Apparently her daughter’s father bought the elf without her input.
“While I have narrowly avoided this atrocity of a tradition year after year, my 8-year-old successfully conned her father into buying her one and because it’s ‘magic’ and ‘actually kind of fun,’ (according to the man who only has to move it twice before Christmas *hard eyeroll*) and it, of course, found its way back to Chicago, to eerily creep on my daughter each and every waking moment and simultaneously thieve whatever small shred of sanity I had left. *pops cork on wine bottle with teeth*”
So close, mystery Craigslist poster! Most kids wouldn’t make it all the way to age 8 without questioning why the elf visited all her friends but never her. You almost got away with it!
But alas, the elf has arrived and she’s not happy about it and the um, delicate conversations she’s no longer allowed to have.
Apparently their particular elf (named Cocoa) has delicate sensibilities:
“So, forget that I’ve spent the better part of a decade teaching my daughter to make good and kind choices REGARDLESS of who is watching or will find out — now we aren’t even allowed to have ‘private’ conversations IN OUR OWN HOME because Cocoa is within earshot and ‘that’s kind of embarrassing.’
(Our private conversations are about poop. I AM WHISPERING ABOUT THE CONSISTENCY OF POOP IN MY OWN HOME.)”
She laments that it’s just too hard to remember to do the elf thing every night.
It really is hard to think of something good to do every day for 25 days straight to be honest. The post continues:
“Now, I am a single parent with a career, so as I’m sure you can imagine, there is quite literally NOTHING I love more than finally laying down in bed after a long day of work, schedule juggling, human-tetrising my way onto the El, making dinner, begging someone tiny to eat, shower and floss, worrying about tech neck, scrambling to check homework assignments/notes/permission slips, laundry, and cleaning up whatever else exploded and/or imploded that day, only to suddenly remember I didn’t move that GOD FORSAKEN ELF THAT’S *STILL* ON THE SHELF from the night before.”
She also shares her failed attempts that led to her drastic measures.
“At which point, I begrudgingly thrash off the covers and fumble around our 42-square-foot apartment in the dark, praying I don’t accidentally paralyze the cat, and try to find something to attach these little hand sewn arms (the bitch’s hands are *literally* sewn together) around anything remotely festive. After a few failed attempts and spilling the ground cinnamon I forgot was set out to aid her magical flight back to the North Pole, my genius idea is to let this trick ride our Christmas tree like a rodeo bull. Obviously, I knock the tree and all of its 734 jingle bells onto the floor trying to mount her up there and pray my daughter is not springing from her bed to see what is the matter.
Anyway, I was over this shit before it started. So if you are someone with a strange amount of ‘holiday spirit’ or are trying to win some weird ‘Buddy the Elf’ competition and can carry us through to the holiday — I encourage you to apply!”
Of course, she’s not just going to let anyone into her house to move an elf around.
There are requirements, obviously.
-Must bring your own moccasins or have superior ninja skills … either will suffice.
-If my child wakes up during your shift, you *must* be willing to pretend you ARE the Grinch, and convince her that she has saved Christmas by catching you.
+Night vision goggles are a plus.
*Serious inquiries only.