Owned by an Elf

Every night my husband and I scramble to move Sparky, our beloved Christmas elf. He can't be too close to the ground, because then the small boy in the house will scoop him up and carry him off on one of his trucks. He can't be too close to water, or my son will drown the little fella. He has to be placed in a well-thought out location where the dogs can't reach him and where the kids can find him. And, when it comes to location, like everything in our house, the funnier, the better. This is not something we take lightly.



You see, my daughter is a believer. She believes in her elf. She believes in Santa and the Tooth Fairy and even her own personal fairy, Imogene. She writes letters to them and prays for them and leaves them snacks. I love this about her. I love her belief in magic and fairytales and angels. I love it, but it's owning me.

Owning. Me.

If I forget to move the elf, lies follow. "He must have been too tired to move." "Sparky must have really loved it there since he's been there for 3 nights!" When a tooth falls out or gets yanked, here we go again. "The Tooth Fairy must have forgotten to go the ATM since she didn't leave you any money." I'm writing notes and gluing glitter on things. I'm stashing things away so no one will find them and waking in the wee hours to pull off another magical moment. I'm hiding things, lying left and right, and scrambling to keep the magic alive. And, while it's a pain, it's so worth it.



When I became a parent, I knew that feeding, clothing, and housing the little sucker was part of the gig.  I didn't realize all the "extras" though. I had no idea I would go from one holiday to the next, trying to outdo the miracles of the one passed. Santa wrote a letter last year? This year he's sending emails and leaving voicemails. The Tooth Fairy draws pictures and leaves stuffed animals. And, when it's time to rid of a pacifier or go to bed earlier or ace a spelling test, our other fairy, Imogene, steps up with notes of praise. It's hard work, I tell ya. But, this, to me, might be one of the greatest gifts of parenting. Getting to experience the joys of life through your children... that's major. Tis the season for magic, folks. Ain't it grand?