Elf Wars: Shelf or Kind

Have you heard of 'Elf on a Shelf'?

Yes? Good. This is not that.

This is about the 'Kindness Elf' which came from this lovely page.

It is not the same as 'Elf on a Shelf’. It's, well, kinder and less George Orwell 1984 (Big Brother) about the whole Christmas thing.

I don’t want to get into a whole 'Shelf' Vs 'Kindness' pitch Elf battle, that rages on for years and the death toll is huge and the world never really recovers from.

Instead just accept that in our house the ‘Kindness Elf’ visits and sits wherever she damn well pleases, and there’s no reporting back, or brand name toy.

Can't we be visited by the Chocolate Elf instead? He'd go round the house leaving chocolate everywhere! He’d be awesome!

'You're thinking of Easter’

‘And no'

Beer Elf? (Notes that Belf is a great word)

'No'

Ooo a money Elf would be good...

'Yesssss... but no, our Elf is kindness'

<Shakes fist at me> 'KINDNESS'

A Lingerie Elf would be awesome

<Gets slapped> ‘Don’t be a twat, think it through…’

<Thinks>... hmmm might be a bit weird with the kids...

'You think?'

Sometimes

The ‘Kindness Elf’ rocks up at the start of December, probably the first, welcome letter in mitts and magically appears in your house.

Said ‘Kindness Elf’ is likely to be named something Christmasy. Like Holly or Mistletoe, Brandy, Crapgift, Work Pissup, Overindulgance, CostsAFortune.

Ours is called Mistletoe.

Mistletoe likes to hide and needs to be found each morning, often in a funny location, doing something funny. And maybe bringing a message of don't be annoying smeggers moral guidance over Christmas.

She was found, this morning, eating some of the house chocolate. Poor show, Miss. Elf, poor show. It feels cheeky to me. She just helped himself. Kind or not, she is walking a thin line.

Boy8 and Miss4 found Mistletoe head first into a bag of chocolate stars. 

I bloody love chocolate stars.

(The messy, chocolate stealing swine)

Of course, according to Clement Clarke Moore in a “A Visit from St. Nicholas”, FC himself is an Elf.

A super powerful special Elf that all the other Elves work for, but hey that’s cool, think ants. It’s still a lot better than the patriarchal figurehead Coca-Cola would love us to believe in.

So depending which side of the Elf wars you fall, 'Shelf' or 'Kind', your house Elf is either there to encourage you kindly with hugs and kisses, or it’s there taking notes and reporting everything back to FC about your moral fibre.

It feels like an easy choice to me.

Bizarrely, despite their enormous magical abilities, Elves do have some limitations.

They don’t move at all during the day, the lazy sods. If they did, it would be all over the news. No no. Elves only move during the night when everyone is asleep. Of course.

It's a common magical requirement.

To be honest Elf on a shelf is still a new one on me.

I don't remember any Elves visiting during my childhood. It could have been location, location, location. But I don't recall any mates mentioning a magical Elf that stole chocolate playful ran amok through their houses. However we did have three violent cats around that time.

So maybe they ate him. Har har!

I do tend to get a bit suspicious when new traditions appears out of the blue.

Some are obviously money making scams and luckily they tend to die very quickly. Good.

Others are money making scams, but come with free mince pies, and luckily seem to stay. Others are just fun and they stay too. There's probably a moral in here somewhere. Something about money and evil vs. fun and happiness and mince pies.

It's probably that mince pies are good for you, which is obvious really. The clue is in the name. Pie = good for you.

(A Christmas salad)

Boy8 and Miss 4 love Mistletoe.

For them Mistletoe is start of weird brilliant crap stuff happening daily as we gear up to the 25th. BabyBoy1 however does not care at all about Mistletoe.

To him it's a toy out of reach he cannot have, or one he cannot see as it's too high up.

Obviously, Mistletoe is a very real and magical Elf.

That visits us every year and for that we know we are lucky, as a quick Google or time on FaceBook will show. Because there are plenty of other Team Parents (yay!) out there that have to fake the whole Elf experience with a doll.

Poor, poor, probably knackered and brain dead from work but still having to be creative each night, them.

Apparently, if you are one of those parents afflicted by this problem, you can turn to Pinterest for support and sponsorship.

From making stuff up when bored extensive research I present a very short list of handy hints, ideas, and things not to do with an Elf that those poor afflicted parents talk about.

1. Don't get drunk and leave your Elf in a suggestive pose with a Barbie or Ken (or both). Explaining human biology and exotic positions when hungover, I hear, is horrible.

