Christmas to me is all about traditions.
When I was a kid, we had some great ones: schlepping out to a nearby lot to select the perfect Christmas tree from the local Boy Scouts troops, helping my dad deliver last-minute flowers for extra money, watching my mum make mincemeat tarts (and always wondering why there was no actual meat involved), and fighting with my older brother over who got to lick the bowl after making cookies for Santa.
Having my brother wake me up extremely early and jumping onto our parent’s bed with our stockings is another tradition I will always treasure.
When we were older, and our parents were no longer together, my brother, mother and I would gather at the end of the night on Christmas Eve after returning from wherever we’d been for what we called our “Fireside Chat.” The wine or beer would flow and we’d catch up with each other until we couldn’t keep our eyes open and headed to our respective pillows.
When I started dating my now-husband, I enjoyed incorporating some of his family’s traditions into my life — in particular the inclusion of a Christmas Eve meal that based itself around pouring oooey, gooey melted cheese over potatoes, sausage and veggies. I mean, how could that possibly be a bad thing!?
Now that I have my own family, we have taken the best of all the things we loved growing up and incorporated them into our own traditions — looking for the “perfect tree,” waiting for the sound of sirens signalling the imminent arrival of the local volunteer fire department bring Santa Claus and baking cookies for Santa all top our list.
What can I say — I am a sentimental kind of gal.
That being said, there is one new tradition this year that I am not fond of and admittedly fought extremely hard for years to keep out of this house: The dreaded Elf on the Shelf.
With my kids being eight and 10, I had managed to distract and redirect their attention every time they asked why we didn’t have one. It’s not like I was going to answer by saying “Because, Mummy thinks the whole concept is creepy and I don’t have the energy to be responsible for one more thing at this time of year.”
Well, entirely unbeknownst to me at the time, the youngest managed to circumvent me and asked one of their sets of grandparents last year for an elf, who happily obliged.
To be fair, they were entirely unaware of all that came with the thing, thinking it was simply a toy or stuffie — and have been apologizing profusely for the last year.
I am not a particularly crafty or creative person, so the thought of having to come up with 25 days worth of ideas for this “fun new tradition” was extremely daunting for me. Sure, I googled ideas and a few friends added me to various online groups, but most of what I saw went way beyond anything I am willing to do.
My one attempt to be creative ended up making poor 'lil Sparkles look like a psychopath who killed Frosty The Snowman!
I love my kids very much, but there is no way I am covering my house in “snow” for this thing!
Sure, it’s been great hearing the squeals of excitement each morning as they try to locate Sparkles (she’s a bit of a lazy elf, as it turns out, and not super into shenanigans!) but I can’t lie to say I wasn’t relieved that she has now officially returned to the North Pole.
More power to those who are willing to take on the challenge I suppose, but I just don’t understand why anyone in their right mind would want to destroy their kitchen, or spend a small fortune when Christmas is already hectic, messy and expensive enough as it is.
Call me a Grinch or Scrooge if you like, but the entire Elf-on-a-Shelf concept, in my humble opinion, has simply added another layer of chaos that most families are only begrudgingly taking on because, let’s be honest, we love to see our children happy, especially at Christmas.
Nikki Cole is a reporter at BarrieToday.
