Happy, merry Noëlf!

Never is the desire to pop the Noël bubble stronger than at 3:32 a.m., when you awaken in a cold sweat because you have once again forgotten to move the bloody Xmas elf that your sweet son depends upon for his childhood’s survival.   Apparently, nothing is more devastating than waking up to that slovenly creature sitting in the same spot, unmoved, and unwilling to show signs of life.

My friends, it may seem like a quaint idea, but in truth, the elf turns December into a daily cat and mouse game in which your child runs down the stairs to see what new, inventive position the damnable homunculus will present… while you sweat it out at the top of the stairs hoping your spouse moved the slippery sprite because you sure as hell didn’t!  Will he be dangling from the chandelier in a jaunty stance?  Maybe the little coquette is peeking out from between the Christmas tree branches?  Oh, no, wait, he’s in the same flippin’ place as yesterday!  What was once cute and amusing a mere 24 hours before, now only serves to disappoint the expectant pixie-acolyte.

“Why didn’t he move, Mommy?”

“Because he’s a lazy, vindictive SOB, kid.”  OK, I have never said that, but I’ve wanted to.

“Mommy isn’t sure.” One remembers the drunken Saturday night haze with some level of remorse.  “Sometimes they are so tired from watching and reporting back telepathically to Santa that they lose the strength to move.  Plus he loves watching you at that angle, where he celf-2an see you all stretched out in your pajamas.  I guess?”  Gotta dial back the perv.

“Oh, well I love him watching me, too!”  The mind reels- hopefully not a sign of things to come.  “But if he doesn’t move again, do you think it means he’s lost his magic?”

“Impossible with your level of belief in him!  I mean our level of belief, ours!”

“OK, I just hope no one has touched him.  One wrong touch and it instantly makes him lose his magic.”  Yeah, I’ve had dates like that.  I get it, Elfie.

“No, certainly not!  He’ll move tonight.  I can feel it!”  Note to self….

Listen, I’m a Santa-and-all-things-enchanted advocate, but let me tell, you, that freakin’ elf blows.  He’s a high maintenance, all-take-and-no give sort of guy.  Avoid him like the plague!  Of course, if your kid asks for one, it’s tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet.  Plainly put: you’re screwed.  Off to the impromptu Christmas store set up in your local strip mall sometime in August to make sure you were good and sick and tired of the holidays by mid September.

Yes, it’s truly exhausting to come up with daily never-before-seen places and stances for this poorly articulated imp.  But we do it for the children!  We do it for love!  It adds to the mystery that is Christmas- or so I keep telling myself.  Anywho, I’m so well-versed at this point that I am currently writing a “kama sutra for dummies” on elf positions.  Relax, people, it’s clean!

Sheesh- and bah, humbug!

 

 

 

 

A Very Merry Christmas, Indeed!

Among the many things we as parents enforce, the magical mirage that is Santa Claus may be the most beautiful.  We must perpetuate this belief as long as possible for a variety of reasons- not the least of which is the pure, uncomplicated joy that resides in a child’s faith in the unseen.  But how do we do this in a world where dangerous information is relentlessly shoved at our children?  Well, here is my father’s delightful explanation to our children when they were feeling confused about the whole Santa thing.  To help you visualize, my father has a luxurious white beard and mustache, and quite the twinkle in his eyes… hint, hint.Santa

“Grandfather?  How is the man at the store the real Santa because wasn’t he just in the Macy’s Parade on the television?”  Damned Macy’s.  My father could have easily explained that the parade had been previously filmed, but no, not my dad.  He has a subtler method of attack.  Take note!

“Well, children, it goes like this.  Santa is at his busiest time right now, overseeing the elves as they make toys, getting the reindeer geared up for the long trip, tweaking his sled.  You know how complicated international travel can be.”

“Oh, no!  So, all Santases are fake?”

“No, no, no!  Santa has officially designated representatives whom he has handpicked to go all over the world, talk to children, and then report back to him.”

“So, the Santases are real?”

“They are the real spirit of Santa.  Sort of like the Holy Trinity.”

“The Holy Rinitry?”

“Yes, the Holy Rinitry.  Just like the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, the real Santa is in all the Santas you see.  And the real Santa hears through all their ears and he knows what you want for Christmas, right after you tell me, of course.  That way I can put it in a letter.  Just in case.  That’s why I have this beard after all!”

“So, the Santases are real!”

“Yep, they’re real alright.  So, what was that list again?”

The man is a genius!  Such finesse, such a mastery of deflection- and what exquisite lies!  The kids’ Christmas spirit was saved in an instant.  More importantly, how can we possibly enforce good manners and behavior throughout the Christmas season (which according to most retail stores, now begins in September) without the threat of Santa hanging over their little heads?  It can’t all be visions of sugar plums, after all.  I myself am partial to the Dutch Santa who knocks the stuffing out of naughty children with a bunch of twigs, but with social services essentially on most children’s iPhone speed dial, that’s sadly yet another tradition lost…..

So, in this wonderful season of Advent, I wish you all faith in the unseen and love- much love!