2. Before December starts sit down and discuss as Team Parents (yay!) whether or not the Elf will visit this year, before you commit both of you to a 24 day creative marathon. Lunch time on the 30th of November, some (not me) may consider too late to start 'thinking' about it.

3. Brain storm two or three backup Elf plans for those nights when you are knackered and can't be bothered to think magically...

I'm pooped... carry me to bed will ya?

'FOF No chance fat boy, you carry me'

Oh go on, I'd do it for you...

'Oh really?'

'a) you never have done, b) I doubt you're strong enough'

<Bit angry> WHAT! <Picks up Mrs. Amazing>

SEE! <Back hurts>

'Are you OK? Your face has gone bright red'

I'm... F... F... Fiiiiiiiii... Neeee.... built like an Ox!

<Pats self to demonstrate Oxness>

But now… it's your turn, you pick me up

'Won't I have to get down?'

No. Lift me here, and I’ll just keep on carrying you...

'Oh I see' <Picks me up, whilst I continue carrying Mrs. Amazing>

'Huh! You're surprisingly light!'

<Hides offence>

'.. but still too heavy... '

Here, I’ll carry you then... there <Picks up Mrs. Amazing, whilst Mrs. Amazing continues carrying me, and I continue carrying Mrs. Amazing>

'Isn't this one those classic surreal Goon Show jokes you bore tell me with about all the time?'

Yep, the very same

‘It’s quite nice...’

<Both make it finally to bed and lay down, ready to sleep>

'HOLLY XMAS BALLS!' <Sits up>  'ELF!'

<Pretends to be fast asleep> Zzz

See!

Go make a backup Elf plan… go on…I’ll wait.

<Does not wait>

Maintaining the Magic

Yeah I know. It's November.
Christmas is bloody ages away...

'If you start prattling on about Christmas now, before December even starts, I may have to beat to death with a packet of salted peanuts'

Why salted?

'I will assault you'

Oh... 

That's more of a verbal joke you know, doesn't really work written down...

<Gets hit by peanuts>

(BANG! <Explodes from excitement>)

I get it, I feel the same.

Christmas and December are one and the same. Like Spidey and Venom, symbiotically joined, but with less murderous revenge stuff and spandex.

From the 1st of December to 31st of December I, indeed all of Team Parents (yay!), eat (a lot), drink (more so), and make very merry at Christmas.

I We love it.

However making sure BabyBoy1 has a brilliant second Christmas, and making sure Miss4 has brilliant possibly life defining memory of her 4th Christmas, AND making sure Boy8 has a brilliant Christmas and gets all the stuff he has gone on about for the last few months... Well, doing that takes a huge amount of magic and quite a bit of sober forward planning.

We've got to do what?

'Look... I know you hate planning ahead'

<Nods> I do... I hate it

'But basically... we have to'

'Or we'll spend most of the run up to Christmas crazy busy, every single evening, not being able to eat, drink and be merry!'

'And you know how much I like to eat drink and be merry at Christmas!' 

<Slams fist on the table>

<Is scared>

OK… OK… Fine...

<Clicks on kettle>

We can plan stuff... before December starts...

Good!

<Pulls out three different planning folders>

Urghh... when did it come to this? <Speaks to the universe in general>

When did we become so damn grown up?

<Shudders>

I'm going to need a shower

It's strange having three children to do Christmas for.

BabyBoy1 is still a bit young for Christmas. He tends to eat wrapping paper. He's got the idea that you need to unwrap the present, but he is still a bit fluxed about then opening what's inside. Wrapping paper is too much fun and tasty.

And to be fair, pretty much everything, still amaze him. He doesn't need expensive presents, he's still happy with a wooden spoon. Happy days.

I imagine he will find all the presents, tree in the house stuff, a bit weird.

Still he'll love all the family being around.

And me at home to play with.

Miss4 is prime Christmas age. She utterly believes everything she's told, hasn't succumb to the dark-side of Christmas, and her nativity plays are still sweet as hell. When it comes to Christmas Miss4 just wants some cool stuff to play with. And, fair play to her, don't we all.

She is definitely aware that come December 25th brilliant and awesome things will start happening. Just she's not quite sure what.

This is the first year she has put in some requests for the big guy as well. I think she is just checking to see if he does indeed deliver.

Boy8 is basically a poster child for Christmas.

He loves it heart and soul, and as he's the oldest, he has had the most Christmas magic thrown at him by Team Parents (yay!). But it did occur to me, that I was his age, eight, when the sad, unwanted, stupid penny, about Christmas, dropped for me.

I remember crying about it on my mums lap. I hated the embarrassment that I was the last (so I felt) to realise at school and that I'd fought tooth and nail just that morning about it with everyone. -Captain Cool I was.

