Adventures of Kevin, my Elf on a Shelf

A few years ago, I bought myself some Christmas Ducks to add to my decorations. The Christmas ducks looked fabulous in my kitchen, but then the games began. The teenage boy thought it would be funny to hide them on me, and each time I found them he would hide them again. This goes on for at least the two weeks leading up to Christmas. You can read about the Christmas ducks here. This year, I purchased an Elf on the Shelf and even though the elf is not geared to a teenager or adult children, I thought it would be a gas to have him in the house.

Much to my surprise though, each one of my children thought the Elf on the Shelf was creepy, but I went ahead and received an adoption certificate and name him Kevin. Kevin was chosen since my husband is always trying to rename our beagle Cocoa Kevin who is amazing in this Samsung commercial (our beagle cannot do anything but sit, stay, and lay down).

Back to the Elf. I proudly displayed Kevin and spoke about him incessantly. The Elf on the shelf was proudly displayed in the kitchen along with my other decorations when the teenage boy decided he would do to the Elf what he has been doing to my Christmas ducks, hide him. Now if you know me, you would realize I am completely oblivious to my surroundings. I walk from point A to point B without noticing anything at all, thus the reason things can only be hidden in the kitchen or living room, they can’t be to low to the ground (I don’t bend well) and not to high up that I have to climb.

I am now always on the lookout for Kevin, my elf on the shelf, but realize as soon as I take my eyes off of him, he is hidden again along with my Christmas ducks.

A hole for his dick

The title of this post is to the point but the conversation that it was in was quite harmless. If you follow my blog, you know that the young man (previously known as the teenage boy) is away attending his third year of university. When he was at home, we had (and still do have) fabulous conversations, but when he talked about sex he would generally have these conversations with one of his sisters. Certainly there has been no topic left uncovered here, we have always spoken openly and freely with our children from condoms to women’s breast and stretch marks. Thus our kids have never been afraid to approach a topic with us.

The other day, when I was having one of my weekly in-depth conversations with the young man (verses the 8 a.m text message Saturday morning asking for my rib recipe, that he didn’t even make because he did not have a large glass pan), he was telling me how this girl likes his roommate but she did not want to be “just a hole for his dick, she wants a relationship…..and on and on”.  Well didn’t I just burst out in laughter, stating “I can’t believe you just said that son, omg”. He went on to explain, and I interrupted, stating I totally understood, I was just a tad thrown aback with his wording.

Not long after the ” a hole for his dick” conversation ended, we were back to discussing recipes, his classes, and did he receive the box of goodies his sister brought up for him.

Do you discuss sex and such openly with your children?

I thought he would remember her, I was wrong.

A picture of the children walking the dogMy mother died young, she was 63 years old. She was an amazing Grandmother. The eldest was in grade eight when she died, just before her grade eight graduation (my dad, also an amazing Grandfather passed away just before the eldest graduated from grade 12). Middle child was in grade five and the teenage boy was in grade three when my mom died.

My husband has always worked shift work, so when the kids were young my mom pitched in and helped me. She babysat on a moments notice, drove kids to school when I worked, had a stash of toys and videos at her house just for her grandchildren. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them.

In the summer when the kids all played soccer, she regularly drove the teenage boy to his soccer practice since I was with middle child who always had a game that same evening. My mom always took the same route to soccer and my son had this route memorized. Some time after my mother passed away I would take the soccer route, and the teenage boy would always say, this is the way grandma took me to soccer, he repeated this for a number of years. Then it stopped. Grandma had slipped from his mind. He no longer remembered the soccer route. I try to bring those memories back to him, but they are gone. Gone like my mom, his grandmother.

Time heals for the young, because memories fade. As I type this, the tears roll down my face, I miss my mom, their grandmother. (As I turned to wipe my tears, I see the calendar, it will be her birthday in exactly one month).