It wasn’t my 6 year old who asked.
It wasn’t the 3 year old.
It was their father who uttered those ridiculous words a few nights ago. Their father, who is a middle child (I feel like that’s applicable here) asked me why we don’t do Elf on the Shelf IN FRONT OF our children.
“Because we didn’t invite him to our house,” I replied, through gritted teeth with my head cocked sideways and eyes burning holes into the man with whom I am bound, till death do us part (which may be sooner rather than later, if he keeps this up.)
We are not an Elf on the Shelf family. We have not invited him to our house. No Chippy or Jolly or Whatever-His-Name-Is watches my children to make sure they’re well-behaved.
It’s not that I’m a fun hater. I’m just rather selective about my fun. And fun that requires a daily commitment during one of the craziest, most frazzled-est time of the year, from a mom who prefers to sleep the entire time her children are sleeping (Why does the school bus come so early?) does not actually sound fun to me.
I don’t think he’s creepy, like some say. I don’t really care that he is part of commercialization of Christmas. I don’t think that his funny, messy antics will teach my kids that making messes is funny.
I’m just lazy.
And that’s why we don’t have an Elf on the Shelf.