WHY CAN THEY NOT PLAY FOR FIVE MINUTES WITHOUT ME?!

My children do not know how to play alone. That's not true--Addison is the youngest and she could play alone for hours. It's the other two. ANY TIME I send them anywhere away from me, they report back to me within five minutes.

"Mommy--there is nothing to do." "Brayden--Santa is still up in the air somewhere, and you are ALREADY over your new toys? Really? REALLY?!"

"No--but there isn't anything to DO."

SERIOUSLY? Dollar signs start flashing around my brain only to be replaced by the mom-rage and "Those ungrateful..." musings that visit me so frequently.

If you can't find something to do, I will FIND YOU something to do!" I know this is an old one. I know parents have said it for centuries, but I couldn't help myself. The problem is, that WORKED on us--we knew that our parents would give us something HORRIBLE to do, so we made ourselves scarce, if only for an hour. THIS is how I know my children are spoiled.
"Okay, mommy--what should we do?"

"Fine--first, you can bring these piles of laundry upstairs and put them in your drawers."

"But why do we have to do that?"

"Because FIRST of all, they are YOUR clothes and you should be putting them away anyway, but SECOND of all, you ASKED me to find you something to do--I didn't say you were going to like it!"

"FIIIIINE. We'll FIND something to do."

Here's where it gets tricky--on some days, I am so annoyed that they are so spoiled and mouthy that I continue the battle for the entire day--forcing them to clean up laundry, toys, dishes (which translated means that I clean up these things with them following me around and whining about having to do it), but on others I say, "Great. I do not want to see you for AT LEAST fifteen minutes unless someone is bleeding. And not the kind of blood that doesn't move on your skin--the kind of blood that's of the picked-scab variety. I'm talking about the kind of blood that makes you think we need an ER. THEN and ONLY THEN you may report to me."

Thirty-seconds later: "Mommy--Ryan won't let me use the pirate costume."

"I don't care."

"That's nice--you don't even CARE about us--you just want to work on your COMPUTER all the time!"

"Go play."

"Mommy...can we have..."

"NO. GO PLAY."

"...but we NEED..."

"All you need are the MILLIONS of toys you have in your PLAY ROOM. Do you know that A LOT of children do not HAVE play rooms? You have an entire LEVEL of a house devoted to YOU and your play things, yet you seem to "NEED"  everything else. GO PLAY."

[Almost] Two minutes later (yes--I time it now):

"Mommy--we are going to put on ALL the costumes and then we are going to pretend--"

"Now you are telling me what you are GOING to do? Why don't you DO it and then tell me how much fun you had?!"

"But I'm just telling you that--"

 "Don't tell me--ANYTHING. Just DO."

"I know, I just wanted you to know that--"

"GO PLAY."

"[Exasperated sigh] FIIIINNNE!"

I hear them going back and forth down there. It has been about three minutes now--a record, yet the littlest one is squeaking about something that sounds like it could end in her showing her face up here. I was close--she hops up the stairs to not only show me her face--but to show me her ENTIRE NAKED BODY. No words...

"I just didn't feewel comfowrtabewell in my undewerpants, Momma. now I'm NUDIE--and I need cwothes!" she hops her naked butt up the stairs to her room, singing Christmas carols and (is that Britney?) as she hops. Hearing a (young) five-year-old sing Britney Spears as she naked(ly?) hops around the house is disturbing if not funny. it seems three minutes is their limit. Or maybe it's MINE.

Here come the other two--I'm waving the white flag. Right after I give the lecture about how many toys they have that they can't be bothered to play with and how they WILL NOT play with ANYTHING that requires an electrical outlet or a battery until they learn how to play with actual toys AND each other. I'm selling it all on ebay and buying a yacht. I'm going to call my yacht "Sans Children" and I am going to sail it out to the middle of the sea where inevitably my cell phone will ring (or the Coast Guard will find me) and I will inform my children (AND the Coast Guard) that I have NOTHING to do and NOTHING to play with and I LOVE it.

Our shelf elf...

