Elf shelf failure may have cost him his stocking stuff

Spoiler alert: If anyone in your household is old enough to read this column but still young enough to believe a 12-inch-tall, ruby-cheeked, rubber-headed character dressed in an elf suit is keeping an eye on them throughout the holiday season, please destroy this column upon reading. I’m not out to crush dreams or spoil holiday traditions. After all, I wouldn’t want to end up on Santa’s naughty list myself.

The “Elf on a Shelf” thing had not yet taken hold back when I was a kid, nor was it a thing when my own children were kids. My grandchildren, however, absolutely thrill to the idea that every morning when they wake up, a diminutive, red-suited “Santa spy” will have returned from an overnight reporting flight to the North Pole to perch inconspicuously somewhere in their home. Even while they buy the line that “Elfie” is fully capable of relaying their bad behavior to the big guy up north, they nevertheless enthusiastically welcome him into their home and leap from the covers each morning to seek out his latest haunt.

I am not entirely new to the game. Last year at this time, I choreographed Elfie’s moves without flaw while babysitting the grandkids over a long weekend while their parents were away. This year with my wife Kristin, the creative matriarch of the family, along for an assist, I presumed the “Elf shelving” would go even more smoothly. Smug overconfidence is not looked upon kindly by the fates.

Our first night with the kids went like clockwork. With the babes asleep, the Elf made his move, and in the morning, every joy was there to behold. Elfie was found on top of the breadbox with a wrapped gift for each of the little ones with a mildly extortive message, written in swirly, curly elf font, stating if they were good for Papa and Gigi all day long, they could open their surprises before bedtime. A good day followed, the promise was fulfilled, and a long day ended with worn-out grandparents and a forgotten mission.

I bolted straight up from the pillow the next morning with only one thought: "Oh no, we forgot to move the elf."

Scrambling quickly down the hall, I peeked into the boys’ room, but because of the jumble of blankets and pillows, it was impossible to ascertain from the hallway whether the two were still in beds. I dashed downstairs to find the kitchen lights on and spotted Elfie still in his spot from two nights before. Just as I was making my move in the doll’s direction, I heard 5-year-old James down the hall beyond, so I bolted instead in his direction to get a feel for whether he’d already discovered the previous overnight’s lack of magic.

I caught up to him as he was brushing his teeth.

“Papa, you’ll never believe it,” he said, his eyes wide with wonder. “Elvie was in the very same place this morning as he was when we went to bed.”

“No way,” I said. “Something must be up with that. We’d better go see.”

As we stepped back out into the hallway, I spotted Kristin, who had obviously awakened with the same panicked thought as I. Having arrived downstairs without knowing James and I were currently discussing the situation, she’d taken matters into her own hands and relocated Elfie to a cramped sofa inside a dollhouse in the living room.

The boy spotted the mysteriously teleported character within minutes, and I offered a fantastical explanation rivaling the Grinch’s famous fib to Cindy Lou Who.

“Well, James, I’m betting that since you got up so early, you caught Elfie just as he was arriving back to the house,” I said. “Then once he thought you were distracted, he leaped across the room to hide in the dollhouse.”

And just as in the Dr. Seuss tale, my fib fooled the child, and I got him a drink and sent him back to bed. Christmas was saved, but I may well have indeed earned my place on the “naughty” list in the process.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.