Elf in the toilet

We all have our unique abilities in this grand free-for-all called parenting. 

Some, for instance, rock this whole “Elf on a Shelf” thing, creating thematic scenes every day that would rival any Hollywood stage. 

Others, well, others sit bolt upright from a sound sleep on day three of their inaugural attempt at hosting an elf, nudge their poor husbands and say, “Shoot! I forgot to move the elf!”

Then, maybe, these less-than-able elf hosts, inspired by all the Instagram research they have been doing to prepare for a task they know will challenge them, jump out of bed, grab the elf off the shelf, stuff him into two stacked rolls of toilet paper, set them all on a bathroom hutch, with a third roll of toilet paper spiraling up to the little guy’s outstretched hand, and then toddle on back to bed, chuckling at their cleverness.

Things do not work out so well for this type of parent.

Not well at all.

The reaction from the elf-hunters in our house the next morning was less than inspired.

“Gross!” said the seven-year old. “I don’t want an elf watching me pee!”

I turned the toilet paper roll so the elf’s little head faced away from the toilet and assured everyone that no one wanted to watch anyone pee. We all left the bathroom, and the daily hubbub of the morning commenced.

The morning got worse for all of us, especially that elf.

“Hey!” called the four-year old from upstairs. “The elf fell in the toilet!”

I thought he was kidding and I jogged upstairs all set to chuckle at his funny joke.

But, there smack in the middle of the toilet, still perched in a full roll of toilet paper, lay our poor, suffering elf.

“I thought he was joking,” I said soberly to the seven-year old.

“He was not joking,” he replied, shaking his head sadly.

We stood there like three less-than-wise men, the seven-year old, the four-year old and me, just staring at that sorry scene.

“Yuck,” said the four-year old instigator.

“Double yuck,” I agreed.

Eventually, I suited up my arms and removed the whole sodden mess. The elf went straight down to the washing machine where he enjoyed a nice, hot soak.

The next morning, the boys found a note our elf had left saying he had to go to the North Pole to get cleaned up.

He’s going to be gone for a few days while we all recover from the horror.

I have big plans for his return, though.

Wish us luck.

Our elf showed up the same night St. Nick did, which led us all to wonder if they had bumped into each other on the way in. Did they ride share? Are they friends?
Little Timmy Love showed up on our kitchen window sill next. See that cute trail of stars he left? You like them? I did too until I realized they had stuck to the wall and I had to scrub them off with a Magic Eraser. This is day two.
I didn’t take a picture of the next night’s display because I was half asleep. But, rest assured it didn’t look anything like this. Poor Timmy Love drew the elfen short straw when he came to our house. I hope he survives. (For those wondering, I did not touch the elf.)
Shortly thereafter our Elf on the Shelf that became an Elf in the Toilet was an Elf in the Washing Machine. It’s no wonder he fled back to the North Pole for a rest! Stay tuned, though. The whole reason I even agreed to participate in a project I knew was not my strong suit is to bring a little Christmas magic to two little dickens. I have one, just one, cool plan and I can’t wait to launch it. I sure hope that elf comes back!

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