The Elf on the Shelf ... Still

We all know how it works. A few weeks before Christmas, a cute little elf shows up at the house. He sits on the shelf, lounges by the windowsill, keeping an eye on things. Then, at night, while everyone sleeps, he flies back to the North Pole, gives a full report to the big guy, then gets back to the house to assume a new position.  

We’ve had some elves for the past three years, only not the store-bought kind, some old guys who belonged to my father-in-law when he was a kid.It's fun, stashing them in different places, all the shenanigans and mischief as we build up to the big day. But then, later, after all the presents are opened, the elf heads home. 

And that's what happened, until...

This past Christmas, we were out shopping a few days after the holiday, spending some of that gift card goodness when Simon spotted an Elf on the Shelf near the counter. A um, name brand one, in the box, with the book. It was on sale, half off. So we figured, why not?

Let me tell you why not. 

This elf—the one my son named Triskit—was declared a pet elf. Wanna know a fun little secret about pet elves? They never go away. Nope, they stick around all jolly year 'round, just a bouncing through the house night after night. You never know where old Triskit might be hiding, so your kid has to leap out of bed everyday—and I mean e-v-e-r-y-d-a-y, at six thirty or seven, even on a Sunday and hunt him down.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing cuter than watching him wander through the house in pajamas, donning his punkrock bedhead hair, searching for this elf. What's not cute, is remembering to get out of bed in the middle of the night to hide the little freeloader. Every. Single. Night. 

Old Triskit is living it up. He's got his own pajamas, a sleeping bag. I’ve even put in a little shelf in my kid’s closet. Believe me when I tell you Triskit has it good for an elf.

I’m not sure how long it will go on. Valentines Day? St. Patty's Day? Halloween? 

In all seriousness, it's not that bad. And I can tell he's not fully buying this elf business, I think he just like’s to pretend. Sometimes he’ll come out of the bathroom, eyes wide, arms out, and say, “Dad, look where Triskit is hiding.”

And I do. I want to know. Because even as I joke, it’s fine with me. One day my kid will grow out of all this stuff. Or maybe he won’t and things will be downright weird. 

I'll keep you posted. 

'Tis the Seasons...

The other morning, through a smear of yogurt, my kid, with his hair still fuzzy and wild from a good night’s sleep, was asking about balloons. More specifically, his You're the Best! balloon from months ago that I tossed in the trash because it lay in a heap under the table like a wet plastic grocery bag.

“Well, your birthday’s coming up, I’m sure you’ll get a balloon then, right?”

“And presents?”

“Yeah, you’ll probably score some gifts too."

His gaze wandered to where our tree had stood, now a barren corner and a stark reminder that Christmas is over.

"We can put them under the tree?"

“Well, uh, you see…”

And there’s the dilemma. Where I’m happy the kid enjoyed Christmas, he’s having a tough time letting it go. My wife said they pulled into the driveway the other evening and he said the house looked sad because we "put Christmas away.”

An unpardonable offense in his eyes. He wants to watch The Grinch. He wants presents under the tree. He wants to sing Jingle Bells, or, some form of it anyway… Omaha, it is to ride, in a one horse open….Hey!

We just might have a Christmas theme for his January birthday.

Now, I’m not some jerk who doesn't want his son to enjoy himself. I'm okay with a slight extension to the holiday season. We traveled this year for Christmas, so he wasn’t at home to enjoy the tree and the lights. So fine, we left everything up stayed merry and stretched things out a bit. While other people were pitching trees to the curb, ours glowed in full glory. 

I’m no longer one of those rip-it-all-down and be done with it on the 26^th type of guys. I don’t let the shopping season or commercials dictate what holiday to celebrate. Truth be told we could all use a little Christmas cheer all year around.

But…

After a while, wouldn't it get...weird, not too mention brown....if we had the tree up all year? And again, I've made some concessions already. I’ve left some lights up, white ones, on the fence post out front, and there's a snowman...

But these two, both of them, wife and kid. They want full tilt Yule tide. 

So I'm branded the Grinch.

Fine. But to me, part of what makes Christmas special is the wait. If it was here all year then it would not only get weird, and brown. It would lose some of it’s luster. But try explaining this at my house, while you're reading Little Blue Truck's Christmas and everyone's wondering why the little tree on the last page won't light up. *Hint, it's the batteries, because it's JANUARY...

I’m sure hope this will all pass. I’m guessing with his birthday and all he’ll get back into the groove of things and Jingle Bells will give way to the Easter Bunny. Or maybe by Halloween we’ll have him ready to go trick or treating, singing spooky songs and getting into the spirit of things. 

Maybe he can go as Santa Clause. 

Thoughts on Family Travel...

Holiday travel. Every year I say never again. Yet every year I find my hands on the wheel. Sure, getting away is fun. Seeing family is great.  But the getting there, that is tough sledding.

It starts with a three year old. Not easy, right? Add two dogs, one on each side of the little guy and now we’re getting close. Okay stuff the car to the gills and then pretend that you abhor being confined to a seat for more than a half hour or so. 

Now we’re cooking.

I'm sure that some of you out there drive all the time, and you may like nothing more than hitting the open road at full speed. Well, God bless you for it. Me? No, not my thing. I-81, with its steep inclines and trucks and constant road construction? I’d rather chew on a rusty wad of steel wool. 

My whole family was packed into that car. The only thing missing was a jar around my neck with our two little goldfish. One wrong move, me or the other guy and well...it’s more than my nerves can take. That’s why I chug along at a paltry 68-72 mph. I pass cops with a smile. The Fast and the Furious? I’m not what would be considered the ideal demographic.

Our journey began in Virginia and ended in the North Country, a mere 50 miles from the Canadian border. All in all it was something to the tune of 26 hours in that car with stops at the downtown Hilton in Scranton, Pa, both there and back. And By the way, those good people at the Hilton are top notch, and I highly recommend their hotel if you’re travelling with pets. Last time up  I chose a roadside motel to save a buck with the expected results.

But nope, this time we spent the extra money and got fancy. Two queen beds meant one for mother and child and one for man and dogs. It's funny because I used to leave a hotel room in a daze. A fog of cigarette smoke hanging and a string of beer cans strewn along the floor. Now it's Goldfish crumbs and baby wipes. 

Times change.

Dogs. Boy was that something. After the first time they flat out refused to get back in that elevator. A fool-me-once sort of deal. So then it was three flights of stairs whenever I had to let them out or in. Other than that they were well behaved. Even Mason, our neurotic husky mix did okay. A few pants and some trembling at times when traffic got hairy, but hey, the same went for me.

The kid. He did great too. Minimal napping and maximum discomfort, and yet he handled most of it like a champ. At one point, there was us, in the empty hotel lobby/bar, drinking a draft and trying to de-frazzle ourselves while our kid played with his tractor on the floor. Sure, there were those times on the road, when he’d yank at his car seat belt while shouting, “Get me out of here!” Then again, I did the same thing.

On the way home—which became the longest effing trip home since trips and homes and roadside mowing was invented—we hit a snag in traffic and came to a lurching halt on the interstate. My son, awake but weary, piped up from the back.

“We’re going home?”

“Yes son.”

“We’re going home really slow?”

“Yep.”

Home. There’s nothing better. Walking into that familiar place, with its smells and sounds and comforts. With its absence of traffic and lurking dangers. Where the dogs sleep without worry and snore through the night. Where the stress melts away. Where my kid isn’t tying a leash to the hotel chair or eating with a plastic spoon. Where there are no elevators or parking garages or check out times. Home. Where all is well.

Happy Holidays.

Season’s Greetings!

Spring is in full swing and temperatures here in Virginia have warmed up as we hit the eighties over the weekend. Our yard had transformed from brown and bare to rich and green with colorful blooms and I was itching to get out and wake up my lawnmower from its hibernation.

But wait. Why is that ice cream truck playing Christmas music?

That's right. I was in shorts, having just finished mowing the lawn when I heard it. I shielded my eyes from the blizzard of swirling pollen to see that yes, it was in fact an ice cream truck. A dingy green sinister-looking wreck of a van that couldn't pass a farm use inspection and may even be in violation of the Geneva Convention. But it's that creepy polyphonic blast of Silent Night that had me worried.

It's just as well I suppose, because if there's one thing I've noticed about having a toddler in the house (besides having a shirtless guy shouting at me all the time), it's that Christmas....just....never....ends.

Call it the gift that keeps on giving. And while it's bad enough that my neighbor won't remove that plastic poinsettia from her flagpole (despite my desperate offerings to help), or that I'm still finding wind strewn ornaments caught in bushes after decorating the Cypress trees for the holidays, it's what's happening indoors that has me shouting Bah Humbug!

Let me explain. Over the holidays my son commandeered our neighbor’s old toy choo choo train. It was really sweet of her, our neighbor, to let my two year old get his grubby hands on it. It has a track and some cars and it plays merry little Christmas songs as it chugs along headed for the North Pole.

Cute, right?

No. For the love of ice cream the Christmas Express is still chugging along. It's a little worn and wrecked and it chuffs along in a wounded, wobbling way after one too many plunges off the coffee table, but on it goes. And goes....

I remember putting it up sometime in mid-January. You know, when I naively thought that we were kind of done with the whole Christmas thing. Ah yes, the days before I was aware that were raising a real life Buddy the Elf. Those were good times, But then Spring Break happened, when I came home and found the old Chrismas Express charging away with merriment, it’s tired batteries giving it’s song a warbled tilt that rivals the ice cream truck for creepiness supremacy.

Oh and the books. Frosty the Snowman, and a slew of others. Now who wants to be the book confiscator and get all Fahrenheit 911 on a little kid trying to read? Not me, so let the yule tide burn, even while the last time I checked we were on the backside of April and should be breaking out the sunblock and the beach towels.

Maybe I'm just being a grinch here. Perhaps tonight we'll have some egg nogg and go out caroling. Then maybe we'll stop for ice cream? Or even better it will stop for us! I need to get into the spirit, sing with me now...

Have a Holly-Jolly Christmas...It's the best time of the year....

Road Trippin'

With Christmas approaching my wife and I will soon be hitting the road and hitting it hard.  I'm a southern boy who married a New York girl. Not New York as in the city.  New York as in damn near Canada.    

So what does that mean? Well:

The first time I visited it was 28 degrees.  In June.  

That the mere mentioning of the words sweet and tea make her wince.

That I have to stand by as a decoder when she speaks to certain family members, leaning into her ear like a translator. Pretent honey, think pretended.

That every time she watches college football I have to explain to her that no, it's not the super bowl.

That our son will probably not be playing rec league hockey but her ice skates make great bookends.

That she is still not used to the fact that there will be no chance of snow on Halloween.

That in the event that there is cold rain, schools will shut down and the closing will start scrolling below on the local news. Milk will become scarce as grocery stores are mobbed as soon as the weather man says there is a slight chance of –.

That macaroni and cheese is yellow, not white.  Yellow.

That up until the year 2000, Virginia lumped in two confederate generals with Martin Luther King Jr. and celebrated the puzzling holiday known as Lee/Jackson/King day.

Okay, I’m getting off topic. What it means is some seriously long road trips. I’ve been up to damn near Canada twice before. But now we have a kid, and he’s not the best road trip partner. He's good for a quick outing and if we are lucky he’ll sleep but there is something else. it gets better.

As things stand now we are also taking our two dogs, one of which is a little, well, let’s just say he has a certain zest for life.

So let’s take a look at this. There’s my wife and me, the kid, and two dogs on a thirteen hour drive. Are we there yet?

We’ve lined up a great house sitter, but that’s the easy part. Our house is potty trained and usually on good behavior. The cat is staying—no problems there, but my wife refusing to leave the dogs behind. We’ve tried to come up with alternatives. She’s against kenneling the dogs, and our husky has burned his bridges with dog sitters. So…. 

We plan on stopping somewhere in Pennsylvania at a halfway point so we need to find a hotel that accommodates dogs. Well one dog and one lunatic with fur.

So how will this work? I have no idea. If you pass what looks like a travelling circus in a Subaru somewhere near the Mason/Dixon line be sure to wave. My wife says it will be an adventure and she’s right, but so was the Hindenburg.

Pumped...

There are few things I enjoy more than shopping on the last Saturday before Christmas, a few meaning anything.

Nevertheless, my wife and I went out to spend a little Christmas money.  I remember when Christmas money was meant to be wasted, maybe not wasted but spent without thought to the future.  This is no longer the case.  Christmas money—as in Christmas bonuses, gifts, money found on the street, or however else it comes into my possession will quickly be spent on baby stuff.  Not baby stuff as in fun stuff like say, a stuffed monkey or a basketball.  No, baby stuff as in a changing pads, or a glider chair, or even worse...much worse.

I found myself in Target looking at breast pumps.  Yes, the events that have transpired in my life have taken me to the aisle in the store featuring devices with suction cups that look like air horns.  While my wife looked at the various makes and models (low speed, fast speed?), I slowly began taking a few steps back mumbling something about a sale on shoelaces before turning and sprinting, running away like I was being chased. He’s very mature for his age—said not one of my teachers ever.

I wasted what I thought was a suitable amount of time for any reasonable person to pick out a breast milk pumping apparatus, before heading back to the baby section, catching a scowl from some guy wearing an ill fitting cap on his head and a XXXXL shirt.  Look, why do you have to be a tough guy in the maternity section of target?  I get it, you’re cool. 

Moving on, I arrive back to find my wife being assisted by a guy with his daughter.  One of his daughter’s actually, and this guy seemed to know a thing or two about breast pumps.  Helpful and pleasant, the man explained that he has three daughters and recommended the pump my wife was holding.  I stood towards the back, snickering like an adult when the topic of leak pads arose, prompting my wife to thank the nice man as we put the most expensive breast pump in our cart.

On the way home, I started thinking, was there a time when breast pumps made him feel uncomfortable?  Was he ever scared? Does Target place “Dads” in the aisles to recommend the most expensive breast pumps? 

  

John Denver and The Muppets

The sounds of the season make Christmas all the more enjoyble, and it seems everyone and anyone has put out a Christmas album at some point.  Elvis, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Nsync have all made Christmases more enjoyable over the years. Well, three out of four anyway.

For me, nothing reminds me of early childhood Christmases like The Muppets.  That’s right, the Muppets.  In 1979, the stars aligned as John Denver, along with Kermit, Mrs Piggy and the rest of the Muppet gang collaborated on a Christmas album that has stood the test of time.

The album takes me back to a special place, to a small house where a Kerosene heater warmed the living room, a rotary telephone was fastened to the wall in the kitchen, and music was played by setting a needle onto the grooves of a record as it turned at 33 revolutions per minute.

My sister and I would sing along to this record as we bounced around the room with spirited excitement, feeling the Christmas magic in the air (it may have been the fumes from the kerosene).   Family and friends would stop by and we would welcome them in from the cold, inviting them to sing along as we decorated the tree.

Money was tight and times were tough, but our troubles were forgotten--if only for a night--as we sang along to our favorite Christmas album.  We played it over and over again, as Mom would flip the record when the needle began its rhythmic bumping on the label.  A little bit of heat, The Muppets album, a few neighbors, and we had ourselves a party.

I'd help my mother with the decorations, as she would always save her Christmas cards and use them to decorate the house, I still remember looking through the cards that felt like a lifetime ago in my four year old mind.

Later, as I lay in my bed, too wound to sleep, my sister and I would listen for Santa’s sled up on the roof, singing the songs from the album that were still fresh in our head.  Did you hear that?  My sister would say, and I would try my best to hear the sound of the sleigh on the roof.

Not long ago, at an estate sale just down the street from my house, I was flipping through a crate of dusty albums when sure enough, I came across the familiar cover.  I opened the sleeve, and for a moment I was back in that small house from my childhood, singing songs and decorating the tree.  I held onto the album, unashamed as I walked through the house with my childhood treasure tucked under my arm. I ended up paying two bucks for the record, and as I walked out with the record I couldn't help but wonder if its previous owner enjoyed it as much as I had.

As an expectant father, I can't wait for my son to experience this album, the full experience.  From the crackling sound of a real record, to the timeless songs that I loved as a child. Not to mention the great singing voices of The Muppets. I look forward to enjoying this classic with my son, and hopefully it can spread its magic all over again.  But I'll have to make it clear, if he makes fun of The Muppets he's grounded.

The Toy Tester...

My Dad and Stepmother recently bought a bike for a young boy through a Christmas gift program in their area.  Now my dad isn't going to give this boy a bike that doesn't work, he had to test it out to make sure it worked properly.  

As you can see, I'm sure Grandpa is very excited about testing all of Simon's future gifts to make sure they aren't defective, and I hope to carry the torch of toy tester in the coming years. But one thing is for sure, I hope that my wife and I have this much fun when we become Grandparents!

Too Much Christmas?

Zazzle.com

It seems no sooner than when Halloween ends, the deluge of Christmas decorations hit the stores.  The music begins, the commercials hit the airwaves, and pretty soon, we’re staring at two months of Christmas cheer directly in the face.

Black Friday has now been pushed to late Thursday.  Before we even finish our leftovers it's time to get a jump on the crowds for that fourth 46 inch television for the kitchen! 

So when is it time to begin the Holiday season?

My wife and I have been back and forth on this debate for the better part of the week.  In an ideal world, I would begin decorating for Christmas somewhere between December 1st and 10^th.  That gives everyone a little time to transition from Thanksgiving to Christmas.  My wife was ready to decorate last weekend.  I was able to hold her off, but it looks like my Friday after Thanksgiving will be filled with the task of untangling hastily put away Christmas lights in the attic.

The other part of this debate is when to take our decorations down.  I’m a day after Christmas kind of guy.  The tree is dead, the garland has lost its luster, and I’m ready to start fresh for the new year.  My wife however, would leave everything up well into the first week of January.  Just typing that sentence makes me cringe.  Our compromise?  New Years Day, I will celebrate by taking everything down.  You can imagine how I feel about people who leave their Christmas lights up all year.

I suppose I’m sort of an after Christmas Grinch.  Fine by me.  Once it’s over, I have no use for red bows, garland, messy trees, not to mention my electric bill from powering all of those lights in the yard. 

I remember this same debate when I was a child.  My father was ready to take everything down on Christmas day, while my stepmother, if she had her way, would leave the tree carcass up until Easter.  New Year’s day would come along and my dad would be itching at the chance to start yanking decorations off of the brittle tree limbs.  Usually by January 2nd, it was go time, my stepmother would relent and my father and I would have the tree stripped, removed, and out on the lawn in under 10 minutes.  She would stand by, arms crossed while making sure nothing was broken, shaking her head at the two of us working diligently together. It was an art form.

Whatever your customs, I think we can all agree that two months of Christmas is ridiculous.  We already have Christmas in July, before black Friday sales, after Christmas sales, get a jump on next Christmas sales, It’s never too early to think about Xmas 2014 sales etc.  Christmas is a great time of year, everyone’s a little cheerier,kids are excited, and it’s a great time for charity.  I love Christmas, there’s nothing like it….in DECEMBER.