in the same spot.) Your little ones are supposed to be on their best behavior all month, bounding out of bed each day to take great delight in hunting for him in his new location.
Of course, the incentive to be good is tentative at best. After all, who’s going to be the Grinch who acts on Santa’s threat not to bring any gifts on Christmas?
Instead, during a season already packed with holiday shopping, work parties, and life-or-death events such as the class holiday breakfast, the wear-your-pajamas-to-school day, the gingerbread house-building festival, the mitten tree gala, and more, worn-out parents (read: mothers) now have another daily chore: Remembering to move the damn elf before the kids wake up at 6 a.m.
This was particularly challenging when we lived in a 600-square-foot Brooklyn apartment; there were only so many times our elf, known as Reginald (what can I say? I’m British), could “surprise” my kids by hiding in the ceiling fan, hanging from the blinds or peeking out of the cabinet.
Now that we’ve jumped ship to the suburbs, there are more spaces for the elf to hide, but that’s the least of my worries. As the cult of the elf has exploded over the last few years, a new breed of enthusiast has emerged to torment folks like me.
These alpha parents (Simone’s mom, are you reading this?) are pushing the envelope, having the elf deliver a Christmas-themed gift each morning — the more original, the better. News of the goodies spreads around the playground like wildfire, sparking a kind of envy and resentment which is hardly in keeping with the holiday spirit.
One day, someone’s precious little sprite will bring a Disney movie; the next, a pop-up book or new PJs for the whole family. It might even rustle up a plateful of chocolate cookies or Rice Krispie squares.
Says author and mom-of-two Jen Mann, whose acerbic blog “People I Want To Punch In The Throat” lampoons such parents: “I don’t doubt they love their kids, but why do they feel obliged to make every single day special and amazing?”
In the other corner, there’s creative types like Gina Bell, a former financial analyst who blogs at “East Coast Mommy” and who prides herself on the smart ideas she’s rolled out for her elf to entertain her three young sons.
“The day he arrived, he bought my boys a North Pole welcome breakfast,” she tells me, consisting of pancake mix with sprinkles, pastel-colored marshmallows and hot chocolate.
“I only have a short window of time when they’re going to believe in the Christmas magic. I might as well take advantage of it,” she says.
Great! The bar has been raised even higher, and remembering to move the cursed creature is the least of my worries this year. I now have to follow step-by-step instructions to plant magic elf seeds (sprinkles again) in bowls of sugar and replace them with lollipops the next morning.
Then there’s a whole camp of parents who find it fun to have their elf do naughty things like “undecorate” the tree, toast marshmallows over a candle or clean its teeth with the toilet brush. Some days it might barricade the cat flap with Christmas paper, or scrawl mustaches and beards on family photographs. What a scoundrel!
Of course, the whole elf trend is fueled and heightened by social media, with each morning’s puckish escapade posted to Facebook or Instagram to bring in the Likes and LOLs. Forget the kids — here, it’s parents trying to trump other parents’ stunts, competing over who can create the most enchanting and memorable holiday experience.
You can even download tutorials and calendars detailing specific daily tasks for your red-hatted friend to perform. One blog lists: “101 Fun Ideas To Do With Your Elf.” Sprinkle flour over the kitchen countertop so it can practice its snow angel technique! Rip up a cushion so it can have a pillow fight with feathers everywhere!
In other words, make a huge mess — on top of the one the kids create on a daily basis! — for the long-suffering adults to clean up. That’s exactly what I want to deal with before I bolt out the door to catch my train into the city.
Maybe this makes me a bad mother. Perhaps my children will be scarred for life. But while the other elves are knocking themselves out with creative confections and zany pranks, Reginald will be spending this December in a box in our garage, under a crate of vinyl records. I’m telling my kids that he — i.e., Mommy — needs a break this year.
But for all of you elfin over-achievers out there who love the little guy, you won’t have to wait until next holiday season to get your kicks. The good ol’ Elf now comes in a birthday edition — dressed as a cupcake.
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