Our elves have been busy little guys. And, okay, so I have to give a huge shout out to my husband because he has been on the ball with these creatures. Many a night I have found myself sound asleep with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head before it ever crosses my mind to make sure the elves aren't found in the exact same spot they were occupying the day before. But Troy has stepped up to the plate and hit one out of the park on several occasions. He's totally our Elf MVP.
The boys' room is decorated with a plane and helicopter theme. There are old helicopter instruments up on a shelf over their dresser. On this particular day, Garrett was getting something down and somehow hit something which made the elf take a face plant. He FUH-REE-KED out. Tears were spilling off his cheeks as he begged me to gently pick up the elf and return him to his spot. "Please, Finn! Don't disappear!" he chanted through tears while I stood Finn back up. Matthew's elf joined one of our nativity scenes as the fourth--and lesser known--wise man.
Apparently it got cold because one elf was found sleeping in the spoon rest, bundled up and the other was waiting for a cup of java to warm his chilled bones. (Or, rather, his plastic face and stuffed felt body.)
So, once upon a time, we had a white elephant gift exchange. One individual received a huge box of rejected Christmas decorations. Then, because she didn't want them, she left them at our house. We got rid of each and every one of them except the ceramic reindeer featured above. It's been glued back together in places and is kind of ugly as sin but we had a total Velveteen Rabbit meets Woody from Toy Story moment with him and couldn't bear to throw him out. Every year I consider getting rid of him and every year I can't bring myself to do it. I don't know who he belonged to before or how many owners he's had, but he's ours now.
My Grandma made the penguin and skiing Santa in the above picture--along with many of my other decorations and probably a quarter of my Christmas ornaments. I always miss my Grandma most at Christmastime. As I unwrap the things she crafted and look at the initials BB carved into each one, I can almost hear her laugh ring out and I wish I was small enough--and that she was alive enough-- for me to crawl up onto her lap and eat string cheese. It might be why I keep a steady flow of string cheese in my own refrigerator despite the fact that it is not cheap.
I hang our Christmas cards up on a long piece of twine every year and, one day, the elf had clipped himself up with them. When we got the cards in the mail that day, I stood to attach them. "HE'S GONNA FALL! DON'T DO THAT RIGHT NOW! GET DOWN!" came a panicked voice from the other room. Good grief. I think a certain six-year-old is taking this way too seriously. I wanted to have all the fun in the world with him this year because I was pretty sure this would be the last year he believed in Santa but then my friend informed me that she didn't figure it out until she was twelve. TWELVE, people! As in ONE YEAR OLDER THAN ELEVEN. AS IN SIX YEARS FROM NOW. AS IN I tell you what, I am not going to have my kid freaking out every time I get within three feet of these things for another six years.
So. Last night the elves (or at least one of them) toilet papered our Christmas tree after I'd fallen asleep. I drove past my window today when I took Garrett to school and, oh my, we look like the town crazy people who used bathroom tissue instead of garland on our tree. But man, the boys sure thought it was the funniest thing they'd done yet.
Four days left.
Unless the Mayans were right. I think I speak for Elf on the Shelf mothers everywhere when I say that it wouldn't be the worst thing if the world ended and we could stop moving elves.
Except, who I am kidding, Troy has single handedly kept this entire operation alive.