Lets just be honest. Some people are taking holidays way too far. I understand that we want our children to have childhoods full of magic and wonder, but this is taking it too far. This is my letter to those people.
No. No. No, no, no, no.
I refuse to buy into your lepre-crap.
I am NOT making leprechaun traps and making my house appear to have been infiltrated by a little green terrorist.
I begrudgingly accepted the stupid Elf on the Shelf, and he has become a tradition in my home regardless of the fact that I think he is creepy and unnecessary. I welcomed him and I even started kind of liking moving the weird little doll around my home.
Do you know how many TIMES I’ve awoken at four o’clock in the morning in a panic because I forgot to move the stupid Elf? A lot. A LOT. More than I’m proud of.
You made Valentines day stupid ridiculous with your dumb pinterest quality beautiful labeled treats. I felt like I was a real winner with Halloween and Christmas but you went ahead and decided to go all “front lawn wars” on me and make your house light up like the Fourth of July.
St Pattys was my easy holiday. Hubs and I drank a little, we all ate corned beef and cabbage and watched The Secret of Kells. Then I would watch P.S. I Love You after everyone went to bed and cry while folding laundry and polishing off the bottle of wine. IT WAS TRADITION. And then you came along and decided to make your child’s life riddled with magic and wonder and created these crazy standards I just don’t have the energy to meet.
My daughter came home and asked me why the leprechaun didn’t come to our house and play some tricks. This came after the elf on the shelf, two birthdays, Pinterest-quality Valentines day, and I was two days past my due date. You know what I said?
“Why would be come and mess up our house, you’re a good girl he wouldn’t want to ruin our stuff.”
She looked at me for a second.
“He came to (insert child who has parents that believe in making everything a big deal) house.”
I just raised my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders in a “I guess he/she is a bad kid” kind of way and resumed with making dinner.
Balls in your court, lepre-satan.
*In my defense, every day past your due date is torture, and I may or may not have been miserable.