Elf on the Shelf….

So if you know me well then you know that we DO NOT have an elf.Image result for elf on the shelf image

** Call in the Christmas Police **

I know! It’s awful and I should probably be sent to some kind of parenting time out (not a bad idea)…. but y’all adoption is expensive and an elf that is dependent on me to move may never be moved at all. It would be a miserable elf existence.  I mean I am doing something wonderful getting my kids moving daily and it is a struggle remembering to “call” the tooth fairy. We would have the most boring elf in town.  And they would wonder why everyone else has these elves that do remarkable things like leave treats and ours just… sits there.

Can’t I just sit a stuffed animal in the tree and say that he was the second string elf???

So, they ask … “mom, why don’t we have an elf?” So I had to get creative.

“We do!”

“His name is Leroy and he is a sissy dog…. he refuses to come in!”

“I have tried to convince him, promising him that you will all sit still and read books until Christmas and play quite games to ease his timid little elf soul.”

“Y’all he ain’t buying it. He said he looked in the other night and all these wild barbarian looking people came running in from the back room, wearing nothing but underwear and swinging  swords and wearing masks and screaming like crazy people as they went after what appeared to be a sweet little princess only to learn that she was in fact a monster and attacked the warriors. He went running away like the gingerbread man from an oven and begged Santa NEVER to send him back.”

*** insert gasps from wild warriors and monster princess***

“Santa told him to wait by the window and report back and that there was no need to put himself in harms way.”

So Leroy the sissy dog Elf hangs out, outside and the kids look for him every day hoping that he will be brave enough to come in.

Let’s just say that these kids have been walking a lot softer and being a lot sweeter these days hoping that Leroy will join us inside one morning.

I mean there are days that I run to the store and pull into the drive way to hear the “joyful sounds” all the way outside. I often question whether to go in myself.

Merry 18 days to Christmas.

 

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