Well, it’s official. My 12-year-old daughter now knows that I am in fact, our Christmas Elf Charlie.
She approached me shortly after Charlie’s annual appearance on the day after Thanksgiving and asked me point-blank, “Mom, are you the elf?” The sheer bluntness of the question caught me off guard. I stammered and stuttered while trying to come up with a clever and logical response, but all that came out of my mouth was a soft and saddened, “Yes, I am.”
She jumped with joy. “I knew it!”, she exclaimed. Frankly, I was surprised by her reaction. I was worried that she’d be disheartened or crushed learning that Charlie and Santa weren’t real. I actually teared up a bit at the thought that she’d passed this milestone in her childhood and was moving closer to “tween-age-dom” faster than I wanted. Where was my little girl?
But instead, she laughed.
Then something wonderful happened. She wanted in on the gag. She knew her 10-year-old brother still believed and saw an opportunity to have some fun while being a little deceitful, all with full parental support. There was a spark in her eye followed by a sneaky grin. I fully expected her to produce a long-haired cat in her arms to stroke as she cleverly plotted the weeks ahead until Christmas Eve, when Charlie magically departed. She started asking questions in rapid fire mode. “When did you move him? How did you write the notes from him? Where did you get the candies he left?” It all started to make sense to her. “You tailored the notes according to our behavior!”, she yelled.
Yes, I admitted it. I told her I used the jolly little elf as a tool for behavioral modification. She stood for a moment, contemplating, then stated, “I could do the same thing to my brother, couldn’t I? I could get him to be nicer to me and maybe even pick up after me or get things for me when I ask.”
It was then that I realized, I hadn’t lost my little girl at all. She was standing right there in front of me.
My girl.
I didn’t lose her, I gained a partner.
Merry Christmas to you all!
The Rant 