This morning, Liam picked his nose and wiped a bugger on me. I didn’t even flinch.
Yesterday, I saw his nose was running and I didn’t have a Kleenex, so I wiped it with my finger.
Two days ago, I picked up a chunk of fallen poo with my fingers.
Last week, I caught Liam licking spilled milk off the floor. I rolled with it.
What does all of this say about me? I have no idea, but I have decided that motherhood lowers your standards for everything. And apparently Liam hasn’t gotten the memo that he should raise his.
I’m cool with it. Happy Thursday.
So, I haven’t posted in awhile. I suppose that’s good, because it means that nothing incredibly stupid or awful has happened that has inspired me to post. But it is time. And you know what inspired me today?
ELF ON THE SHELF. Fuckin’ creepy – that is all.
Well, that should be all. That statement should need no further explanation, but I think I am in the minority with this opinion, so here is a brief explanation on why this creepy little elf fucker will not make its way into my home.
- Just look at him. Those skinny arms and legs, big eyes and creepy smirk remind me a little too much of Jack from the Nightmare before Christmas. The thought of either of these guys secretly scurrying around my house is not Christmas-cutesy, it’s freakin’ creepy.
- So let me get this straight… I’m supposed to tell my kid that he needs to be good because the Elf on the Shelf is always watching and reports back to Santa? DUDE – I don’t want my kid to think that his every move is being watched by anything or anyone other than me. No one likes that feeling of something lurking just over their shoulder. There are enough things in this world to be afraid of – like E.T., ghosts, or Oompa-Loompas (seriously – WTF), all of which I happen to still be afraid of. Judge if you must.
- “It’s a family tradition” – More like, it’s a money-making machine! Kind of ironic that Elf on the Shelf is supposed to help kids learn the spirit of Christmas, being good and kind and giving, and the creators of the creeper are rolling in the dough. Moving on… Tradition, huh? Pretty sure this wasn’t around when I was a kid. I wasn’t threatened with the spy-like capabilities of Santa’s scout elf watching me during the holidays, I was just expected to be good within reason. I think I’d rather have my son try to be “good” for me and his father, than for a secret-service-santa-elf.
- So this is a toy that supposedly comes to life and does cute, nice and funny things during the night for the child to find… Ok. Thinking back to when I was a kid with an incredibly active imagination, I used to put blankets over the heads of my dolls at night because I was terrified that these dolls (who I loved dearly) would come alive during the night and blink, move their heads, or talk to me. I thought of this on my own… I see no need to put the thought into my son’s head that his toys may come alive at night, even if it is well-intended.
- You can’t touch it, only talk to it. “There’s only one rule that you have to follow so I will come back and be here tomorrow: Please do not touch me. My magic might go, and Santa won’t hear all I’ve seen or I know.” I can’t explain it, but this just creeps me out. Hey Liam – here’s an elf that spies on you, reports what you say and do to Santa, and he wants to be your friend but DO NOT GET NEAR HIM. STAY THE FUCK AWAY.
And that is why we won’t do Elf on the Shelf in our house. * Shutter * If you do Elf on the Shelf at your house, I mean you no harm. Elf-away, elf-away. Just please don’t set your little spy up in a scene at my house. I may just pee my pants.