I was cornered by a group of 10 6-year-olds in identical blue Girl Scout uniforms.
“Why does your elf have no magic?” they all asked in unison, staring me down.
My own daughter stood off to the side, glaring at me with accusation. It was the last Daisy troop meeting of the year and the girls had discovered my Elf on the Shelf flopped on the kitchen counter looking neglected.
Either you already know all about the Elf on the Shelf, or else you live in a cave. The Elf is everywhere this season, from Amazon to Walmart to Kohl’s, and probably inside your house right now. He wears a red felt suit with a white pointed collar. His expression is a cross between “Aren’t I a cutie-pie?” and “Oops! I just farted.”
The way the Elf on the Shelf is supposed to work is that he spies on your children all day long. Then at night while everyone is asleep he flies back to the North Pole and reports to Santa Claus on your family’s activities.
George Orwell would be horrified. It’s like “1984” meets Christmas.
A big rule about the Elf on the Shelf is that children are not allowed to touch him or else he loses his magic. In the morning when the kids wake up, they search the house to find his new location. Some parents get really into it, and create elaborate scenes with the Elf making snow angels in powdered sugar or the Elf riding a toy reindeer.
My Girl Scout troop wanted to know why my Elf on the Shelf was cast aside next to the bananas. Had my daughter — gasp — touched the Elf when she wasn’t supposed to and ruined his magic?
Young Miss Bardsley was insulted. Her honor as a consummate rule-follower was at stake.
“No,” I explained. “My daughter didn’t do anything wrong. For some reason our Elf is a dud. He came to us with no magic.”
The truth was the only reason I bought our Elf was to post inappropriate pictures on Instagram. That wasn’t something I felt comfortable sharing with first-graders.
By the time the Daisies were gone my daughter was revved up. “Mom,” she pleaded. “You have to go on the Internet right now and find out how to fix our Elf!”
“OK,” I promised, inwardly scolding myself for leaving the Elf out in the open.
So now I’m stuck on the Elf-train with millions of other suckers. He’s perched on my shoulder watching my every move like a pint-sized Big Brother. The Elf’s getting back at me for not succumbing to Christmas consumerism earlier. I hear him whisper in my ear with his little elf-voice: “Buy me the coordinating elf-wardrobe or I’m telling Santa what you forced me to do with Barbie.”
Easy there, Elf-boy, or I’ll make you poop chocolate.
Jennifer Bardsley lives in Edmonds. Her book “Genesis Girl” is scheduled to be released in 2016. Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, Twitter @jennbardsley or at teachingmybabytoread.com.
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