As much as I remind myself to do this, I always forget and pride looms large in the mind of a mother, quite a dangerous place to inhabit. Never say never flashes periodically as I throw iPads at fighting children, buy movies for toddlers, threaten to beat people, and hand out money for teeth brushing. Well, the supreme reminder has fallen on me, quite like a concrete block, this Christmas. Two words for you: our Elf. I mean, Chippy.

Why even hem and haw and scream from the rooftops when you ultimately will cave? Being a mother has meant that I have met my demise again and again, humbling to a point of bashfulness. It’s no wonder that mothers everywhere are quiet, pretending to hold it together, horrified at their lack of resolve. Well, not me. Our Elf, Chippy, has sat on the tree for many years, immobile due to the mother that can be queen of resistance and then finally, always, dives gracefully into the bowl of chopped liver that looms large on the horizon.

Yesterday, I went out and purchased Chippy a resplendent wardrobe, a suitcase with three shirts, a robe and slippers, even a raincoat. A far away friend has offered to write him letters sent from his nephew, Keebler. As I pen this story, my daughter is writing a letter to his family asking them to come and stay. The plot thickens and defeat has come swift though not too terribly fast. Maybe this time I will remember that I am just a sucker hiding behind a thick exterior that turned out to be dollar store Saran Wrap. I have been whittled down to the mother that feels a jolt of joy as she watches her gleeful daughter seek the elf each morning.

Give in, cave to the pressure, concede defeat, cater to the hearts of little people, all the parts of self that choose joy, sometimes reluctantly, and remember, never say never.