End of an Era: The Elf on the Shelf lives on, only differently.

Life changes in the moments that we least expect. Coming on suddenly like a rainstorm on a summer day. This week my heart went from being filled to left almost empty in the blink of an eye. Am I being ridiculous and over the top? Maybe. However, knowing that I’m overreacting does not change the feelings of loss as they sweep over me during everyday tasks. I’m continually pulled back to this past Monday morning wishing I could re-do it all. Wishing I would have stopped, been silent until I worked out the lie, I should have told. However, we all know that as much as we might want, we cannot go back in time, therefore I live with my choice and trudge on.

“Mom, I want to talk to you downstairs.” My eleven-year-old son asked innocently enough. It was early in the morning; he was getting ready to put on his coat and walk to the bus stop. Glancing at my watch I realized I had enough time before the bus arrived to talk to him, so I followed him downstairs, glancing back at his stepfather, my husband, with a shrug. As we arrived in the basement my son walked in the direction of the Elf on the shelf and said“They have candy that I noticed you had hidden in the cupboard, how did that happen?”

There was an accusatory hint in his tone. We had been here before, his older sister questioning me about the look of the Elves. They are in fact stuffed decorations. She questioned what they were made of, how they moved, the list going on and on. The times he asked I was always able to brush it off and make something up. I even wondered if my son really knew they weren’t real because one time he shushed his older sister and told her that she would ruin the fun if she kept asking if they were real or not. I figured at this point that he was playing along to some extent as well, enjoying the wonders of the season.

Why not play along? In our house we had two elves, one for each child. My stepmother bought the first one for my daughter when she was one or two, and a few years later when my daughter started asking why there was only one elf for two children, (another reason she thought they must be fake) I bought a second Elf for her little brother. Over the years the elves brought the kids candy or Christmas related items such as socks or ornaments. My son was always more into the Elves then my daughter, loving the treats they left him. In the last two years my daughter, now fourteen years old, stopped searching for the Elves as soon as she got up. My daughter and I had a conversation one day when she was asking all about the intricacies of Christmas and I asked her if she wanted me to have a serious conversation with her about what was real and what wasn’t. She thought for a moment, looked at me and replied “No, I don’t want to talk about it.” It became an unspoken knowledge between her and I. My son, however, still looked each morning and told me he didn’t want them to leave each year on Christmas day. Therefore, they continued to show up each year.

As I stood in the basement caught off guard, I immediately started to think of some way to explain the candy and keep his belief alive. At the same time, I remembered the conversation with my daughter. Should I ask him if he wanted to know the truth? Just then another conversation I had with my husband about my son starting to grow out of being a boy and maturing into a young man. All of these thoughts came to me in the blink of an eye and swirled maddingly in my head.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” I asked him.

“Yes,” My son said.

“It’s the same candy I bought, I put it there.

“So, the Elves aren’t real”? He asked

And that is when I knew I made the wrong choice. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. He had hope that I could explain why the Elves had the same candy in a way that made them real. In the moment I told him the truth part of his innocence was instantly gone. I took it away and I felt terrible. The worst part was a bit later when he came to me, cried, and told me he should have waited until later to ask me, until after Christmas instead of right now. We cried together.

Somehow, I managed to get the kids to school, his sister none the wiser to what had occurred, but my day was ruined. I went through my meetings at work in a haze, somehow making it through the workday. I cried to my husband, and he listened. He told me I gave my son a wonderful gift that he would then in turn give to his children. His words helped, but I was still devastated and blamed myself.

As the day went on, I replayed the scene in my head repeatedly. I concocted stories to tell him when he got home, I would make him believe again. But I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t work and even if it did, how much should I lie to keep the belief alive? The other issue I played in my head was where to go from here? I’ve read the stories on social media about parents being relieved when their kids found out the truth. I always thought I might feel similar to other parents, be glad I didn’t have to hide candy and come up with new hiding places. When the kids and I lived alone in a tiny apartment I ran out of places for the Elves to hide and I felt a surge of dread each night having to come up with someplace new. Oh, how I would welcome that anxiety now.

There were also logistical issues I faced. Was I going to just stop cold turkey with 9 days left until Christmas? Would the two Elves stay seated permanently? Everything felt strange and sad. What was a fun tradition of Christmas was now gone, and I felt the loss like a hole in my chest. I knew I had to find out what my son wanted; how did he think we should proceed? I decided to write a note from his Elf asking him what he wanted to do. I used to leave notes from them all the time and I figured one more note wouldn’t hurt. The note told my son that he was now in on the “secret” and that the Elves would always be there, waiting for him to have his own children so they could return. I asked him if he wanted to continue the tradition or to have them remain as special decorations. He was to circle Yes or No. I placed the note in an envelope, with his name on it and left it next to his Elf. I knew he would eventually go back to the candy if nothing else.

