We were walking the dog when my son said, “Why does it feel like my childhood is over? Does this mean I’m … a man?”
I thought about it for, oh, half a second, and said, “In a way I guess it does.”
I tried not to laugh, but it was nearly impossible. A man. My nine year old was not a man. He was a boy who had stopped believing in Santa Claus.
Our road to “manhood” began when I heard him rummaging around in the closet.
“Mom, get over here!”
The urgency in his voice could only mean one thing: Elf on a Shelf. He’d found the Elf on a Shelf. Only on this day, the Elf wasn’t on a shelf … it was smushed inside a box shoved in the back of the closet behind a tub of board games. (I knew I should have hidden…
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