Welcome Home Elf
Eddie, welcome to the family. You are a relatively cute (somewhat creepy) little elf, you should fit in fine here. I resisted you for quite some time. I always felt that Christmas was magical and you seemed like unnecessary drama in the form of a narc who reports back to Santa, making him less of the embodiment of the Christmas Spirit and more “the man” watching. But, I have an inquisitive four year old now who persisted (would not let it go) and so here you are. Now that I have succumbed to the mom shaming pressure of including you in our already frazzled holiday world, I feel it’s my obligation to go over a few realities of life within our family.
Last night, daddy was on a 24 hour shift which means it’s the mommy show. Meals, play time, baths, books, bottles, diapers, bedtime, dogs, clean-up (you get the point) is for mommy to handle. Now, this happens at least weekly so we’re rather used to it. Sure, we have the occasional hiccup but I think we probably land at a solid 5 out of 10 on the “we got this” scale. This mediocre achievment involves us all doing our part, including you Eddie.
Here’s how things go around here. Think of it as a mini emergency room triage. The most critical gets the most attention and the least receives a longer than expected hold time due to increased call volume. Ok? So when one child is fighting his amoxicillin dose by doing alligator rolls and spitting it all over my jeans, and another is running through the house naked with a light saber, and the 15 year old geriatric dachshund is eyeing up another spot to pee on my floor, you Eddie, rank among the houseplants. Now, the dogs have immersed themselves into our system, and kindly walk into my shower and begin licking the water droplets to indicate we have not provided them with adequate water that day. The plants give a day or so of sad warning and then act out a death scene that could rival that of Vito Corleone collapsing among his tomato plants. So in a household where the lightbulbs get replaced after a few days of using flashlights to find our clothes in the closet, we’re going to need you to pull your weight.
Let’s review. You arrived (late in the season I might add) on December 5 to the squeals and excitement of our 4 year old. You were immediately treated to your very own FaceTime appearance with daddy who was driving to work so that he could officially meet you as well. You sat happily on your perch in the kitchen all day (because nobody is allowed to touch you). Flash forward to me falling asleep sitting up in bed, a half finished book club book sideways on my chest, light still on while I entered a dreamless sleep until my alarm went off, and we end up at the dreaded second morning of your extended stay. You didn’t move. You didn’t hop down off the ledge of the stove, have a seat on a bunch of bananas or take a dip in the sink. You see that I’m clearly passed out in a completely exhausted sitting up with the light on all night state, have the decency to either throw yourself on the floor so I notice you, or move yourself, ok? That is how we roll around here, and now that you’re here, we want you to feel like family. Our (loud, chaotic, forgetful and often messy) family. So please, shoot me a signal that I’m going to need to assist you, get in line behind the others, and if I happen to forget, help a mother out. Ok?