I imagine that's going to happen to Boy8 too. He fights his corner without rhyme or reason like me. I wish I could save him that pain.

(My heart... I ate a penny... It’s just gone into my heart…)

But also... I don't want to.

I have no anger at my parents about them basically telling me whoppers for years. Everyone was in on it, big brothers, aunts, uncles, grandparents. A whole big family conspiracy. The swines.

A bit of me does question the morality of basically fibbing to Boy8... But on the other hand, Christmas is brilliant and you get awesome presents.

It's a difficult one to call.

It could well be Boy8's last Christmas where the magic is earth shatteringly awesome, and he comes running to tell us how Father Christmas has eaten all the pie, chocolate, cake, and drank every last drop of Jack Daniels, that was left out.

Soon, some mate/enemy/twonk will tell him some 'facts' about Christmas that will un-weave the magic spell Team Parents (yay!) have worked so darn hard to weave over the last eight years.

But when that does happen, I am sure there will be a few million thousand photos and reams of videos to remember it all by, and weep at.

But that's fine, things do tend to change, I've noticed. Best to run into the new stuff, and not try and hide in the old for too long. It can get smelly.

Anyway...

Miss4 is years away from even getting slightly suspicious, and BabyBoy1 has only just started down his Christmas road. Team Parents (yay!) get to weave some Christmas magic for a while longer. YAY!

Plus, I have my suspicions, that should Boy8 work something out... He may not say anything to us, anyway. If the boat you're on is loads of fun, and they keep handing out presents... 

Why rock it?

[Am sneaking into bedrooms late at night, bit drunk, delivering]

[Mrs. Amazing is on lookout]
<Whispers> 'Make sure you're very quiet'

<Whispers> What?

[CREAK]

<Whispers> 'Make sure you're very quiet'

<Quiet voice> What? I can't hear a word you're saying?

[CREAK]

<Hissing whisper> 'I just said... make sure you're very quiet'

<Quiet voice> I can't <Inaudible swears> hear you

<Hissing whisper> ‘It doesn't matter’

<Sighs quietly>

[CREAK] [CREAK] [CREAK] [CREAK]

<Stands in front of Mrs. Amazing looking chanked>

What. Did. You say?

'I was just telling you to be quiet'

<Pauses>

I knew that!

<Goes back in delivering, muttering>

[CREAK]

<Whispers> 'Good luck!'

<Whispers> What?

...

(Best decoration… Ever!)

How was your day? (Ommmm)

This tale hurt to write.
Because I'm not sure I did the right thing.

I didn’t get what I wanted, Boy8 didn’t get what he wanted. 
We both lost.

And now he’s snoring away and I'm all alone, and having to live with the consequences of what I choose to do. Bugger.

I just wanted to hear about his day...

Boy8 had an exciting day! He started a new football club (feet skills) and got a new responsibility at school. All things that he loves and I want to hear about.

I missed out on hearing about Miss4’s day as Mrs. Amazing put her to bed, and BabyBoy1 is not so much with the talk-talk-makey-sensey, just yet.

So I was 100% ready to give Boy8 a damn good listening to.

And then what happened?

Really?

No!!!

and then what happened after you put on your shoes this morning?

BabyBoy1 and me have an excellent bedtime. I read him some books, he opens flaps. I lift him to the light switch, he turns off the light delighted with himself (new skill). He eats his toothbrush a bit. I sing him to sleep. He goes to sleep.

He’s brilliant, and asleep in 5 minutes, the awesome little wonderful dude.

I can still hear Mrs. Amazing coaxing Miss4 to sleep as I nicely say to Boy8 it’s bedtime.

He’s had brupper, he’s watched some cartoons, he’s dressed in his tiger-onesie, just gotta brush his teeth.

‘Oh I’m so tired'

Yeah mate, I bet!

I want to hear all about it!

Brush your teeth and I’ll meet you in your bedroom!

(Considering how cheery I sound, I was may have been skipping a bit)

However instead of rushing off to clean his teeth like anyone sane would do, Boy8 refuses to move and buries his face in the sofa.

A fight is brewing, I can practically taste it. Yuk fighty. 
Which would be a shame as I really want to hear about his day. 
My day at work was good enough...

Boss: ‘What are you working on?’

<Opens door a tiny crack and peeks out>

Ohh... Something brilliant and complex... and busy...

‘Can I see?’

Er... No. Not yet

‘I want to see. NOW’

NOOO!

<We struggle>

<The door is opened>

Do you like it?