We have an Elf on the Shelf. My cousin first told me about it three or four years ago and I found the idea BRILLIANT. So brilliant that I whined about getting one for a few years before I finally bought one last November. Although it pains my husband to pay for nonessentials, we came up with a plan for the Elf's visit. The behavior problems and yelling and screaming had been escalating and we knew we had to do SOMETHING. Enter, THE ELF. We wrapped the box and addressed it to the family from Santa on St. Nicholas's Day. We included a letter about behavior and how disappointed Santa would be if they didn't start to turn things around--that simply watching from the North Pole was not enough--he needed a man INSIDE. The Elf was sent as an extra set of eyes for Santa--THAT'S how poorly we'd been behaving. NOT our proudest moment. Don't judge--we were DESPERATE and it was really for the safety of the children. If things didn't turn around SOON, SOMEONE was going to be hospitalized. The instructions stated that we were only allowed to touch the elf that first time as we placed him on a shelf. We were supposed to name the elf (which in a normal family would be a fun thing to do...IN A NORMAL FAMILY) then modify our behavior so that the elf would only report GOOD things to Santa. For children who believe that a man is able to fly around the world on magic reindeer and deliver presents to billions of children, my six, five and four-year-olds REALLY had a problem believing in this whole elf business. "But he's just a DOLL. How could A DOLL report anything to SANTA? That doesn't even make SENSE!" Ryan scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, SANTA sent him, RYAN, so he MUST be real!" Brayden responded earnestly. "Do we really want to take the chance?" I asked. "Don't you think we are in ENOUGH trouble with Santa?!" "I just don't understand--he's like--A DOLL--not a REAL elf..." My loud gasp interrupted her. "Well, we should all hope that he didn't hear you say THAT!" I said in my most convincing mom voice."I know I don't want to live in a house that Santa doesn't visit..." "Denis A. lives in a house where Santa doesn't visit and Mrs. Feldman is Jewish, so Santa doesn't go to HER house either and they seem very happy," Brayden offered. "Thank you for that. However, Santa WOULD go to their houses if they WANTED him to go to their houses because they BEHAVE and don't need Santa to send an extra elf to keep an eye on them like WE do. Now get upstairs for nap." All three helped me place the elf on top of the armoire and slowly backed away from him to head upstairs for nap time. When were all upstairs, Ryan remembered she had left her blanket downstairs. She hurried down to get it when my husband saw her circling the elf, scrutinizing every inch. He witnessed her point two fingers at HER eyes then point them back at the elf like Deniro indicating he had eyes on Stiller in the Fockers movies. I think she was missing the point of this whole elf thing. After nap, my children were STUNNED to see that the elf had moved to another high location. "What could this MEAN?" they asked. "Well, he is supposed to move around so that you don't know WHERE he is, to catch you[hopefully] behaving. He must have wanted to get a better view." This answer appeased Addison, but the other two were still a bit skeptical. Brayden came around first--mostly out of fear of not getting presents, but Ryan...SHE spent most of her time in the room with the elf, watching him and waiting for his next move. About an hour later, we heard a crash and ran to see what had happened. Ryan, the elf, a shoe, some dust (okay...A LOT of dust) and some papers were all on the floor, the victims of some kind of accident. "I just wanted to see if he really WAS a doll, Mommy" Ryan wailed. "I thought if I threw Daddy's shoe at him, maybe he would catch it, but everything fell and I slipped..." We needed a new plan. That night, the elf "left." hHe left no explanation or forwarding address, but we suspected that perhaps he left because we had disappointed him and Ryan after all had TOUCHED him (which the directions specifically stated NOT to do...this family has a problem with SPECIFIC instructions...we'll get back to that another time) so he was probably either with a new family or back at The North Pole. We hadn't even NAMED him yet (we had only fought and cried for an hour over names), so he probably felt sad and unwelcomed. MAYBE if we REALLY behaved well, he would come back so that we could have another chance with Santa. THIS seemed to resonate with my children and they had a FANTASTIC day. After another day like that one, the elf popped up in Ryan's room with a note that REMARKABLY sounded a lot like our suspicions written above, though he included a line that forgave Ryan for touching him. His name was Ernie--he thought we should know--and he was willing to give us another chance with Santa because he was SO IMPRESSED with the way the previous two days had gone. Every night until Christmas eve, Ernie moved around our house to keep an eye on things for Santa. Ryan slept with her note for a night or two--I'm not sure what THAT relationship was all about, but she was a believer. THIS year, we decided to bust Ernie out early since the behavior is getting a little rocky. He hasn't been moving locations which baffled the older two. "Why is he in the same spot today as he was yesterday? " Brayden wondered aloud. "Maybe he's tired from his trip," Ryan offered. "Maybe he's giving us a chance to remember how to behave," Brayden added. "Maybe heeeesa DOLL," Addison chimed in from the art desk. Here we go again...