Last year I started the Elf on the Shelf tradition in our family. For those of you unfamiliar with this holiday tradition, here is a brief description:
The Elf on the Shelf: A Christmas Tradition is an activity the entire family will enjoy. Based on the tradition Carol Aebersold began with her family in the 1970s, this cleverly rhymed children’s book explains that Santa knows who is naughty and/or nice because he sends a scout elf to every home. The elf watches the children’s behavior and reports it back to Santa each night. By morning the elf returns to its assigned home and hides in a different location, allowing the children to play a delightful hide-and-seek game. Children are instructed not to touch their elf, who may lose his magic powers if touched, thus becoming unable to fly to the North Pole that night and return to a new location.
Sounds cute, right? Well, in my Bad Mom home I have forgotten to move the darn elf for three nights in a row. And they hadn’t touched him so he was supposed to have flown up to Santa and returned in a new location. Two of the 3 mornings I hastily made Chad move the elf while I distracted the kids. Yesterday, though, I was saved inadvertently by my son.
We pulled up to the house at 5 pm. “I wonder where our elf is today!” were the first words out of Sydney’s mouth.
Yikes! My heart raced. I’d forgotten to move the stupid elf again.
“Uh, yes, I wonder where he could be,” I mumbled.
Will, 7, spoke up from the backseat. “Remember I was bad yesterday so he didn’t move. He wouldn’t fly up to Santa because I was bad.”
“Yup, yup, that’s right, he didn’t move ’cause Will was bad,” I said. “Sorry. Maybe tomorrow if you’re good!”
Only I would let my 7-year-old take the fall for a silly Elf on a Shelf who didn’t move!
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