“What?” I said, pressing my hand to my chest. I frowned. “Wait. Did you guys move him? You know you’re not supposed to touch him or else he loses his magic.” I was happy that my no frills Elf on the Shelf idea of just moving the little fella two shelves down was working.
“No! He really moved!” Elizabeth’s eyes were wide. “Joseph! You need to call Santa and make him take Bob back! He’s scaring me!”
I looked at the red clothed elf and his oddly creepy sideways glance and inwardly agreed. Santa really had sent us the serial killer elf.
“No!” Joseph said with a great deal of passion for a seven-year-old boy. “He stays. I love him.”
And thus began our terrifying first week of Bob the Elf who was loved and feared, in turn. I found myself, at nearly midnight, making a tulle tutu for the guy to make him a little friendlier. I dug through Barbie accessories for sunglasses and a crown to give him the appearance of a fun guy. I set him up with Barbie and pals, put a crayon in his hand and a heart on paper for Elizabeth, and basically, invested far more time than I’d wanted.
Elizabeth still walks by him, eyeing him warily. Joseph still reads the book nightly. And I’m still moving and glaring and sighing over where to put him. Their bedroom is, of course, off limits. As is the bathroom. “I don’t want to wake up with him staring at me,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes glued to the little doll. I don’t blame her.
How has your elf-ing been going?
