From the time Ninja was a baby I always swore I would not be a prisoner to the monthlong nightly commitment of The Elf. You know the one. If you are somehow unfamiliar with this high maintenance miniature ninjutsu intelligence agent, it is a small toy elf that, as the story goes, visits the house each day during the month of December to report back to Santa on the daily exploits of the children who reside there. Each evening the Elf returns to the North Pole to present his naughty versus nice assessment to the big man, perhaps with a flow chart or clever sliding scale of some kind. There’s nothing like grooming comfortability in deep state espionage from an early age.
Two years ago, at the age of 6, my boy came home from school and brought up the dreaded topic. Obviously peers at school have elves and his teammates at hockey practice have elves and everyone talks about elves and this was bound to happen sooner or later. He was mostly curious and had a lot of questions, but there was an air of confused bewilderment that I had been unprepared for. I knew that sadness would eventually follow, and with good reason. Ninja is already left out of so many things because he hits max capacity mentally and emotionally so much quicker than his peers. I could absolutely not allow his excitement for the holiday season to be hindered by yet another perceived rejection, seemingly from Santa Claus, no less. So last year on December 1st, despite my years long declaration to the contrary, and elf would appear. Ninjas immediate reaction to the discovery was ecstatic exuberance, and made my heart so happy.
I have two main problems with this squirrely fellow. The first problem lies in his required daily location change. Notably, the problem lies not within the movement itself, but actually stems from overachieving moms everywhere taking his exploits to new levels. No gender bias intended – if there are dads out there on full time elf duty they are just as culpable, but lets be real about who makes almost all of the family Christmas magic happen. I would be curious to know how many elf adventures anyone would be aware of without the existence of social media. If this was 20 years ago and email or text message were the only fast way to send pictures of the shenanigans to their friends or family, parents probably wouldn’t be committed to leaving a huge mess in the kitchen so their elf can appear to have cooked something. Thankfully in 2025 we have social media and folks can post elf pics all day long and collect likes and comments from anyone in the world, affirming their elite creativity and parenting. What a time to be alive!
As the parent of a differently wired and sometimes exasperating child, it’s all I can do to just move the thing. Now I am supposed to make it DO something funny or creative or messy? No. No thank you. Most days I am fully out of steam, energy, and brain cells by the time Ninja goes to bed. The burnout is real.
The second, and larger problem I have with him is the rule that if the elf is touched he loses his magic. Now imagine you are a wildly curious kid with a Pathological Demand Avoidance brain that is wired to do the opposite of what you are told to do on most occasions. Would you stand any chance in hell of withstanding the temptation to test the limits of the elf magic with direct contact? The answer is no. No you would not.
Going into this little coerced trial (as determined by modern American suburban society), I approached the elf’s presence with trepidation. I know my kid. This felt like setting him up to fail. It was an impossible situation. Entrapment. My choices were to continue shunning elf ownership and experience the heartbreak of Ninja feeling like he is “less than” once again, or buckle up and try like hell to avoid kid to elf contact opportunities for 24 days. It really was no choice, his feeling of inclusion was everything.
Things started out well enough. I managed to find places for the elf to appear that were out of Ninjas reach for about a week and a half. The very first day that the Elf appeared close to ground level, Ninja very predictably touched it. This was followed up by a curiosity/concerned hybrid response that proceeded tons of questions about the bylaws of elf magic and hypothetical scenarios. I was at a complete loss for what the cure might be for an elf when he lost his magic, so we did what we always do when we don’t know the answer to something. We Googled it.
It turns out that sprinkling cinnamon next to the elf works. Ninja insisted there had to be a LOT of cinnamon, just to be safe. So much for my mess-free aspirations of lazy elf ownership. When Ninja did it again a couple of days later and again a couple of days after that, we began to look up alternative ways to restore the magic that didn’t involve using all of our spices. So now I had to not only remember to move it and use my precious few remaining brain cells to find a landing spot or activity for it, we went ahead and added finding cures for elf magic disappearance to our holiday expectations. Seems like a lot of demands from someone who intrinsically avoids them.
Elf pressure just seems like a lot to pile on to a parents life of perpetual PDA exhaustion. But it’s not about us, it never has been. If the holiday season looks different for your family because you avoid community celebrations such as friends gatherings or crowded parades that are too much for you kiddo to handle, that’s okay. If you decline invitations because the stress of constant vigilance required to be out negates any fun to be had, that’s okay too. If you cannot muster the appearance of endless merriment, don’t put pressure on yourself to do so. Don’t let mom guilt creep in, you send that shit back to the north pole with the closest elf. These are things I should have been saying to myself the past few years, but better late than never.
Wishing all the parents out there as much joy and merriment as you can comfortably manage this holiday season. You got this.
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