You're A Mean One, Mrs. Grinch

We have an Elf on the Shelf. His name is Alex. He comes around the 1st of December through Christmas Eve to keep an exta watchful eye on the kids. Theorectically, his presence will reinforce good behavior and decision making by the kids, thus ensuring they'll be rewarded by Santa.

That didn't work exactly. For some reason, my four little angels (well, 3/4) have been crazy and out of control since Friday. Friday was the last day of school for 3 weeks for the older two. That may have played a part. Christmas is fast approaching, which adds a tremendous amount of nervous, anxious energy. Brennan has been sick, so her patience and self control are low. Nora, who is usually the kindest, most eager to please, threw a couple of fits that rivaled her worst during the terrible twos. Excuses, excuses.

I hate excuses.

I reminded them that Alex was watching and reporting back to Santa. I told them that Santa was watching too. I reminded them that it wasn't too late to take presents back to the store, the North Pole or wherever they come from. It didn't work.

The last straw was when their Grandfather, his friend Kate, and an Uncle came over Sunday for cookie decorating and dinner. Since we won't be seeing them on Christmas Day, they brought gifts. My kids, who normally are good but certainly not perfect, were crazy. Their manners went missing. Gone. Completely gone.

Later, after letting them all know how inappropriate their behavior was and sending them off to bed, I had a chat with Alex, the Elf. I instructed him to take the presents that were already under the tree up to the North Pole (temporarily). He agreed to it.

The kids woke up Monday morning, and searched for Alex (he is in a different spot every night). They found him on the mantel with a letter. Not a present was under the tree. I came downstairs to a very solemn and quiet Brennan and Brady. Strangely, they were not terribly upset, as I had thought they might be. They realized that they'd acted out of control, and upon reading the letter, knew that this was the consequence. Brennan said that she felt ashamed, and helped pen a note (with Brady and Nora's input) apologizing to Santa and promising to try harder the rest of the week.

Now before you too, call me Mrs. Grinch, know that Alex returned some of the gifts after 2 days. The kids have reined in their behavior and have tried very hard to do what has been asked of them.

Sure there are still fights, and multiple, multiple, requests (by me) to put their (insert article of clothing, toy, or other item here) away. They're kids, and they're not perfect. But I do think they'll remember this Christmas for a long time to come.

I Give Up...

As you can see from my Christmas card (2007), I really try to maintain my sense of humor when it comes to balancing the demands and obligations of the holidays with managing a family.

Yes, this really was the picture I sent out that year. Yes, that was the best one out of about 50 shots.

I also am a typical first born type A who likes to (at least) have everybody think I have everything pulled together. I think I am slowly starting to lose that battle.

By no means have I ever been confused with Martha Stewart. Particularly when it comes to decorating. That being said, historically, I have taken some small amount of pride in decorating the house for Christmas. I may not have all the coordinating color ornaments and ribbons, and I often regret chintzing out and buying two small sized "things" (angels, santas, trees, you name it, I've got it) instead of ponying up and buying the large ("item") so you can actually see it sitting on my mantel. Generally though, I can pull it all together so that it looks, well, alright.

This year, I pulled down the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic. Unfortunately, the kids got to them before I could. Let's just say that any glimmer of an organized decorating event went out the window.

There are paper Santas and reindeer hanging from curling ribbon from our upstairs railing to greet you as you walk through our front door. Every home made craft, ornament, and odd collection of Christmas collectibles (none of which I recall every buying) is proudly on display on every ledge, shelf, and table. Everyone's bedroom door is adorned with some type of classroom Frosty or Santa (you know, the kind with the moveable arms and legs?). That burgundy curling ribbon that Santa and his reindeer are hanging from? There are a few strategically placed pieces of that hanging around, mixed with some green ribbon they found. Yup, just random strings of ribbon hanging from things...because "it looks like a party." Now how can I argue with that?

It's Jesus's birthday, Mom. That's a good enough reason for a party, right?

Basically, Christmas has thrown up all over our house. In all of it's tacky, technicolor, sparkly, shiny, homemade and store bought glory.

So, instead of getting annoyed, after a number of deep, very deep, cleansing breaths, I gave up. Actually, that's wrong. I didn't give up. I gave in. After all, how can you argue with a child's pure enthusiasm for and spirit of the season?

There will be years and years of picture perfect (well, "perfect" would be a stretch for me) Christmases ahead of us. But with all of that pretty, matching, coordinating Christmas decor comes the silent recognition that the magic of hanging Santa and his reindeer by red ribbons from our railings has slipped away.

So I will try and smile back at Frosty and Santa as I pass into the kids rooms to put away (another) load of laundry...and be thankful for the four little creatures that scotch taped them there.