Mummy Hates Elves
Difficult Christmas problems
My husband and I had a stand-off about Christmas that lasted for quite a few years before we had kids. He was always anti-Father Christmas (‘why lie to your children?’). I’ve always been pro-Father Christmas (‘what do you have against HAPPINESS?’). We went back and forth, had our kids, and became too tired to care about it anymore.
So we let our daughter decide. Last year, she decided to leave a mince pie, a glass of milk, and a carrot for Rudolf by our front door.
‘We don’t have a fireplace,’ she said, ‘so he’ll have to come in that way. Actually I’d better move it in case he trips over it.’
So she’s decided she wants to believe. That’s fine with me.
It’s one thing letting your kid leave a plate of food by the front door (may persuade her to replace milk with rum this year, however). I like stuffing the stockings in secret, creeping stealthily across the landing like a festive ninja to hang them back up again.
But one thing I draw the line on?
The elf on the shelf.
I don’t have anything against parents who do the elf thing. I don’t even really have anything against the concept in general (even though I think the actual elf is creepy. Why would you bring a toy into your home that looks as though it would happily kill you in your sleep?). I even quite like seeing what other people’s elves have been up to on Facebook and Instagram.
I just don’t want to do it myself.
That’s all. I just. Don’t. Want. To do it. I don’t want to spend my evenings trying to think of something new and exciting for the elf to do. I don’t want to deal with my daughter shouting at her brother who won’t understand that he’s not allowed to touch him. I don’t want to have to sit bolt upright at one in the morning because I’ve suddenly realised I forgot to make the elf knock the cereal over or wrap up the rocking chair in glittery wrapping paper or something.
Am I a terrible mother? I’m questioning myself. I really love Christmas, and so do my kids. We do advent calendars. We have an advent candle that we light every day. We’ve put the tree up already. They’ll have toddler group Christmas parties and school plays and stuff.
But I see a lot of things that other parents do — arranging exciting things to do every day, for example — and I feel completely inadequate. But honestly, Christmas will start to feel like a chore for me if we have to celebrate it in some small way for twenty-five whole days.
I mean, it was going to happen eventually. My daughter’s class has an elf who does interesting (read: naughty) things every day. All her friends have elves (apparently). At some point my daughter was going to notice this and raise it with me as some kind of terrible injustice.
And it happened.
But it’s okay. I told myself to be strong. No matter how cute she looks, no matter how big and blue and persuasive her eyes are, no matter what case she makes, I’m NOT GOING TO BUY AN ELF. I’m going to tell her one of the following:
- Father Christmas knows that Mummy and Daddy are too busy to have an elf
- Father Christmas doesn’t need to send the elf to very well behaved children
- Mummy had a word with Father Christmas and told him not to send an elf because, er, it’ll scare the guinea pigs
- We don’t have an elf because Mummy can’t be arsed
‘Mummy,’ she said, in a very quiet and contemplative voice as we walked home from school, ‘I think I’d quite like an elf to come to our house.’
Crap.
I’m going to buy an elf, aren’t I?
