Evil Elf

Hey, did you know I have a blog? Apparently I FORGOT. Wasn't until Mary Anna reminded me that Halloween is over and I don't think I recorded any of the November antics here. And there were antics. Trust me. There are always antics with us.

I swear I don't know where the time goes. I only thought the days flew by when I was lying around eating bon bons and watching Oprah all day. I am really enjoying my job. That is, when I actually make it there. Take one day this past week, for example. Let's say....Wednesday I believe it was.

We were running a little late and I was still running around in my big pink poofy bathrobe trying to get William to pick his pajamas up out of the middle of the floor and brush his teeth so we could finish getting ready to get to school on time. Stuart and Catherine were (amazingly) already dressed and weren't (as of yet) demolishing anything. William (predictably) was dilly-dallying (I just love that word) around. I hollered (sweetly) "William....go straighten up your bed and get your shoes on!" Here's what he must have heard: "WILLIAM....go saw your fingers off one by one with a rusty pocket knife and when you're finished, do your toes!" Because he hurled himself into the sofa and started wailing and weeping and yelling "Nooooo......NOOOOOOOOO!"

{Give me a break.}

"NOW~!" I hollered (sweetly). And off he went into his room. And then there was a loud crash. More weeping and wailing. And I went in to find that an ornament had mysteriously jumped off the Christmas tree in William's room and shattered all over the floor. SO....I grabbed Stuart, threw him in his crib, grabbed Catherine and threw her (sweetly of course) into her room, ran to the carport (flashing the neighbors I fear) and grabbed the broom. Ran back up into the room to clean up the mess and a FRIGGIN' FROG jumped out of the broom. I screamed. William screamed. I captured the frog into a plastic playdough container, set him free out the front door, set Catherine and Stuart free, dumped the shattered glass, got myself dressed, changed a poopy diaper, loaded the wrecking crew into the van, dropped them off at school, and walked into work calm, cool and collected. They have NO IDEA. NONE!

Because I'm gooooooood.

Speaking of being good. Let's talk about Santa's little elves. Particularly that creepy little plastic faced Elf on the Shelf. I thought it was a great idea...a way to make the kids behave during the holidays if they thought the little elf was watching them to report back to Santa if they are naughty or nice. We named him Rufus. And he comes out every Thanksgiving and hangs out until Christmas. But this year William is a little smarty pants and is on to the whole gimmick. He just isn't buying it. We were on our way to school the other morning and he asked if the elf really comes alive and leaves every night to talk to Santa. Of course, I told him. He then asked what he does when he gets back. I don't know, I said. Whatever elves do.

"He eats our cookies," Catherine said matter-of-factly.

Uh, no, that would be Mama, I started to say but instead I agreed. "You're right, Catherine. He's a bad little elf. Bad little elf who eats all the cookies." I wiped some crumbs off my lips as I blamed Rufus.

Later that night I started to move the elf again and I swear he gave me the evil eye.

I swear he did.