<Shows off, 1:50 scale, panoramic, 3D model of Pixie Hollow, with moving parts, and all fairy characters, made entirely from stolen company paper-clips and post-it notes>

<Boss has all of his flabber-, well and truly, -gasted>

'You know... This isn't what we pay you to do?'

<Nods and smiles, and then runs>

(Apparently not a real holiday destination... #Gutted)

But Boy8 doesn't care how my day went. He does however want to end it with a big old fight.

I ask him to move, a lot, and I get rude and snarky (oh yes snarky, it’s horrible) back.

Normally he would get the fight he is looking for. Normally I would square up with him toe to toe and let the shouting wars begin (Reigning House Champion).

But not today. No way!

Today I am one with the universe. I am calm like a mountain stream.

I am at peace. Bake off was on last night

I calm myself.

Ommmmmmm

I tell Boy8 to hurry up and head upstairs.

Which is a brilliant ploy that normally works. Because now he's on his own downstairs, with the promise of a story waiting for him upstairs. He just needs to get up and move. And Boy8 loves his bedtime story.

The clock says it's 6:45pm which means he has a whopping 45 minutes to clean his teeth, read a story to me, and then have me read a story to him.

EASY! What could possibly go wrong?

Ten minutes later I am still sat on his bed, waiting for him.

Ommmmmmmmm

He does eventually come upstairs, but I can hear his voice from Miss4’s room. He’s telling Mrs. Amazing a load of whoppers about how I shouted and screamed at him to go to bed, and that's why Mrs. Amazing should do his bedtime. Not mean old Daddy.

The utter, manipulative traitor and stinker.

They grow up so quick <sniffs>

Ommmmmmmmmmmm

Mrs. Amazing spots the lie easily as she didn’t hear any screaming or crying and I have Mrs. Amazing's trust and respect, plus I’m stood in the room saying it’s all lies and pointing at Boy8, with my tongue out at him.

Boy8 says a few more rude, lippy, comments, and is shoved, nicely mind, off to the bathroom whilst I go and wait some more on his bed. I check the internet is still full of cool stuff. It is. Phew.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Ten minutes later Boy8 appears in his room and apologises. It seems genuine and he starts to tell me about his day. Great!

Back on track.

Except whilst he is talking his breath wafts over to my nostrils, and I realise he hasn’t done his teeth at all. Whilst gagging.

I suggest, nicely and calmly, he does his teeth again.

His response is 'amateur dramatic' and he calls me names, cries, dives face first into his bed, and tells me how mean I am and what rotten Dad I am. I know, a father’s dental hygiene concern really is the worst.

OmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

(How the hell did I get up here? Help? I’d like to get down now…)

Five minutes more pass and I go looking for him. He still hasn't done his teeth. I find him doing, well I don't know what he was doing, waiting for me to tell him off I would guess.

In total that's now thirty minutes of faffing, to get one set of teeth clean, Boy8 must be going for his PB. A lot of rudeness, cheek and lip has been thrown at me, but finally, as I stand there watching, he has clean teeth.

Boy8 slumps back into bed and attitude that emanates from this tiny boy could be used to strip paint or my mind.

That's is it. I have had enough.

The foot is down. The die is cast, this ship has sailed, the bottle is empty, the last of the embers is about to burn out, the chocolate wrapper is just an empty wrapper.

No no Boy8. Enough of this madness. 

Boy8 no longer gets his story. He just gets bed. Decision made.

I calmly and nicely explain to Boy8 that he's taken sodding ages too long to get into bed, and that it is now just bedtime, no story.

The tears flow fast and angry (his).

I don my shield of calm and ignore his spear and arrows of hurt and pain. I am still one with the universe and uber calm. I will not engage in his emotional battle, else I'll end up shouting at him.

Calmly I flick the light off and wish him goodnight, and leave.

Ommmmmmmmmmbloodysoddingrarrrrrmmmmm

I leave as far as the stairs (still progress) and continue being calm.

I sit on the stairs and wish Mrs. Amazing goodbye as she’s off to her bazooka classes (she’s a natural apparently).

Miss4 appears from her room, as she needs 75th cuddle goodnight with Mrs. Amazing. But that's fine.

It's still Miss4's first week at school. Emotionally she's all over the place, an extra cuddle won't hurt or set a new prescient, at all.

Me and Miss4 wave Mrs. Amazing off together as she speeds off in the Amazing-mobile (car). Miss4 protests she isn't sleepy at all, and then crashes out asleep in under a minute.

Bless.

Boy8 is still sobbing and wailing from his room. Which I have been ignoring.

Ommmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmm

Boy8's volume is rapidly rising as he can tell he is being ignored. However as I am now making sure Miss4 isn't faking and is really asleep, I can't talk to him anyway.

