Lying: A Christmas Tradition

After five years of resistance, I finally decided to be part of the in-crowd and came home with The Elf on the Shelf.

I have known about this phenomnon since those two lady authors stitched their first pre-packaged elf, but year-in and year-out I decided against this tradition. So what took me so long? Well, I’m kind of a cynical, controlling scrooge who hates being part of the in-crowd.

As a parent I firmly try to have my children fall somewhere between followers and outsiders.  I don’t want my children to be lemmings jumping off each cliff following Justin Bieber to hell. I also don’t want my children to be the creepy outsiders who aren’t allowed to eat sugar cereal and  watch PG movies without proper parental guidance.  Lastly, there is nothing cool about being a trendsetter in the third-grade.

There must be happy medium.

For those of you who don’t know The Elf on the Shelf is a storybook that comes with a little elf that watches the children and reports their behavior back to Santa Claus in a magical overnight trip to the North Pole. Each morning the children discover the elf in a different location of the house. The box advertises “A Christmas Tradition.”

“But we already have a Christmas tradition,” I’ve said over the years. We already have our own set of December lies. We believe that some magical creature stares at our every move from a far off distant place. (I’m talking about Santa, not God. That’s a different blog for a different day.)

We also believe in flying reindeer, dancing snowmen during global warming , the width of the fireplace and an endless night that allows Santa to reach the entire world.  We also tell the children that their gifts depend on their behavior, even though we plan on spending hundreds of dollars to make them smile on Christmas morning in hopes that their smiles will last until Christmas afternoon despite their dirty bedrooms and sibling fighting.

What’s another lie to celebrate the birth of God’s only son?

So two nights ago I came home with The Elf on the Shelf and left it out on the kitchen table for the children to see the following morning.  Before I rolled out of bed the kids already gave the elf the name of Buddy. Original, I know, as the kids just watched Will Farrell’s movie Elf on Thanksgiving. But they’re kids and they’re simple.

Speaking of simple….so is dad as I just jumped right into this tradition without reading the book and almost ruined the magic.

 “Is it real?” my three-year-old son asked with this scarred, little quiver in his voice.

“No, he’s not real, Honey,” I assured him which was apparently the wrong answer.

“Of course, he’s real,” my wife corrected me.

Creepy, right? But if that’s the gig I’ll go along with it. If the gig is to scare the shit out of your half-knowing toddler then we’re going to do it up nice and good.

So I took the Elf out of the box and handed him around the table.

“We’re not supposed to touch him,” said my six-year-old, who watched The Elf Movie on TV last week.

“He will lose his magic.”

Well, if that’s the case than this little guy has already been completely shed of all his magical power as the kids tossed him around like a volleyball for five minutes. In reality, Buddy’s magic is only as good as my credit line and inability to make strong financial decisions at Toys R’ Us because the Waitresses are singing Christmas Wrapping over the loud speakers again….you forgot the cranberry too?

“Don’t worry honey, he doesn’t get his magic until we read the storybook,” I lied. I then put Buddy away before I screwed up the story even more.

Last night we’d completed out first night with Buddy as we all sat around and read the story of The Elf on the Shelf.  The kids were in awe and that tickled us parents. Sometimes I’m so busy trying to grow these children into big people that I forget how little they really are. I will miss it one day and should enjoy it while it lasts.

Ok, I’ll admit it. The Elf on the Shelf is cute. There I said it. It’s cute and we are really going to enjoy this new family tradition. Before bed we decided as a family which shelf Buddy would start on and left him up there to threaten us with toys.

I just hope that in the coming weeks that in some drunken eggnog stupper I don’t hide him on a shelf that we can’t find for years to come. This house still has Easter eggs rotting in its dark corners. That’ll really ruin Christmas when years from now one of the Buzzkills finds Buddy’s rotting body behind some unread Ralph Waldo Emerson hardcover. Then we’ll have a new C.S.I. Christmas tradition….Who Killed Buddy?

Why’s everyone looking at me?