We need glowsticks

I hate the Elf that lives on the shelf in our house. I would never have bought one. Everyone has one. Kids love them. It makes Christmas feel like magic. And they are the worst thing ever to happen to parents. Every night I wake up in a panic, sometime around 1am, and remember that I have to move the elf. It got so bad, I had to set an alarm on my phone for 9:30 ever night to remember. It’s the worst.

My kid kept moving the elf and I read, somewhere, that kids are not supposed to touch the elf. So, I did what I had to do. I had to break it to my kid. She’d touched the elf so many times, I had to tell her the elf lost its magic. Sadly, the elf wouldn’t be able to make mischief in night while we were sleeping because it was stuck. In one position. In one room. I was overjoyed at the freedom I had created - I could sleep through the night again!

Except my kid was so bummed. She wanted to find a way to bring the elf’s magic back. So, we watched YouTube videos and searched Google for ways to bring an elf’s magic back.

A sprinkle of cinnamon.

A dash of sugar.

An apology note, to the elf or to Santa.

“Glowsticks. We need glowsticks,” my daughter said.

“Do we have any glowsticks?” I asked.

“I have a lot. Good thing, too, because we need them for Sophia.”

Sophia is the name of our elf. I hope she knows how lucky she is that we have a supply of glowsticks.

So, we moved the elf (touched just one last time…my kid promises) to a box so that “we wouldn’t make a mess” and sprinkled some cinnamon and dashes of sugar around the elf. Next, my kid wrote a note to the elf.

I am sorry I touched the elf. Love, Sweetpea*

Next, we got the glowsticks. One-by-one, we broke them into sticks that glow. Two green. One pink. One purple. We laid them in the box, next to Sophia the elf.

Finally, we called Santa. That’s right, we went straight to the big guy in the North Pole. The night before, a friend of mine sent me a phone number to call Santa. So, we called him. It’s a cute little Ho Ho Ho from Santa and a message about listening to your parents and making toys and getting ready for Christmas. At the beep, we left our message.

“Hi Santa. I’m sorry about touching Sophia and making her lose her magic. She probably can’t get back to the North Pole at night to help make presents for the kids with the other elves. I will fix her. And, also, Santa… I want a thing for my kitchen where I can make drinks for people and get them from a machine. That’s what I want for Christmas. And my mom wants some bath bombs and some face masks to help her relax. Thanks, Santa. Have a goodnight.”

I hate the elf. I am resentful of it requiring so much additional effort, during a time of year that everything requires an an even more extraordinary amount of effort than any other time of year. I hate that it’s one extra thing to think about. I hate that it’s yet another responsibility on my already full plate of responsibilities and adulting. I hate everything about it, except for how happy it makes my kid.

She lives to wake up each morning, during the month of December, to find Sophia and see what she’s been up to while we sleep. She loves to write notes to Sophia, to talk to her and ask her questions about the North Pole and Santa and the reindeer. Sophia doesn’t respond, but that doesn’t matter. For my kid, Sophia is magic.

And I guess magic is pretty cool. But only for one month out of the year.