Throughout my childhood, my mom took some creative liberties when it came to Christmas. Sure, other kids believed in Santa, but we were the only ones I knew who also believed in Peeker Elves. According to my mom, Santa sent out pointy-eared spies in the weeks leading up to Christmas to observe our behaviour (this was more than a decade before the ?Elf on the Shelf? book went to print). Whenever my sisters and I were back-talking, squabbling or refusing to eat boiled carrots, my parents would rush to the window and say things like, ?Oh my, the Peeker Elves are out early this year!?
Those creepy bastards always showed up at the worst possible times.
The Peeker Elves were also responsible for executing another mom-made Christmas tradition. This one involved wrapping paper. Every year, my sisters and I would choose special paper from Walmart or The Dollar Store and leave the roll in our winter boots out on the back porch. During the night, the Peeker Elves would collect the wrapping paper and take it back with them to the North Pole. Miraculously, on Christmas morning, my present from Santa would be wrapped in the Power Rangers paper I?d left out for the Elves a month earlier. Unfortunately, the boots tradition is what led to my eventual discovery, at 11 years old, that Santa wasn?t real. My bedroom was directly above the back porch, and I?d fallen asleep waiting for the Peeker Elves to come. When I woke up to the sound of the back door opening, I assumed it was someone lettin...