Dear Elf on the Shelf,
I hate you.
I wish I had never met you.
This morning I woke up and realized that I accidentally left you in the top of a closet in Texas at my mother’s house last Christmas and now she has to mail you back to me here in Oregon asap, because your impending arrival is December 1st. Apparently the last 2 or 3 years you have always shown up on December 1st and my son remembers this and is counting down the days.
You were already a hassle, but this is ridiculous. I should just go buy another one, but I am afraid my son will notice and the magic will be ruined. Granted, I feel like the magic should have been ruined by now. I mean every Christmas there is at least one, two, or three mornings when we all wake up and I realize that I forgot to move you the night before. So, there I am at 6 am barely awake trying to come up with some sort of asinine reason why you haven’t moved, all before I’ve had a single cup of coffee.
And why do elves have to be naughty and make such a mess. Do you know what an idiot I feel like when I am making a mess in my own house that I will have to clean up the next day? I mean honestly, how in the world did millions of parents get sucked into this nightmare of a tradition. I’ve toilet papered my own Christmas tree, I’ve grated up styrofoam in my own house to make it snow, my sister and her friend got drunk and strung you up that one time…….where does it end!
Not to mention your drinking incident.
I am now having to embark on my 4th or 5th year of this crap and I am running out of ideas. I am now wasting time searching through Pinterest trying to figure out what to do with you this year.
What’s really killing me are the letter’s you (I) wrote to my son. In them you told him interesting facts about yourself. Unfortunately, it was so long ago I cannot remember what you wrote. Now my son is writing you letters asking specific questions. WTH do I do now? I can’t remember the answers!
This might be the year I break and just tell my son the truth. Or maybe you will have a lethal accident this Christmas…….
Maybe my Elf on the Shelf post this year will be Gentle Ways to Kill off Your Elf on the Shelf without Crushing your Child’s Spirit.
Sincerely,
Meagan
Elf on the Shelf Ideas
4 Fun and Easy Elf on the Shelf ideas
Hahahahaha!!! Love it!!! What I did not love was spending $26 plus dollars shipping the little devil to Oregon!!! We are all suckers for this!!!
Hahahahaha! I love the car picture. we always forget to move “Ricky.” Today he is pooping chocolate on my counter…we love our kids.
You have me cracking up with this post – It’s so crazy how this Elf thing has taken off, but it really does seem fun for THE KIDS. I don’t remember having Elf when we were young… Is it a new thing?
HAHAHA I am laughing so hard right now! I’m glad we have not adopted this (commercial) tradition. I have enough messes in my house without those from a naughty elf.
Haha! I’ve never quite understood that tradition but I can see how kids might look forward to it. Hope you find some peace with the elf!
HAHA!! This is fantastic! I have always hated Elf on a Shelf and never introduced it in our house.
Can I just tell you how much I appreciate you right now, Meagan?!? Thank you. Thank you for saying what (I believe) a silent majority has been thinking for a couple of years now. I am so glad my kiddos were just a little too old for this when it took off. I am already planning EoS countermeasures to blog in 2017.
Haha…this is so funny. Just love the photos!
He could always fall while climbing the Christmas tree and hang himself in the Lights, paint his face blue and wala no more Elf! I drive my hubby nuts wth this little monster, if he doesn’t move no stress here as the kids all live somewhere else. In fact my daughter-in-law just bought one to drive my Son nuts with. I fear that one will die quickly, lol Good luck with your little monster.
Yeah… gotta find an out. Put them in the toaster. We shall see if I can cope 🤣 PS. I unplugged the toaster, why do I enjoy these stupid elves?!?
Now that’s funny! I’m going to do this.