Back in 2005, Carol Aebersold and her daughter Chandra Bell self-published a book called The Elf on the Shelf. For anyone who does not know this tradition, the book comes with a plush Elf. This elf sits on a shelf and “observes” the children of the household and brings a report to Santa every night. The elf returns in the morning and can be found in a new place every day.

What this means for parents is that every night after the kids are in bed, we have to find a new place to move the elf.

It’s a pain in the butt. It’s maddening. The girls are in bed, finally we can relax! Just as I begin to settle in on the couch, the reminder on my phone goes off. Time to move the (bleep!)ing elf.

The worst days are the ones where I ignore the reminder and the next morning, I find myself trying to find a hiding spot while the girls are making their way downstairs.

Do we really need a new Christmas tradition? I’m struggling to keep up with the old ones!

I’m not grumpy these days, but I am certainly not in the sort of mood I ought to be in for the holidays. I’m tired, I’m overworked and overwhelmed. My plate is pretty full and I’m ready to tap out, but I can’t. That option is simply not available. All I can do is hold on and survive these holidays!

Okay, maybe I am a little grumpy.

Speaking of grumpy, there’s a grumpy old man who lives in our neighborhood. I shouldn’t mean that as in he is literally a grumpy old man. He just looks grumpy to me. I don’t even know his name. We have a distant, neighborly sort of relationship. Nothing more than a wave every now and then as I’m driving by, as he’s mowing his lawn. That sort of thing. So far as I can tell, he’s a bachelor and lives alone. My imagination has a tendency to create characters and backstories–I have been working on this guy for years. I’ve decided he’s a curmudgeon, he never had time for romance, has a tiny list of acquaintances, folks he just calls friends because the reality is too big a pain in the butt to explain. It’s not that he doesn’t like people, but he would rather be left alone to mind his own business.

I wouldn’t say he is an old man Marley of Home Alone fame, and I’m not saying I’m a Kevin McCallister, but I am not particularly interested in getting to know him because I kind of want to maintain my fictional version of him. I am uncertain what he is actually like. It’s safe to guess that he is drastically different from what I made up, but that’s the character I put around him. I keep him filed away; I might need him for a story someday.

Regardless of my efforts to keep him at a distance, he still managed to throw a monkey wrench into my fictional version of him. It happened late one night last week. Annie and I and our two sleeping girls were on our way Home. It was a pretty dark night as we drove past the grumpy old man’s house. His shades were drawn open, I could see a game playing on his wall-mounted television. But that’s not what grabbed me. I noticed a Christmas Tree in his window, standing front and center, covered with ornaments, tinsel and multi-colored lights.

A file drawer in my mind flew open, a manilla folder holding his dossier was immediately pulled out, and my mind began scribbling down this revelation. Images began flashing through my head; images of him grumbling to himself as he rooted around his basement looking for the tree and box of ornaments. Hell, I went even further back to the grumpy old man (with a little more hair) purchasing the tree. As he was back in his basement, looking for the tree, he probably hit his head and swore gloriously. I saw the box, opened in a corner of his living room, I saw him fluffing out the branches, hanging the decorations, plugging in the tree. I saw him grunting in satisfaction before heading to the kitchen to make a cup of Taster’s Choice instant coffee (do they even still make Taster’s Choice? It doesn’t matter. For my grumpy old man, they still make that horrifying stuff).

Why would my grumpy old man do something like this? Why would he take the time and make the effort? Why would he have the tree on and lit? As if the electric bill “wasn’t already too damned high”. I see him growling those words out loud at his utility bill as he flings it down on the Formica table he inherited from his long-dead Mother.

He’s too stoically practical to do wishy-washy things like putting up a Christmas Tree. None of this is making sense! He lives alone, he has no family. Who’s around to enjoy that tree? Just him?

Actually…I might have enjoyed seeing his tree.

Annie and I drove on, and I began noticing houses in our neighborhood, all lit up, some with garish inflatable characters scattered all over the yard. The decorations were not affecting me as much as the realization that they had to be put up. Someone had to hang those lights, someone had to set up those inflatables. Instead of a decorated Home, I began seeing the effort to make the house look like it did. It mattered to someone. Every decorated house represented someone who put forth an effort.

It’s such an unnecessary effort! No one’s going to judge you for deciding to not decorate your house for Christmas. Why do it? Why put yourself through it all? Is all of this actually worth it?

“Yes”. That was the quiet whisper I heard. I know that voice well. That little voice walked me through so many challenges, all of my challenges. That little voice has never lied, it has called me out when I was writing doggerel. It told me I should marry the dark-haired beauty sitting in the passenger seat wearing her resting face smile, that slight smile that makes me worry a little less about everything.

The little voice said it’s worth it, so maybe it is all worth it. (Of course I questioned it! I didn’t say I always listened to that voice. At least not immediately). Why would all that effort be worth it? Maybe it’s because evergreens are proof that life still happens in winter. Maybe it’s because the lights fight back the frigid darkness of a midwestern winter. Maybe those lights are leading us toward the most beautiful holiday of the year. Maybe all those lights indicate that Love still exists during a brutal time of year. Maybe because this is a season of giving before receiving. It’s the season of defying the ocean of white and cold and keeping your Loved ones as close to your heart as possible. It’s a time of looking in the rearview mirror at your children, vessels of pure joy and innocence marveling at the beauty of it all, and in turn, reminding you to stop and marvel with them. And…elves are magic.

Fine Little Voice. You won this round.

Fully lit houses with an army of inflatables in the yard, down to a modest tree in a window, all of them were efforts. All of them add to the beauty of the night around us. I’ve been grumpy because I haven’t been noticing it. Shame on me.

It really is an awfully pretty tree in his window. I smiled to myself as I pulled into our driveway.

Maybe, without knowing it, my grumpy old man put up the tree for me. After all, it worked, I became humbled and my own (nonfictional) grumpy attitude was turned into dust by a string of twinkle lights.

Thank you grumpy old man, I’ll get your character rewritten, I promise.

We got Home, we carried our daughters up to their beds where they curled up tight, settling into their pillows dreaming the most ludicrous and magnificent dreams in the world. A tiny snoring sound came from Reggie. Annie and I smiled at each other and tiptoed downstairs.

At the bottom step, as if on cue, my phone chimed. Time to move the elf again.

Hands on my hips, nodding, looking tired…”you know what?” I muttered.

I finished the statement in my head. Dear Ms. Aebersold—Regarding that elf…I have something I need to say to you.

Thank You.

Thank You for your daily reminder to keep this season magic.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Remember to keep the heart simple…

Love your Loved ones, and be Loved by those who Love you.

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