Elf On The Shelf. Or The Lamp Shade. Or Wherever Else You Put Your Stupid Elf.

(This is a repeat performance post. But it still applies. Because I still hate that stupid elf.)

I have a friend. A dear friend who has an Elf On The Shelf. And an addiction to Facebook. During this time of year, I find that combination to be deadly.

To my ego.

Every other day she has a post of the clever places they find their Elf every morning. Along with clever little tag lines.

Example #1 – Hiding in a lamp, with just his little hat peeking out. “Should we tell him his hat is giving him away? Or just leave him in the dark?”

Example #2 – In a large empty jar with lid tightly closed. “Oops. Looks like Elf has found himself in a pickle.”

Example #3 – Hiding deep inside the Christmas tree. “Can’t see the Elf for the tree.”

I could go on. But I won’t. It depresses me too much.

Quite honestly, I had never heard of Elf On The Shelf until we moved to this subdivision. My rudimentary research discovers that his concept is old. But his commercial phenomenon is recent. Apparently, the Elf is a spy for Santa Claus. He sneaks away every night once the family is tucked in, files his report with Santa and then returns by daylight, always in a new spot and typically up to some mischief of his own.

Oh. Yeah. Like I need one more Christmas chore to add to my list.

So, like any sane mother, I reject this holiday hobgoblin. My days are chock full of cookie baking, present wrapping, mantel dressing and shopping, cooking and a little more shopping. Who has time for 25 days of elfin mischief to create?

A lot of moms, apparently.

So many, that now, my children have been exposed to the little guy. And they want to know how Santa knows if they’re naughty or nice.

Santa peeks in on you himself. You boys are two of his favorites.

Cue eye rolls and exasperated sighs.

“Mom. Really? Because Nick’s Elf left him candy canes. Santa doesn’t leave us candy canes after he checks up on us.”

He saves that for Christmas Day. He knows about your last dentist appointment.

“If the leprechauns can visit us how come we don’t have an elf visit?”

I repeat the “Santa’s favorite” response. To no avail.

“Well, Sydney’s Elf bakes her cupcakes and cleans up her room.”

Hey! I bake you cupcakes and clean up your room.

“It’s not the same, Mom!”


It’s not.

Stupid Elf.


Filed under Holiday

7 responses to “Elf On The Shelf. Or The Lamp Shade. Or Wherever Else You Put Your Stupid Elf.

  1. Our elf is named (oddly) Steve. I forget to move him every day and am constantly reminded of my failure as a parent.

  2. I hear a lot of moms with the same sentiment regarding the Elf. I don’t understand all this hating on the Elf. We have an elf, but we don’t take tons of pictures, mostly because he doesn’t move. It’s just what you make of it. It’s fun! Too many folks look at the holidays as a chore. If it’s not fun & just looked at as work then don’t worry about it.

    And OMG. Very clever little elf game, but my brain hurts just thinking about having to come up with all that…

  4. Amen. I work. Some. And with everything else to do, like I’m going to move an elf around and creatively come up with tricks? Ha! If I had that imagination I’d be much more entertained on a daily basis.

  5. Hilarious. It never ceases to amaze me the new ways suburban moms come up with to punish themselves. As if Christmas hadn’t already turned into an additional part time job, now we have to have this freakin elf alter ego doing all kinds of clever things. No thanks.

  6. I have nothing but venom for this tradition, but I will try to write my objections calmly, for the elf is not your fault.

    I despise the lies parents tell their children in December to coerce behavior. Despise. Hate. I think it’s terrible to tell children they won’t get presents if they’re bad. Either do Christmas presents or don’t, but don’t tie them to compliance. It’s a rough month to be a kid, with confusing rituals, tons of sugar, frenetic parents, and excited kids. Of course children misbehave. They do it all year. Teach them, don’t threaten them.

    And adding a ridiculous chore to my list every night just to compete with privileged housewives? Close your eyes, Jane: F*ck No.

    I want my children to have happy memories. We make crafts together. We bake together. We bring toys to the animal shelter and clothes to the homeless shelter together. We go to the store and buy as much prepared food as we can and fill the barrel for the food bank.

    That’s our memory of magic and joy and charity. Because Santa was about giving to the needy. He started as a reminder to charity. Not a punishment to parents and children alike.

    Close your eyes again, Jane. F*ck the elf and f*ck all the people who have turned this b.s. into a competition.

    Sorry, Jane. I didn’t manage the civility I promised. Good thing there’s no creepy little doll watching me to rat me out to a vindictive and fictional fat man.

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