Fred and his Festive...ahem...Magic
When Owen was a blob, just a slobbery, wriggly infant happy to lie on the floor and stare at a light fixture, I discovered that I was a terrible mother because I'd overlooked the 'must-have' toy for his age group. "He doesn't have a Sophie?!" a girlfriend gasped with concern. A glorified dog toy at a whopping $20, it even made a pathetic squeak not unlike Berkley's toy bone. Ah, but Sophie is crafted with love in some ramshackle French factory. A beautiful giraffe hand painted with healthy, non-toxic, vegetable based paints sure to nourish your growing blob while he gums sweet Sophie's face off. I knew I was a sucker for the hype as I placed it in my shopping cart. I knew I was a dork when I put it on the cashier's conveyor belt and handed her my debit card. I felt like a schmuck when I put it in the car and brought it home, but I couldn't have the rest of the mamas at our "mommy & music" playgroup see that poor Owen was going without. He didn't even take to it. In Sophie's defense, Simon absolutely loved it when he came along 3 years later so maybe she earned her pricetag after all, though I may never understand the popularity.
It's been almost six years (and two more kids) since I bought Sophie and I like to tell myself that I'm less of a sucker for hype-except that I'm totally not. Clearly, I've learned nothing. Tim and I agreed that the latest rage, this 'Elf-on-the-Shelf' doll is lame. It's overpriced for what it is-a scrap of red felt and a golf-ball sized doll head. It's cute enough, I guess, but the notion of a tiny, magical spy ratting us out to Santa on a daily basis never inspired us to race out and offer one a home. We were doing well at avoiding the whole fad until Owen came home from school one day, looked up at me with his sad, dark eyes and said "I wish we had an elf-on-the-shelf. All my friends have one and it's so much fun!". Oh no! He's missing out on something! He's being deprived of something! He's not experiencing the festive magic, damn it! I can't have this! Yes, I was pooched. Lucky for us, a friend happened to have a brand-spanking new elf (she wasn't sure about the trend either) and she allowed us to give him a new home. With a thankful and excited heart, I posed the elf with a bowl of cheerios and a happy note (I left out the spying stuff so our elf wouldn't seem like a douchebag) before I crawled into bed.
The next morning, Owen was thrilled to find his new friend and excited to name him. Five year-olds aren't overly creative so we had to delicately encourage him to think beyond his initial choice of 'Elfie'. This new buddy might come back year after year, so we should put some real thought into his name. At the end of the day, Owen had settled on 'Fred'. Hours after the kids were in bed and we had demolished an Indian take-out and two episodes of 'Sons of Anarchy', we were ready to collapse. We were just about to make our way up to bed when we spotted the cute little punk, in need of a new spot to cleverly pose in.
Tim: Crap. The Elf. Where are you gonna put him?
Me: Uggggh...I dunno. I'll put the dishes in the dishwasher, you find a spot for him.
Tim: Whaa?? I don't have any ideas. I'm at work all day, I'm focused on other things. You're at home. You should move him.
Me: I'm at home? What do you mean by that? You think I sit around all day plotting Fred's next move?! Are you suggesting that while you're at your super important job, doing suuuuuuper important hospital shit that I'm just here hanging out with Fred? You think I want to be solely responsible for Fred's behaviour?
Tim: Say "suuuuuuper" again, you sounded ridiculous.
I grabbed Fred. He's lucky he's made of felt and stuffing otherwise I'd have busted his femur and plopped him onto the light fixture over our kitchen table. Figured he needed a tan.
Me: "Tada!! Thank God I'm here to handle such suuuuuuuper important tasks".
And thank God Fred's here to share this festive f**king magic with us. Here's to the Elf-on-the-Shelf and Carol Whatshername, who's become a billionaire by convincing children around the world that they're being spied on. Mamas, please keep posting pics of your elves shenanigans on Facebook, I'm a lazy cheater and will shamelessly copy you because this 1oz scrap of red felt is bringing genuine happiness to my kid each morning.
Hey, Carol Thingamajig-well done, lady. Kudos.
It's been almost six years (and two more kids) since I bought Sophie and I like to tell myself that I'm less of a sucker for hype-except that I'm totally not. Clearly, I've learned nothing. Tim and I agreed that the latest rage, this 'Elf-on-the-Shelf' doll is lame. It's overpriced for what it is-a scrap of red felt and a golf-ball sized doll head. It's cute enough, I guess, but the notion of a tiny, magical spy ratting us out to Santa on a daily basis never inspired us to race out and offer one a home. We were doing well at avoiding the whole fad until Owen came home from school one day, looked up at me with his sad, dark eyes and said "I wish we had an elf-on-the-shelf. All my friends have one and it's so much fun!". Oh no! He's missing out on something! He's being deprived of something! He's not experiencing the festive magic, damn it! I can't have this! Yes, I was pooched. Lucky for us, a friend happened to have a brand-spanking new elf (she wasn't sure about the trend either) and she allowed us to give him a new home. With a thankful and excited heart, I posed the elf with a bowl of cheerios and a happy note (I left out the spying stuff so our elf wouldn't seem like a douchebag) before I crawled into bed.
The next morning, Owen was thrilled to find his new friend and excited to name him. Five year-olds aren't overly creative so we had to delicately encourage him to think beyond his initial choice of 'Elfie'. This new buddy might come back year after year, so we should put some real thought into his name. At the end of the day, Owen had settled on 'Fred'. Hours after the kids were in bed and we had demolished an Indian take-out and two episodes of 'Sons of Anarchy', we were ready to collapse. We were just about to make our way up to bed when we spotted the cute little punk, in need of a new spot to cleverly pose in.
Tim: Crap. The Elf. Where are you gonna put him?
Me: Uggggh...I dunno. I'll put the dishes in the dishwasher, you find a spot for him.
Tim: Whaa?? I don't have any ideas. I'm at work all day, I'm focused on other things. You're at home. You should move him.
Me: I'm at home? What do you mean by that? You think I sit around all day plotting Fred's next move?! Are you suggesting that while you're at your super important job, doing suuuuuuper important hospital shit that I'm just here hanging out with Fred? You think I want to be solely responsible for Fred's behaviour?
Tim: Say "suuuuuuper" again, you sounded ridiculous.
I grabbed Fred. He's lucky he's made of felt and stuffing otherwise I'd have busted his femur and plopped him onto the light fixture over our kitchen table. Figured he needed a tan.
Me: "Tada!! Thank God I'm here to handle such suuuuuuuper important tasks".
And thank God Fred's here to share this festive f**king magic with us. Here's to the Elf-on-the-Shelf and Carol Whatshername, who's become a billionaire by convincing children around the world that they're being spied on. Mamas, please keep posting pics of your elves shenanigans on Facebook, I'm a lazy cheater and will shamelessly copy you because this 1oz scrap of red felt is bringing genuine happiness to my kid each morning.
Hey, Carol Thingamajig-well done, lady. Kudos.
I'm soooo not looking forward to the day that Littleton comes home from school with one of these others-have-it-why-don't-I issues. It's inevitable I guess.
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