Suffering Sugarplums... Where Did I Put That Blanking Elf on the Shelf?

Every stinkin' year my husband and I play this accidental game of 'where'd we stash the Elf'? You know who I'm talking about right? This little imp:

We introduced Noah to the Elf concept around age 3-1/2. I thought it was brilliant, what perfect candy-coated holiday bribery to assist us in our discipline and behavior model. I was seduced by his cute facial expression and playful story. We enjoyed moving his magical little self around the house and reveled in Noah's adorable reactions when the Elf, tada, had appeared the next morning in another silly and peculiar location. Pwah! I giggled but was surprised a few years ago when a friend said that 'those perfect Elf on the Shelf mommies' were annoying. Hmph, I thought - this is cute, fun, the kids love it. But then I had my second child. Our elfin spirits (Skinny Girl White Cranberry is nice for the holiday season) went down the drain.

This effing E.O.T.S. has become nothing more than a pint-sized pain in our rears every time the holiday nears. Cringe... Sorry, I did just say that, friends who really look forward to this tradition and have six kids to my two and think I am a humbug. Not exactly, I adore the hap-happiest season of all! Especially the parties for hosting and marshmallow (martinis) for toasting.

But back to the Elf-capades in our family. See... Noah got older. We got lazier. Noah became almost hostile (hands on hips, curled up lip) if the elf remained in his current location we forgot to move the elf. It was tramatic. We felt enormous mommy-daddy slacker guilt. And, we started running out of perfectly reasonable reasons why the Elf did not move even though Noah was well-behaved that day. It really started messing with the kid's head. Poor guy.

Courtesy of ElfontheShelfideas.com

Same story every year in our house - Elf (a.k.a. Mickey-Mouse-Baby-Elf, a.k.a. Chippey like in the 2011 E.O.T.S animated feature...) arrives from the North Pole around Thanksgiving (some years we considered Easter if Noah was being particularly persnickety), with the same game plan: trick the children into thinking that this rosy-cheeked spy is keeping tabs on them all day long and sending his TPS report (cover sheet included) to St. Nick daily.

Yet, over the last two, here's a sneak-peek into our house:
Me: Oh, crap, where did you put the Elf?
Husband: I told you to remind me where I hid it.
Me: Where did you hide it?
Husband: I don't remember, I asked you to remember to remind me!

Then insanity ensues as we argue over where it could be and might be and I moved those boxes to the other storage shelf and why I did that and no, don't look in there that's just holiday decorations from 10 years ago and why am I saving them and OMG why do we continue to put up with the chaos around this Elf?

It ends up this way... around December 5th-ish...

Husband: Look what I found in my sock drawer?
Me: Wow, didn't you see him everyday for the past 11 months when you got your socks?
Husband: I think this thing is possessed, I opened the drawer this morning and he was peeking out at me with those beady little eyes.
Me: That is just creepy. Clown-creepy.

Courtesy of ElfontheShelfideas.com

And so, we begin the Elf on the Shelf tradition all over again. I cannot wait to share these stories and memories with Noah and Rowan when they get older and how one year I debuted the Elf in our mailbox and scared the living daylights out of the postal carrier.