Those (blanking) elves

If you had offspring any time after 2005, you’ve probably experienced this same moment on any given evening in early to mid-December.

Picture it: Ma in her kerchief and Pa in his cap have just settled in for a long winter’s nap. When Pa sighs and says to Ma, “Did you remember to move the (blanking) elves?”

“No, f*ck! Will you please do it?” she whines. “I’m so tired.”

Who moved it last is reviewed, negotiations are made and either Ma or Pa wanders into the darkness to make it look like one or more creepy dolls wearing red unitards has just arrived back from the North Pole where they ratted out your children to Santa.

I received my son’s elf as a baby gift before he was even born. The dear soul who gave it to me just gushed about the whole process. You see, instead of these little helpers being viewed as snitches who should get stitches, these special friends would help keep your child on the straight and narrow throughout the holiday season by giving the jolly fat man a report on your child’s behavior each day. Could extortion be any more precious? And it gets better, as you can position them in such a way where they look like they are also being a little naughty or sneaky or even making a bit of a mess. And the kids will just love it.

“You are going to love it,” the dear soul assured.

And my pregnant self began fantasizing all about this and could not wait to start this special tradition with the child I was still baking. Of course, it would take around three years for him to even have some basic understanding of the process, but once he did, he named ours Kernel, not Colonel. I don’t know why.

In the beginning, Kernel did amazing things. He would take ornaments off the tree, make snow angels in flour and poop Hershey’s Kisses. When my daughter came along, he spent a lot of time in the Barbie DreamHouse and riding around in her Corvette. I have not gotten the paternity test back yet, but there’s a good chance he may be Skipper’s father. She has his eyes. Just sayin’.

Once my daughter heard one of her friends had a “girl elf,” sharing Kernel with her brother would no longer do, so Sparkel came into our lives a few years later. Yes, that’s how we spell it. I don’t know why.

Anyway, as the kids got older and the parents got less motivated and creating this “magic” became more of a chore, the elves stopped doing spectacular things and simply just started moving around the house.

This seemed to be just fine with our kids. Last Christmas, my oldest had already stopped believing in Santa and his helpers, and even the youngest, who really, really, really wanted to believe, had her doubts.

 “If Santa and the elves made this, why does it say ‘Made in China’ on this box?” she questioned. I mean, even Santa has to outsource, sometimes, Honey. 

So even though I was really sad that there may not be any more magical Christmas mornings in our household, I thought when I put Kernel and Sparkel up last year, we also might not have to see them again until grandkids started showing up. I wasn’t as sad about that.

As we were putting up the tree this year, Anders took on the role of Kernel and ratted his sister out to me, “Ellen told me she doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, but she is just going to pretend to get more presents.”

So when she started talking about her list for Santa, I pressed her on this.

“I thought I heard you didn’t believe in Santa anymore,” I said.

The fourth-grade princess categorically denied the allegations levied against her. And in convincing fashion.

And once I really started thinking about just how depressing it would be when Santa does go away once and for all, I decided to “believe” too … in her lies. Two can play this game.

Our elves always show up the morning after our tree goes up ​​— because that’s when Santa sees the lights from our tree and knows we are ready to start celebrating … and also when they get unpacked with the rest of our decorations.

Ellen finished telling me her list for the mythical man she TOTALLY believes in and she said, “I can’t wait to see Sparkel and Kernel!” She even wrote a note to them and set up a little throne she had crafted using the trunk of the Christmas tree we had cut off. Well played, little liar.

Ugh, I thought. Can’t we both just pretend to believe in Santa and not do the stupid elves this year?

But thinking about how this probably really would be our last year with Sparkel and Skipper’s birth father, I decided to really embrace it. If we are going to continue with this charade, we might as well go all the way.

But there was just one problem — the elves were nowhere to be found. Not in the boxes they came in, not thrown in with the lights or ornaments and not Netflixin’ and chillin’ with the few Barbies we have left.

I started searching my brain. I did throw them somewhere really weird on Christmas morning last year at the last minute (didn’t I?) because they were still out, and you know they are supposed to go back up to the North Pole with Santa. Can’t screw that up.

But where?

I searched high and low and in every closet and all of my usual hiding spots and nothing. Amber Alerts were issued. No tips came in.

The night before they were supposed to arrive, my husband and I officially called off the search. We agreed to just go buy new ones and lie to the kids about why they were late. We’ve been lying to them about this stuff their entire childhoods, why stop now?

But the thought of new elves pained me. Kernel and Sparkel are part of our family. They both had stains from back in the day when they were really mischievous and made 3- and 5-year-olds giggle. Kernel’s hat no longer stayed on (we blame Barbie) and Sparkel had a bow that was once Ellen’s attached to hers. 

They were irreplaceable.

Dismayed, Ma in her kerchief could not get any semblance of a winter’s nap, as she tried to remember where she threw Sparkel and that other chap.

And just before her head almost exploded from the pressure, she had just the slightest glimpse of them sitting in an old dresser. When she arose from bed at 3 a.m. with a clatter, Pa looked at her and said, “What in the hell is the matter?”

“I just remembered where I put the elves!”

A hallelujah chorus broke out. It was a Christmas miracle!

Kernel and Sparkel took their rightful places on their Frazier fir throne and all was right with our pretend world again.

The elves did amazing things the first few nights, just as they did when we were all a little younger and brighter.

But by about day five, Ma rolled over to Pa, and said, “Did you remember to move the (blanking) elves?”

“F*ck,” said Pa with a sigh. 

“I’ll go do it,” he said, as he stumbled into the kitchen on that December night.