Plus the foot was down.

My attention for Boy8, this evening, has expired, unless he has cake.

Boy8 emerges from his room full of tears, still being rude and pissy, demanding a story, and throwing more insults at me. I stop my eye twitching, and guide him back to bed.

But he won't go.

Fine. It is not fine.

OmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM 
<Deep breath> 
Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I leave him and go down stairs. He's 8, he can put himself to bed.

But he doesn't, instead he follows me, still wailing (yay!).

Dreading the emotional explosion that will surely happen when we get downstairs, and the inevitable battle to get him back upstairs. I do something unexpected.

I turn on the stairs and hug him, hard. We fall up the stairs a bit, as stair hugging is hard to do. 

I wish him goodnight and I leave again (as I'm starving and need to get my dinner on).

As I said, his time and attention with me tonight is done. The hug was a freebie.

I made my decision about his behaviour. I must not let any of his normal tricks and ploys get around me. I must teach him about ‘cause (being a smegger) and effect’ (no story).

The hug worked for about a microsecond. As Boy8 races past me on the stairs and bares my way into the kitchen. Wailing, being rude, crying, demanding. It's a bizarre mix of emotions and would be hilarious to watch, if it wasn't being thrown at me.

I bring my emotional shields up.

(Incoming emotional attack!!! Shields!!!)

I am really, really, really tempted to get my muscles out and force my way past him. I am way bigger than him, it would be easy. But I know that's a bad solution.

He's not tiny any more and can fight back hard enough now, that he can hurt himself. Also it's a bad example.

Gotta think about BabyBoy1 and Miss4 as well. I can't show Boy8 that he should shove through both of them.

But I can't seem to talk him out of my way either,as he's in full blooded emotional excess now and not making much sense.

Ommmmmmmmm <Grinds teeth> Ommmmmmmmm <Cricks neck> Ommmmmmmmm

I manage to  trick him out of the way by pretending to do something else, twirling flaming swords whilst juggling tomotoes. But Boy8 follows me into the kitchen and reaches alpha-level emotional break down and rudeness and name calling and sense bad makingyness.

Shields up maximum, happy place, happy place...

So all the pies are free?

'Yes sir, all free'

And all these ladies?

'They bring you unlimited chocolate for afters'

Amazing

'R2-D2 will be serving you drinks'

<Beep>

'Would sir like some music?'

Yes please

<The Stone Roses starts playing>

<Wipes away tear of joy>

So happy place firmly in mind, shields right up, I ignore Boy8 like a champion and just start making my dinner.
Oooo a (cornish) pasty!

It is all too much for Boy8 he explodes. I am using new and unusual weapons and he doesn't know how to battle me calm. So he goes for the big swear, storm off!

'You're an...'

'...an...'

'... ABSOLUTE IDIOT!'

<Storms off>

<Door to his room slams>

<Wall dent increases>

Nice to know where he is with his swearing. Lame town. Not very far.

He called Mrs. Amazing an 'absolute butt-head' the other day.

Brilliant. What a tilly swat.

Boy8 goes to bed on his own, no story, and I don't see him until the next morning where we hug it right out and are mates again (I laid on-top of him until he told me about his day in great depth, that counts).

But after his dramatic and slightly funny storm off, I am left with huge emotional guilt and weight on my shoulders. The tension in my shoulders is so bad they crack as I roll them. 'Ommm' my reasonably sized butt.

It's already 8pm and I am now knackered, not in the best of moods, ready for booze bed, starving, and not sure I handled all of that very well.

I did my best. But Brainzilla is shouting away at the back of my head:

'YOU DAMN FOOL! That was crappppp!!!'

I am so upset with all the shenanigans that I put a generous sized portion of healthy veg on my plate. What the hell was I thinking? Where's the chips, fried egg and other pie! I just wasn't in my right mind.

Damn healthy food.
<Kicks the sofa and scares the cat>

<Smiles, two-for>

Mrs. Amazing is eventually captured and brought back home, kicking and screaming, and we discuss my evening of fun. She understands and supports my stance on 'no story' and ignoring, as probably the right thing to do. Good.

Validation and support. I needed that.

But being a wise-women (aren't they all) <Shakes head>, and able to see life on an emotional level. Mrs. Amazing adds that Boy8's anger, rudeness, emotions need to be released, either through tears or laughter. Take the anger to tears if you must. But the emotions need to come out as tears or laughter. Always.

'I am quite surprised you didn't just make him laugh it off...'

'You're good at that jester-boy!'

Of course! That would've worked brilliantly, that would have saved me loads of stress and effort...

Oh...

Dammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmn it