Sunday, December 8, 2013
The Adventures of Rosie Rumnoggin
It took all of 24 hours after adopting Rosie Rumnoggin - my very own Elf on the Shelf - to discover that her personality suits me perfectly.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Creepy
One of my clearest memories from early childhood was running around my Grandma's house looking for the Elf on a Shelf. When they recently surged in popularity I found myself wanting one in all their creepy glory.
I found out my cousin has the one Grandma used to hide for us, and then I found out how much the Christmas Retail Marketing Conspiracy wants for them, and then I gave up because I'm cheap. Until yesterday, when I was all ZOMG Freecycle! I posted the want and had one in hand - new in box, no less - by dinnertime.
Speaking of Retail Conspiracies... please tell me I'm not the only one disturbed by the whole "I'm a girl!" paired with "Skirt sold separately!" on the packaging?
Anyway. Bear was all over it. I told him a baseline version of the story - that they move around the house and it's fun to find them - because I decided it would be ridiculous to tell a child with anxiety disorder that it was watching him for Santa like some freakishly festive nanny cam.
The elf was still boxed and on the kitchen table when he went to bed. When he came down this morning, he failed to notice her comically lazy placement on the mantel and grilled me about how she got out of the box.
Me: I guess she got out after we went to bed. We should go look for her!
Bear: Mommy... why are you saying lying things?
Grand plans for creating whimsical childhood memories? Foiled! Not that I really expected any different from my little Sheldon.
On to Plan B! In which Bear helps us move the elf around for this baby brother to find! He's actually pretty psyched about that, so I'm calling it a win.
Since then I've been brainstorming elf names and fooling no one with my feeble protests that I would not actually label her once said name is established. (Or the brand new box she came in. That I will totally keep. And label.)
After much consideration (and, let's be real, some holiday cheer), I settled on a name. That may or may not be based on said cheer.
May I present...
Rosie and I look forward to many wonderful years of messing with my children. I'm sure their future therapists will thank me.
I found out my cousin has the one Grandma used to hide for us, and then I found out how much the Christmas Retail Marketing Conspiracy wants for them, and then I gave up because I'm cheap. Until yesterday, when I was all ZOMG Freecycle! I posted the want and had one in hand - new in box, no less - by dinnertime.
Speaking of Retail Conspiracies... please tell me I'm not the only one disturbed by the whole "I'm a girl!" paired with "Skirt sold separately!" on the packaging?
This is a special edition girl elf tutu from the Claus Couture Collection.
Because of course.
Because of course.
Anyway. Bear was all over it. I told him a baseline version of the story - that they move around the house and it's fun to find them - because I decided it would be ridiculous to tell a child with anxiety disorder that it was watching him for Santa like some freakishly festive nanny cam.
The elf was still boxed and on the kitchen table when he went to bed. When he came down this morning, he failed to notice her comically lazy placement on the mantel and grilled me about how she got out of the box.
Me: I guess she got out after we went to bed. We should go look for her!
Bear: Mommy... why are you saying lying things?
Grand plans for creating whimsical childhood memories? Foiled! Not that I really expected any different from my little Sheldon.
On to Plan B! In which Bear helps us move the elf around for this baby brother to find! He's actually pretty psyched about that, so I'm calling it a win.
Since then I've been brainstorming elf names and fooling no one with my feeble protests that I would not actually label her once said name is established. (Or the brand new box she came in. That I will totally keep. And label.)
After much consideration (and, let's be real, some holiday cheer), I settled on a name. That may or may not be based on said cheer.
May I present...
Rosie and I look forward to many wonderful years of messing with my children. I'm sure their future therapists will thank me.