this guy is going to be the death of me. and yes, that is a bag of miniature chocolates i have in my refrigerator for emergencies. don't judge me.
the holidays are hard. christmas presents. school concerts. decorating the house. cookie swaps (which necessitate cookie ingredient shopping, cookie baking, cookie sampling). and then impromptu holiday get togethers in your house (last night) that last five hours and total 3,895 calories of oreo mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwich ingestion. it's hard. but what's harder than all that: the post-party hour of washing bowls and wine glasses and sweeping up the tortilla chips your ravenous children manage to crunch into every crack of your hard wood floor is the f*cking elf. whyyyyyy?? why did america give us one more thing to remember in a month where there is already SO MUCH TO REMEMBER?!?
i can't even.
my husband used to manage the elf. and that's to say, i had to try and remember to remind him every night (sorry, not to throw you under the bus butttt, #iftheshoefits). that was fruitless. our kids would race downstairs every morning and come back up whining that our elf hadn't moved. cripes. i would come up with some half baked explanation blaming, perhaps, their naughty behavior or unwillingness to clean their room the day before on his immobility. but the bottom line is, they always thought our elf a little lazy and a little challenged because, somehow, he just ended up in the same spot night after night after night.
so this year i vowed would be different. our elf was going to kill it in 2018. in a year when i couldn't possibly manage another thing, i pledged to myself our elf would be: the fun elf this year. and damn it if i didn't start december off with a bang. cherry the elf made cookies. he got into a tussle with the scotch tape dispenser and adhered himself to a kitchen window. i. was. on. a. ROLL. and then last night happened. the party and the clean up and my resolve was shot to sh*t. i got up in the middle of the night to ponder how the hell i was going to manage life as a single mom pretty soon and suddenly i remembered! sh*t! i didn't move cherry!!
i hustled downstairs, grabbed the elf and scoped the joint out. where? i couldn't come up with a single, damn creative thought (in my defense, it was 2:45am). stumped, i opened the fridge and jammed him into the bag of emergency, feel-better-for-yelling-at-kids-for-the-seventy-third-time-today, mini treats i have on hand. it was weak, it was unimaginative, it was pathetic really, but it was all i had in my tank. elf grade for the day: D-. so be it.
the moral of the story is ENOUGH. something is better than nothing and i am not going to compare myself to the freakin' lists on pinterest of people who CLEARLLLLY have more time and imagination than i do. it is what it is kids and if you don't like it, than cherry can fly back to the north pole and tell santa what a loser he is for not being a more fun elf like your friend's tiny little red fairies. i only have so many shits to give, and this one ain't getting one.
let loose today and leave your elf in the same spot. teach these kids that life is full of disappointments and it's all going to work out in the end. and then order up some ass-kicking buffalo chicken fingers and crispy fries to dispense with your sadness. it's the holidays after all. we are all allowed a little indulgence.