by adwells on December 21, 2012
We have an elf, you know, an elf who goes by the name of Bob that reports to Santa each night. He moves around every night (that is if mom and dad aren’t super forgetful) and he can’t be touched or he’ll “lose his magic.” (Who came up with this drama?)
This year, Ry is 8. I’m fully aware that it’s probably the very last Christmas season where she is all about this Santa business, and by default, this Elf business. I kind of had a hunch that she may be onto us and the whole Bob charade, but we’ll get to that.
These girls. They keep me in stitches with their little personalities. The other day after school Ry ran into her room to change out of her uniform and comes out looking like this…
The socks on her hands were my favorite part by far.
So she proceeds to move around the house while instructing me to take pictures and baby sister to “look surprised like you didn’t know where I was going to be in the morning.”
Good gracious I love her. I was convinced the jig was up after this little display, but I was wrong.
The next morning, Bob had perched himself on top of a clock by where the girls hang their backpacks each day. Ry was grabbing hers and Bob catapulted to the tile below. That’s when I knew she is still a firm believer in the Elfin Magic. She backed up in a panic, fell to
her knees, scooped up the dog and melted down in her signature drama queen fashion. She.Was.Hysterical. Convinced she had killed the elf and that Charlie was sure to gobble him up.
Being the awesome, and apparently super sympathetic mom that I am, through “I’m laughing so hard I’m crying” tears, I grabbed up my phone to snap a photo to document the moment. Then I assured her, if Bob can fly to the North Pole every night a little knock to the noggin won’t hurt him. And sure enough, he returned.
More fun elf drama – here.