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Figgy and Pixie read over the Thompson’s file a second, then a third time, hardly believing their eyes. Phrases like “destroyed the coffee table” and “ruined the microwave” popped out.
“I can’t believe the parent’s have let this go for so long,” said Pixie.
“Me neither,” agreed Figgy. “It sounds like this Terry kid has taken apart and attempted to reassemble everything in the house!”
“And he tried blaming poor Tattle, but since this penchant for disassembling has been going on since August, the parents wouldn’t believe him.”
“It could have been Tattle,” Figgy pondered.
“Figgy! How can you say that?”
“Think about it. There is nothing to say we can’t go visit our houses outside of the Christmas window.”
“I can assure you, Figgy. I did not destroy property and ruin electronics.” Tattle stood behind Figgy, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.
“Oh, hi Tattle,” said Pixie nervously. “Figgy wasn’t accusing you. He was just, just thinking outside the box.”
“Yes, well I would appreciate it if he would think inside the box from now on.”
Figgy cleared his throat and looked at his toes. “Er, sorry Tattle. Won’t happen again.”
Tattle’s shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. “It’s fine, Figgy. I would have wondered the same. I am just at my wit’s end with Terry. I’ve tried bringing Lego bricks, experiment kits, and all manner of bobs and bits. Nothing helps.”
“I am sure you have done everything you can, Tattle. Let’s get going to the house and see if Figgy and I can take a crack at the problem.” Pixie grabbed Tattle by the hand and off they flew.
When they peered through the window upon reaching the house, all three elves gulped. They saw Terry busy at work on what used to be a large television.
“Is that…the screen?” whispered Pixie, pointing to a shiny grayish sheet cracked and shattered on the floor.
“I think so,” said Figgy.
“Uh oh,” said Tattle.
Before Figgy and Pixie could ask, a tall and imposing woman came striding into the room, the look on her face so furious even Santa would quaver under her gaze.
“Terrence Bartholomew Thompson!”
The small boy simply looked up from his project and looked at his mom with a guilty expression.
“Sorry, Mom. I really thought I could get it all back together this time.”
“To your room, now!” She sighed in frustration as she followed Terry up the stairs.
“See,” said Tattle. “This is what I’ve been dealing with.”
Pixie and Figgy sat silently pondering. It was clear that Terry loved to work with his hands and build things. But how to get him to stop taking things apart first?
And then, like a bright, twinkling star, Pixie had it.
“Figgy, do you have the emergency bag on you?”
“Pixie, I always have the emergency bag on me. No way would I leave the Pole without it. No way would I ever, ever, EVER forget it. Especially not since tha–.”
“Great!” interrupted Pixie. “Let me have it. I know exactly what we need. Figgy, you and Tattle clean up the TV mess while I find what I’m looking for and then we’ll meet back here.
While Figgy and Tattle zipped around cleaning up the electronics mess, Pixie rifled through the Emergency Bag and found the item they needed. “A-Ha!”
Figgy looked up and bee-lined back to Pixie, followed closely by Tattle.
“The Gingerbread House!” Figgy clapped his hands and smiled.
Tattle’s face fell. “I’ve already tried The Gingerbread House. It kept him busy for an hour.”
Pixie grinned. “Yes, but were all the pieces whole?”
Tattle cocked his head to the side. “Whole?”
“Yes. Because if the pieces were all whole and unbroken, it wouldn’t take him all that long to slap the walls together, right? But…” she raised the boxed gingerbread house high above her head and–SMASH–it hit the ground with a soft crack of gingerbread . “If it is all in pieces, it will take longer and be more interesting for Terry to build! He can make his own creation just like he tries to do with the couch. And the tv. And the toaster. And–well, you get the point.”
Terry blinked.
Figgy clapped him on the back. “Just leave it to good ol’ Pixie!”
a pinch of homestead 