Mary McCarthy (better known as marymac) has been a professional writer for nearly 20 years, including work in many national and regional newspapers and magazines. Now a web editor/writer, Mary is a mom of four kids ranging from 18-7, she started her humor blog Pajamas and Coffee in 2008; it’s currently the #1 Humor blog in the U.S. at Networked Blogs. Find her on Twitter at @marymac.
I walked in to the Hallmark store today and I wanted to take my arm and sweep it across the neatly lined rows of Elves on Shelves. I hate their stupid, creepy little faces.
Now don’t get me wrong. When I was a kid (in the 70′s! before they were invented!), my mom actually used to keep a vintage elf (plastic creepy face and glittery polyester suit and all) in the closet. And God, how gay are these sparkly elves?! He really should have come out of the closet. Anyway, our closeted elf used to write us notes in handwriting only the older of us 6 kids recognized as vaguely looking like mom’s. The notes were to the effect that he was ratting our sorry asses out to Santa if we did anything wrong. Mom really should have cashed in on the whole elf thing back in the 70′s.
But mom was at least smart about it. The damn elf lived in the closet! He didn’t move! Occasionally there were traces of glitter outside the closet that allegedly indicated he had traveled to the North Pole and back, but we were never really sure. On Christmas morning, he’d leave us a nice note and candy canes.
Elf things were simpler back then.
I started doing elf on the shelf for my kids before it was called that as well. I found one of the vintage elves at a thrift sale and re-upped the little Santa tattletaler tradition with my own kids because I too recognized the potential for artificial good behavior.
Today? Elf on a Shelf has gotten totally fucking out of control. Kids go to school and brag about what cute, creative place they found their elf? Really?? Entire PINTEREST boards of CUTE IDEAS on where you can situate your Elf on a Shelf? Fuck that!!! Our elf is lucky to move a few times a week, and to simply a new place in the room, not a homemade gingerbread scene created just for his own entertainment.
When my kids come down to eat cereal in the morning and mention he hasn’t moved, I tell them it means they haven’t done anything wrong for him to go rat out to Santa.
If the fucking Elf on a Shelf moves, you must have done something wrong, bitches!
I hereby ask mothers of America to help me lower the Elf on a Shelf expectations and chill the fuck out on the elf-making-snowman-in-the-flour shit. Seriously.