My daughter and I were in her bedroom later that evening when my son ran into the room to find me. He shoved a piece of paper in my hand, grinned and ran out. When I was alone, I look at it and he had circled yes. The best part was written on the top. It said, “Can I help you hide.” I sighed with relief.

The next few days were still hard for me. I acknowledge they were most likely harder for me then for him. I was in a funk, and the joy of Christmas had lessened significantly. I found myself out shopping thinking what is the point? Normally I would walk through the isles looking for items to take home and have the Elf’s give, but now it didn’t matter. I was still moving the Elves, but it was different. My son didn’t have the gleam in his eyes when he found them. He didn’t tell me when they were hiding in such a difficult spot that he couldn’t find them. The longing in my chest was palpable. I wanted to go back in time. I grieved for the magic of Christmas and his belief to be back. It happened so fast. A switch had been flipped, and I wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t want the additional time back from having to hide them. I didn’t want the weight off my back of having to remember to move them. I longed for the anxiety of having to wait until the kids were asleep before moving them. Give me the lack of sleep from waking up at 2 am realizing I forgot to move them. I would take it all back in a second if I could. I found myself resenting others for being happy they didn’t have to play the game when their kids found out. I resented the reels on Instagram of parents rolling their eyes while trying to find a new spot for their Elf. Didn’t they understand when it was all over how sad it would be?

I checked in with my son a few times and he told me a lot of his feelings. He said it was different going to sleep now, knowing. He also said that he had some good ideas' of how we could mess with his sister, giving her gag gifts from them and him good gifts. We made a plan that once school was out, he would take over moving them from place to place. I felt a little hope, but it was barely a flame, it could be snuffed out with the smallest brush of air.

The first day of Christmas break we planned for him to “forget” to take his lunch box out of his bookbag, thus having to go downstairs after he and his sister were tucked into bed. Yes, I’ll take my fourteen-year-old still wanting to get tucked into bed as a good thing. My son snuck downstairs and as we went to retrieve his siters elf he said it felt weird. I smiled at him, put the Elf in his hand and told him I was giving the tradition to him now. He seemed to take it to heart. We hugged. He placed the Elf if her hiding spot, taking time to get her in the right spot and making sure she didn’t fall over. We left her with some gross candy as a joke. Next, he asked me about his Elf. When I said I would move it, his face fell with disappointment and said that he wanted too, so I let him. He grinned and we worked together to get his Elf all set up.

As I tucked him back into bed I felt really good, better then I had since this whole terrible incident occurred. I snuggled him and told him I was happy that he was the one taking part in the tradition with me instead of his sister and I meant it. He laughed and smiled. Kids are so different, each wonderful in their own way, but this tradition belongs to my son. He cared about the Elves much more then his sister and he wants to continue the tradition. If the roles were reversed his sister wouldn’t be interested at this age. She wouldn’t care as much, which is ok. She and I have other adventures we share. This adventure belongs to my son and me.

I know that although I felt better, I’m not over it yet. I’m well aware that I’m distraught because of what this symbolizes. It’s a step in the direction of becoming a man and leaving his childhood behind. While I know it’s a healthy step it is also an incredibly painful step for me to be a part of. In life there are times when we can re do something. We can choose another career if we so desire, heck even another marriage if the first one doesn’t turn out like we thought, but we can not redo or keep our children babies forever and that’s sad. Plain and simple.

Many years ago, when my son was a toddler, he leaned into me as he was getting ready for bed and asked a terrible question. One that started to take his innocence away. He asked quite simply if dying was real. It killed me when I knew I had to tell him the truth. I snuggled him, my arms wrapped tightly around him as silent tears fell down my cheeks. “Yes, I whispered, yes dying is real.” Now years later more tears fell as I had to tell him that “No the Elves aren’t real.” Dear God, how I wish the opposite were true. Why can’t it be that that dying is fake and the magical sweet Elves are real.

As this year comes to a close, I realize that there were two significant events that have reminded me to appreciate what I have, as it can change in a blink of an eye. Living in the present day is one of my biggest struggles, but I’ve once again been reminded to do so. This week has been incredibly hard, however tonight when I passed the torch to my son, as we smiled and laughed together when he moved the Elves I remember to live in the moment. I will enjoy the light feeling in my chest with the knowledge that the Elf on the shelf era lives on, only differently.

Merry Christmas.