I was nestled all snug in my bed again last night, about to drift off to much-needed sleep, when it hit me: Oh, sh–! I forgot to move the elf.

Covers off. Slippers on. Back downstairs to reluctantly make merry mischief.

Many of you have been there. Every one of you who has an Elf on the Shelf, aka, Santa’s Narc. My kids named ours Elfy (clever, right?), but when they’re out of earshot, I call him the same thing all parents call theirs…

The Little Bastard. As in, ‘Oh, sh–! I forgot to move the little bastard!’

With Christmas looming close, elfmania is in full effect around here. My daughter has been busy making the little ba–, I mean guy, all kinds of accessories from paper hats and rainbow loom belts to a tiny jingle bell necklace crafted out of a broken earring. She even sewed the freeloader a blanket and pillow. And of course these trinkets are expected to accompany Elfy wherever he goes.

I was nestled all snug in my bed again last night, about to drift off to much-needed sleep, when it hit me: Oh, sh–! I forgot to move the elf.

Covers off. Slippers on. Back downstairs to reluctantly make merry mischief.

Many of you have been there. Every one of you who has an Elf on the Shelf, aka, Santa’s Narc. My kids named ours Elfy (clever, right?), but when they’re out of earshot, I call him the same thing all parents call theirs…

The Little Bastard. As in, ‘Oh, sh–! I forgot to move the little bastard!’

With Christmas looming close, elfmania is in full effect around here. My daughter has been busy making the little ba–, I mean guy, all kinds of accessories from paper hats and rainbow loom belts to a tiny jingle bell necklace crafted out of a broken earring. She even sewed the freeloader a blanket and pillow. And of course these trinkets are expected to accompany Elfy wherever he goes.

So, understandably, the pressure for me to keep the tradition going is great. But on nights like last, after a cocktail or three, when I’m half asleep, there are several places I would love to stick him. Number one being the fireplace. Can you imagine? The kids waking up to find the remnants of Elfy’s pointy hat sticking out among the ashes, his little plastic face melted to the fireplace’s glass door. I imagine his expression would look much like that of Edward Munch’s The Scream.One could only hope.

Other satisfying ‘hiding’ spots include:

• underneath my car tire covered in skid marks
• frozen in a block of ice
• stuck halfway down the garbage incinerator, complete with his legs chopped to shreds

And, don’t forget pureed in the blender. Just for fun, maybe I could turn him into an Elfy smoothie. If I wasn’t afraid of being voted the world’s worst parent, I would be all over that one. With peppermint swizzle sticks and chocolate shavings on top.

At the start of the season, I thought I’d found a new accomplice in elf relocation, my eleven year-old son. The Duke let me know that he thought Santa was a fraud, and oh, by the way, our elf’s just one big sham too. I was heartbroken, but also hopeful, and hinted that maybe now he could help make elf magic. He seemed to embrace the idea, and I had visions of him hanging Elfy from a parachute over a Lego battlefield, posing him with scissors and a ream of paper snowflakes, and all those other Pinterest fueled play scenes I personally lacked the energy to create.

I waited the first night and the next for the Duke to get in on the fun, but no such luck. Much like when I ask him to unload the dishwasher or put his laundry away, it was as if the conversation never happened.

Then another interesting opportunity arose. My daughter wrote Elfy a letter asking Santa to bring an Elf on the Shelf to her class and my first thought was Heck No. I want Bean to be happy with what she has and stop asking for more. Plus, could I really do that to the poor teacher, giving her one more little hooligan to have to deal with on a daily basis? It’s bad enough she has to endure lockdowns and head lice. I wouldn’t wish that elf pain on my worst enemy.

But, on second thought…Bean is about to turn nine. Her days of believing are numbered, and with her know-it-all older brothers hovering close, the truth will probably come out sooner than later. Why not embrace the Elf thing a little while longer? (And give her a reason to want to go to school!) Plus, that would totally take the pressure off me, right? Who cares if Elfy hasn’t moved in a week–the classroom elf would surely be more fun. After all, Bean’s teacher could move him in the morning before the kids came in, with a fresh cup of coffee for inspiration.

So I caved and secretly donated an elf to her class. The kids named her Peppermint Bell. And as predicted, she’s been a big hit, popping up amidst the books, hiding in cubbies, she even brought all the kids candy canes–the full size ones. I know!

I oughta be on easy street, no need to rock elf miracles at home. But dangit, all that elf-fuss at school has only made me feel guilty about my own lack of ‘elfort’. These may be the last 12 days I ever have to move Elfy in my life. Would it really kill me to step up my game?

So last night I did this:

And tonight he’ll be here:

I’m even thinking tomorrow I’ll cut up a bunch of those paper snowflakes myself.  As much as I may whine and moan and loathe getting back out of bad, I’ve surrendered to the Elfin’ Magic. Because, as it turns out, these days are precious and I’m not just doing it for my kids. I’m also doing it for me and the memories I’m making.