Several nights before Christmas, all through my house, there were many creatures a stirring, but not a mouse! Thank goodness!
However, Houston, we had a merging of the mystics!
See, here’s how it went down. We have, for the past three years, had visits from an Elf on the Shelf. The Elf, as some of you may know, tends to make his annual appearance sometime around or after Thanksgiving. He’s a spy for Santa, that “magically moves” every night, from random shelf to random shelf, carefully observing the behavior of all children in a household. If kids act up, he’s sure to be texting Santa on his cell, which must be hidden somewhere secretly in one of his back pockets.
Sometimes you might get an Elf on the Shelf who just quietly sits and observes the children in the house being bad or good; but sometimes you might get the mischievous kind that decides to “tp” your Christmas tree, or vertically stack toys on people’s chairs, for example. If you’ve got multiple kids, then sometimes, Santa sends an Elf team, and boy, then you have your work cut out for you. Most elves, from what I hear, move in tandem, while others, may choose separate locations each evening.
My friend Nichole Monteagudo, has a team of elves (plus one official North Pole-ian reindeer) at her house, that have been known to go on midnight goldfish cracker fishing expeditions, draw Rudolph noses on family photos, have packing peanut snowball fights, and, they are the original instigators who first toilet-papered the now famous Wisconsin Christmas trees, whose act was soon to be duplicated by elves all over the Eastern seaboard.
When the kids wake up every morning, they try to find the elf (or elves). It’s this game that makes the days (and nights) leading up to Christmas seem, well. . .the longest, ever.
There is a rule with the Elf on the Shelf. No one must ever, ever, under any circumstances touch your Elf on the Shelf. If you do, he loses his magic; and then, you are really in trouble. I don’t know how you’d get off of Santa’s naughty list at that point. You might very well be doomed and resign yourself as the recipient for some designer coal for Christmas.
This year, our elf, got in trouble. He forgot to move one night! Gasp! I surmised that he probably fell asleep and didn’t have the chance to move before morning. I don’t know how I thought up that reasoning at 6am before school and coffee, but thankfully I did. Since then, I have taken heed to a friend’s suggestion and set my cell phone alarm to go off at the same time each evening, reminding me that I better move Mr. Elf, or else.
As if the Elf on the Shelf was not enough to remember each night in December, my daughter, reported that she had lost a tooth on December 17th. You know what that meant. Well, yes, we had a convergence of the magical kind: The Tooth Fairy vs. The Elf on the Shelf, now featured at theaters near you.
Or at least, I was hoping would be featured prominently in my mind later that evening as I waited the appropriate 45 minutes and 3 seconds to be sure that my daughter was sound enough asleep before attempting to gently turn the knob on her bedroom door while holding my breath, because you know, holding your breath causes doors to squeak less upon opening them. Yes, it’s a well-known scientific fact: holding your breath causes you to be soundless.
Hey, don’t argue with me—I’m a mother!
I figured, since I had to break into her bedroom to help the Tooth Fairy, of course, I might as well kill two birds with one stone. See, our Elf on the Shelf had been just about everywhere in our house except for Manda’s room. This could be partly because I had scolded him in advance saying that he should probably not enter while she is sleeping because if she catches him making his move, his jig is up; and I kind of want his jig to last a few more years, if possible.
I crawled on the floor, with an Elf wedged under my arm, and coins in my hand, in case Manda opened her eyes, so she wouldn’t see me, or the elf, hovering above her bed. Thankfully, her room is lit well enough by the heat lamps for Lizzy the gecko, so I don’t have to worry about crashing into random furniture in complete darkness. With quarters poised between my fingers, I slowly stole her tooth from the tooth fairy pillow situated on her night table, and tried not to clink the change together which filled the void in the pocket. Even the sound of my breathing seemed extraordinarily loud at this point. (Note to self: Have a serious talk with the Tooth Fairy about changing her policy of taking teeth left in the bedrooms of children. I mean, can’t she be just as efficient, if not moreso if she did a fly-by in the kitchen or living room instead?)
Then the darn cat snuck in the room and she made more noise than an 18 wheeler doing 90mph down a one lane street with 64 potholes!
As I threw “Elfie” under Manda’s bed, and plastered myself flat to the floor, in case Manda opened her eyes and caught me scoping out her rug on all fours while she was supposed to be sleeping, I realized if I kept holding my breath I may pass out; and that would seriously derail my master plan at hand.
I guess after what seemed like an hour, the cat got bored and exited the bedroom. With Mission Impossible background music playing in my head, I rose up and skillfully threw Elfie up on one of the top bookshelves before making my exit. I closed the door and mentally patted myself on the back. Mission completed.
Was it all worth it? Well, yes. You see, the next morning Manda then wondered if the Elf on the Shelf saw the Tooth Fairy come by that night. All sorts of questions arose: “Were the Elfie and the Tooth Fairy friends?”, “Who left the quarters?”, “Why don’t they make North Pole quarters if they make them for all of the states and some islands?”
Meanwhile, I was thankful that Santa didn’t have to sneak down the chimney that very same night as well. And this experience left me wondering, why have mystical creatures multiplied since I was a kid? Oh yes, they have. Next week’s topic: The Switch Witch…….[insert evil laugh here]