I thought maybe we could make ginger bread houses, and eat cookie dough, and go ice skating, and maybe even hold hands. Buddy the Elf
I live with Elf. We call him Bubby, for copyrighting purposes, but you get the idea. He is Smiles and Urgency and Squeals. Overly fond of syrup. He is wearing me out.
Now, don't get me wrong: Living with a perky elf has its advantages. He will get up early with a spring in his step, ready to take on the day. He loves people. He loves smiles. He has more energy and exuberance than he knows what to do with and I thank God for giving me such a cheerful little guy.
But at 6 am, sans coffee, I find myself shushing. When I am overwhelmed by laundry and dirty floors, I find myself growing irritable, which I am pretty sure makes me the angry elf in this scenario. (My apologies to Will Ferrell and the greater Elf population.)
So I am forcibly letting go (try that oxymoron on for size) of some of my neurotic 'I have to do Christmas this way' notions, for this little Elf is on loan, for a limited time engagement.