Secret Diary of Santa's Elf

Remember the cutesy pictures you used to see of elves in the old days, when you were a kid? Well, scratch that from your memory. The harsh conditions at the North Pole have changed our formerly handsome selves into...well, how shall I put it politely?

We aren't the hunky dudes of yesteryear.

Stress is another factor. Santa's workshop is like the belly of a beehive. We work from morning to night, plus those stacks of orders keep piling up. Now, before you start frownin' in my direction, please try to understand. Toy making is my passion and my joy. I'd rather do this than anything else in the whole world.

It's those bagsful of letters that bother me. Certain kids (you know who you are, so don't play dumb)are sending multiple letters to the North Pole. It sounds like we've been hit with the Gimme-Gimme-Gimme epidemic. Parents, you out there?

This morning my friend Jake, the elf at Workbench #4 texted to ask if I'm tired yet? He wondered if I've ever thought of quitting.Would I consider hanging up my work apron, kicking off my curly-toed slippers and heading home?

Well, that's a complex question with a super-simple answer.

NO.

Okay...so you know how sometimes you overhear things that you probably shouldn't? Well, once the words are buried in your brain, how can you forget them?

I was passing by Santa's cottage on my way to the workshop this morning. Just minding my own business, listening to Christmas tunes on my ePod*, and wondering whether the others would show up for work. What do you suppose I heard? (Caution: Clear small children from the room.)

Mrs. Claus was shrieking about her cookies...again. Nobody appreciates her, yada yada yada. Why she carries on like that in this holiest of season, I do not know. She acts like a diva if we don't praise her cookie jar and bow to her oven.

Today her shrieking was more of the nobody-ever-helps-me variety. Santa was kicked back in his recliner watching a ball game. When he asked for more cookies, adding, "Sweetie, couldya add a little cup of hot cocoa to that order?" it was all she could take.

Meltdown.

*ElfPod, specially fashioned for tiny ears by Santa himself, on a morning when he was feeling especially charitable.

So I was minding my own business, trying to beat the Christmas clock, when a terrible tragedy befell me. (Is "befell" a word?)

I was overtaken by paint fumes, and had to be carried off to the infirmary by six of our strongest elves. One of them sent a text to Santa, and the jolly guy was there within minutes.

When I awoke, he was stuffing Snickerdoodles into my pockets. Santa's love language is sweets. Whenever he's at a loss for words, out come the peppermints or cookies. It's no wonder Mrs. Claus never takes off her apron.

I got the day off to recuperate. Tomorrow it's back to painting wooden toys. In an age of electronic Everything, it's nice to know that some kids still appreciate my handiwork.

Off to Napland,

The sleigh is packed! It took 73 trips from the workshop, past Santa's house, where Mrs. Claus inspected each ribbon on every gift for the right "loopyness", whatever that means. Did I mention that she's a stickler for details?

The sleigh is groaning beneath the weight of all those toys, but Rudolph has rallied the crew and the reindeer are rarin' to ride the night sky. And to whoever wrote to Seedplanter asking whether the bungee cords are holding up ok, the answer is a noisy YES! I insisted on buying new bungees this year. We ordered peppermint striped cords and they're perfect! No fallout this year, guaranteed.

If you haven't baked those cookies yet, better get crackin'. Santa Claus is coming to town and he's going to need his treats.

Now, I'm heading for the Elf's lounge. Gonna put up my tired feet, listen to some tunes, and sip hot apple cider.

Until next year...

So what do you elves do after delivery day? you might wonder.

Let me describe it as best I can. On Christmas Eve, we elves stood there in the freezing snow, waving good bye to Santa and his reindeer. Mrs. Claus's tears were freezing on her cheeks faster than she could swipe at them. She hates goodbyes, and sits at the window, gulping mugfuls of hot chocolate until Santa returns.

We all waited until the sleigh was just a dot on the horizon before tromping back to our workshop. It was cleanup time.

Santa insists on a clean workshop the same way he checks under YOUR bed to see whether you've been keeping up on the clutter chase. After we swept up sawdust, wiped down our tables, and dropped the leftover scraps into the recycle bin, we could relax at last.

We built a snowman. Made a snow angel trail from Santa's landing zone all the way up to his front door. Drove Mrs. Claus crazy with our carrying on.

Another year...another busy season. I'm not gettin' any younger, but I know this: As long as my hammer hand works and my bow-legs will hold me up, I intend to continue at my duties in Santa's workshop. It's what I do.

Happy New Year!