My sister is a kind and generous soul and I love her.  I really do.

I just want to kill her.

 

Well maybe not kill but definitely hurt her really, really bad.  Maybe pull her hair by the roots until she cries out in a screechy voice.  Or perhaps a lengthy pinch of the little fleshy stuff right under her armpit. You know, just a little something for emphasis.

 

She thought it would be supercool to give me a first class ticket on the Elf on the Shelf bandwagon.  Apparently she thought the whole gimmick sounded delightfully joyous and heartwarming for my boys this holiday season.  (Quick version:  a book and elf arrive in festive packaging.  This magic elf then watches the kids’ behavior each day until Christmas.  He hides throughout the house and each day the kids wake up, search for him and whisper their holiday desires into his little ear.)

 

Very cute indeed.  However, now they simply wake up in Spartacus mode –  a competition of the fittest  to find it first – before they resume wrestling and beating the spit out of each other (like most mornings). Really, it’s just glorious.

 

Anyway, here’s my problem with our newest holiday tradition (she says forlornly, hoping they’ll misplace the box next year):  it’s making me a total wreck.  I can’t even say how many dark, cold mornings my eyes have flown open with the realization that I didn’’t move the creepy little elf doll to a new spot before turning in for bed.  It’s worse than forgetting the Tooth Fairy was supposed to come (there’s no throwing it in the crumpled sheets with feigned, “Oh THERE it is!” nonsense).  This is serious.  And has to happen EVERY night.  I have lost so much sleep because of it  I look awful (which hello, is not going to help me in the unspoken Who-Looks-Better? contest when my sister and I assemble for the holidays).

 

So yes, I am here to warn others:  this becomes a full-bodied commitment the moment that silly book is read aloud to your little Santa-seekers.

FortheloveofGod, pay no attention to the window displays at Borders and just keep walkin’.

 

Go back to stringing popcorn and find other holiday traditions that won’t put bags under your eyes.

 

I’m no Scrooge but sorry, I just can’t help it.

 

I’m tired (from lack of sleep).

 

And cranky (from waning hiding spaces).

 

And I haven’t thought of anything yet for paybacks for my sister…

but I will.

 

Oh, ho, ho, ho … I will.