Elf on the Shelf.

Another fantastic parenting idea.
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Let's take a toy elf, fashioned straight from the 1950s, and pretend he's been delivered from Santa as a means to provide seasonal entertainment and a watchful eye for the naughty / nice list. 
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Let's pretend he's real. Let's pretend we're not all a little freaked out by that idea and reassure ourselves with countless conversations on:

• where the elf can and cannot go in the house (yes, he can go in the kitchen / no, he will not come in your bedroom)
• if elves can fly (no)
• how the elf manages to return to the North pole if he can't fly (magic)
• how does the magic work (he blinks, touches his nose, and *poofs* away)
• isn't that a little bit like Justin from CBeebies (yes, Nature abhors a vacuum and I wasn't adequately prepared for these questions)
• the elf's social schedule (he goes to the North pole at night to party with Santa and the gang, and then returns to our house in the morning)
• why he goes to the North pole only at night (the time difference)
• if our friends have also had elves delivered to their houses (erm, no)
• the elf's linguistic talents (he speaks elvish which only other elves and Santa can understand; not us)
• whether or not he can hear us, though (yes)
• if elves are naughty (no, but they are a bit silly)
• if elves can fly (still no)
• if the elf will fly into my bedroom and if I'll hear him at night when he lands on my head (oh dear... no, sweetheart, he's not a gremlin)
• what's a gremlin (pbffbflf)

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You get the idea. Basically, this seems like an ace way to either:
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totally spaz out your kids by convincing them that completely inanimate objects have the ability to come alive and fly about the house. 
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Or, destroy all the beautiful myths Christmas has to offer by trying to convince them this second rate toy is actually a messenger from the North pole.
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Assuming there's no major nightmares tonight, I'm persevering with this. Parenting awards be damned!
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