A few years ago (before all the Hallmark hoopla), I read a blog about some mom who had an elf come visit her children every year around Christmas. I loved the idea, so I borrowed an elf from my mom's collection of old Christmas stuff and waited until Connor was older.
This year, our elf came to visit on the first of December. His first hiding spot was in the downstairs bathroom, as a hint to the kids to be good while getting ready for bed. (In the evenings, there is a lot of arguing - and screaming and crying - about who gets to brush their teeth first. Why, I have no idea.) Anyway, the kids loved to see him. A few days later, he had made his way upstairs.
Connor noticed him first and mentioned how the elf was now upstairs. I told him that sometimes elves can be sneaky and they never want us to see them move. So they wait until we aren't looking, then they jump to a different spot.
All is well and good.
Until, two days ago.
The elf made his way to the top of a picture frame near our Christmas tree. Connor was excited to see him. Colin was excited to see him. Keira took one look, burst into tears and ran screaming from the room.
Needless to say, our elf friend has been banished to the North Pole. She still walks around, her beautiful blue eyes darting around fearfully to see if he has snuck back. She even woke up this morning, asking if the elf was still gone.
Tell me, how can this little guy be scary?