Door Number 6.

The hustle and bustle of the season throws me into a constant reactive, can-never-get-enough-done in a day mode.

I feel this way all the time, just the way that I am a guess.  What do they call it?  Personality Type A?  I hate that label.  But it's true.  I answer the phone on the first ring (or at least I used to before I had kids), I live by a planner (yes, even as a mommy), and I go go go.

But during the holidays, it's amplified.   I am totally overwhelmed.  Piles of junk mail.  Mounds of laundry.  Stacks of unaddressed Christmas cards.  Countless small items to be cleaned or sterilized.  Loads of emotional baggage...

Just last week, I am making the boys' lunches and sterilizing their nebulizers for breathing treatments in a huge pot of boiling water.

Two seemingly simple tasks while the boys run around playing.  Within seconds, the timer is announcing that the nebs need to be taken out of the scalding bath, the dog is losing her mind barking at her nemesis (the UPS guy), Michael has an accident, and TINK!, I hear a loud, indiscernible noise.  But my gut tells me that this is not good.

I hurry amid the other commotion in the kitchen into the foyer to find that Dylan has teed up a burgundy glass globe ornament with a makeshift golfclub.  There is now burgundy and gold dust littering my foyer and study near our large Christmas tree.

First thought.  What do I deal with first?  Pee can wait.  Dog is just nuts.  Water can keep boiling.  Ornament.  Broken ornament.  Broken glass.  Glass is dangerous.  A ha!  Clean up the ornament.  My thought process.  All.  Day.  Long.

My job is constantly putting out fires.  Correcting mishaps.  Teaching and reteaching.  And picking up, clearing out clutter.  Go to bed.  Repeat.  I used to wonder what stay at home moms actually did.  I figured they had a 'cupcake' life.  How nice.  An idyllic thought.  And when I was working full-time and traveling to exotic places like Minneapolis and Green Bay, it seemed a lovely thought to be at home with kids some day.

There are some days I swear, as parents we don't even know our own names.  And the weariness catches up with us.  Not the cupcake life I had envisioned.

So, yes, we are an Elf on the Shelf house.  (Boo, hiss)  I know.  I felt a few years ago it was a great idea.  Now it is very mainstream.  And even cliche, but it really works for a disagreeable tot.  So Michael believes this sweet little elf, which he named Peter Elf, flies to the North Pole and gives Santa a dissertation on Michael's manners and Dylans's white-hot temper.  And if they have been good, every morning they will find candy in their little Advent Calendar and will find Peter Elf in a new location in the house continuing to judge if the boys are going to make the 'nice' list this year.

So, our mornings lately, look a little like this.  Mikey bursts out of his room at 6 am throwing his door wide open, bolting the 10 steps over to the wood Advent Calendar House.  He then calls for us and tells us what door we open that morning (An Advent Calendar can really sharpen those counting skills since kids really want to get it right to get their treasure).

After Michael snags his candy treats, Dylan hears the pandemonium and wants in on the action.  He flings his door open saying, "Wauwee, wauwee!".  In Dylan language that is "Lolli, lolli!" Then they go on the hunt around the house for Peter Elf.

But yesterday was an example of how parents' exhaustion and holidays collide.

So, typically every evening before I call it night (or even if I have forgotten I will wake up at 2 am and), I help Peter Elf fly to a new location and stock the one door on the house with 2 candy Lifesavers.  They are always the same color, because who wants a peppermint candy followed by green apple candy?  Gross.  And I of course leave a lollipop on the table next to the house for Dylan.  Flavor not pre-planned.

Then off to bed and my brain checks out.

Night before last was different.  Exhaustion set in and I asked Daddy to handle the holiday magic.  And being the amazing husband that he is, he did.

Yesterday morning, same deal.  Michael wakes up.  Rattle, rattle, bam. Tip toe tip toe tip toe.  "Mommy, Daddy?  Where are the treats?"  I roll out of bed and meet Michael in front of the house with his mouth agape.  Stunned that there are no treats behind door number 6.  I am trying to see through my groggy, sleepy eyes what we have missed.  I search around the miniature cubby hole behind door 6.  Humph.

How to explain this one to a 3 year old?  I am sure Daddy put the candy in the door...  I heard him rustling through the treat bags and the open and close of the tiny door last night before I drifted off to sleep.

So, I coolly explain that maybe Peter Elf was mistaken and we start searching the other doors.  And Ta-Daaa!  Game show contestant finds the treats behind Door Number 7.  Michael looks at the candies and looks back at me, completely flabbergasted.  "Mommy, they are not the same."  I look a the cello-wrapped Lifesavers in his hand.  One peppermint and one green apple.

I chuckle.  "Michael, Peter Elf mixes things up some times.  He wants to see if you are paying attention.  And I'll bet he was tired last night.  It's not easy for an elf to fly all the way to the North Pole every night and back."  Yeah, I'll say.

My husband and I would later laugh countless times over the coming days recounting how Michael was shocked that Peter Elf could get the door wrong.  And to add insult to injury, that the candy was mismatched.

So, I decide smartly that I will make tomorrow more along Michael's more acceptable terms.  I choose to put two Wintergreen Lifesavers in Door Number 7.  Of course, two of the same flavor, but a new flavor for him to enjoy...   He likes Peppermint, so Peter Elf should be scoring some big points with the Wintergreen.  Content, I head off to bed.

The next morning, Michael wakes up, flings his door open, and bounds over to the house as evidenced by his heavy, hurried steps.  He doesn't wait for us and is thrilled to find two treats waiting neatly in the right spot.  Lou meets him by the house, and together they crawl into bed with me.  Michael laughs recalling how yesterday Peter Elf had made a mistake yesterday morning.  "How dilly!"  (His three-year-old linguistics haven't quite perfected s's, "How silly!")  He looks at his white Lifesavers.  Rips one open and places it in his mouth.  Smacking the Lifesaver to the roof of his mouth over and over and his eyes searching the ceiling, he frowns.  He keeps smacking on the candy, but clearly disappointed and distrustful of the new flavor.  After working it around and thinking it through, he proclaims, "I don't like this, Daddy."

So much for smarty pants Mommy getting things back on track.  Michael is so disgusted with the new candy options from Peter Elf, he leaves the unopened Wintergreen Lifesaver on our dresser before spitting the other one out in the trash.

Well, I guess there is always Door Number 8.

The real question in the sanity check this holiday season, who is keeping who on their toes?