December 14, 2005

Elf Invasion

A while back, I vented about all the energy otherwise sane people are wasting by encouraging their children to believe in elves. As you may recall, the twins heard about a couple of mean and messy elves (smart moms!) and concluded that they did not want one anymore. I was off the hook.

A couple of days ago we set up the “children’s Christmas tree.” It’s a very special tree that stays in the basement. Its main purpose is to serve as a repository for all the handmade ornaments the boys make each year. Really, I truly cherish each new doily wreath and macaroni candy cane that comes through our door, but not when painted pasta and red hots are falling on my good living room carpet. That ruins the Christmas spirit faster than lumpy gravy. So we put the boys’ tree in the basement where they can fondle their ornaments as much as they like without sending me into a glitter-induced panic attack.

We keep all the handcrafted ornaments in their own special box, and when we unpacked it Drew was delighted to discover an ornament that my sister gave him a couple of years ago: an elf with a block for a body.

This elf has never been the object of much attention before, but we weren’t aware of the elf phenomenon in years past. Drew clasped the elf to his bosom and yelled, “Hey Porter! We got an elf! Let’s play!” and then I did not hear from them for a very long time.

I vacuumed and washed and sorted laundry (but didn’t fold it) and then I heard giggling coming from the living room. That room is strictly off limits except for boys who’ve gone through a detailed security check to make sure they are not harboring markers or nails or animals in their pockets, and that their clothes and shoes and hands are free from mud, chocolate and other stain-producing substances. I had not cleared any boys for entry into the living room, so I was quite apprehensive as I strode in to investigate.

Here is what I saw:

This wasn’t so bad.

I saw what you see: an ornament sitting on a pile of
presents, flanked by two wooden lions from the Animal Kingdom at Disney
World, and a yellow plastic thing that looks like a weeble, but isn’t.

(I wasn’t worried about the gifts. The only presents we had bought and wrapped thus far were the ones the boys had purchased for each other. Every year, we go to the Dollar Store and they use their allowance to buy each other copious amounts of plastic weapons, so while this may look like lots of Christmas booty to you, actually it’s about $16 worth of pretend guns and arrows.)

My take on the scene wasn’t quite right. Drew informed me that “The elf is the King, and the lions are his reindeer, and he’s sitting on top of his house. There’s more reindeer inside and we took some needles off the Christmas tree for them to eat. And the Wobbler came from my Froot Loops** and he guards the elf.”

(** You may wonder why I condone Froot Loops for the boys when I don’t let them eat Cocoa Puffs and the reason is that my mom let us eat the former, but never the latter, and we turned out okay.)

“Well, that looks good, guys,” I said. “Be careful in here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Drew said.

“Next we’re going to make the elf turn into Santa on a sleigh!” Porter said. “It’s gonna be cool!”

“Yeah, a fake elf is better than a real elf because he doesn’t mess up your room and you can make him do whatever you want,” Drew pointed out.

“Sounds great,” I said, concealing my dubiousness. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I went back to my chores and unloaded the dishwasher. As I did, the twins ran into the garage, and I heard them rummaging through the sports equipment. As they ran back in, I yelled reflexively, “No balls in the house!” and Porter said, “We know; we don’t have any balls” so I finished the dishes and started sweeping.

Later I went downstairs to write, and Porter came in with a very specific request.

“Mom, I need some of that red ribbon about this long,” he said, as he showed me with his hands how long it needed to be. “And I need two pieces like that. I do. Two pieces.”

I measured it out and cut it. “Thanks!” he yelled, and he ran back upstairs.

Drew visited next. “I need scissors and a yellow marker,” he said.

“Go look in the art box, but no coloring or cutting in the living room,” I emphasized.

“I know,” Drew said wearily as he went back upstairs.

I wrote a little longer, paid some bills, and read some blogs. By then I was growing ever more suspicious, because it is rare that I have an afternoon so unpunctuated by shouting and blood. I ventured back into the living room.

“Hey, look, Mom!” Porter said. “We made the elf into Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer. We did, Mom. We did.”

“Yeah, those look like lions but they’re reindeer,” Drew added.

I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, so I was pretty impressed with what I saw:

No, that’s not an ornament sitting on a shin guard with two lions and some raffia and tiny yellow pieces of paper! That’s Santa in his special sleigh with racing stripes and red reins decorated with tiny gold bells, pulled by two magical reindeer.

It is, Mom. It is.