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“Bubbles?! Food coloring?! Guacamole???!!! What next?!”
Santa was beside himself. What had started out as amusing foibles, had quickly grown into outright catastrophes.
“It’s not all our fault, Santa, sir.” Lil wrung her hands anxiously.
“Yeah,” added Smarti. “If those giraffa–”.
Smarti was interrupted by a loud, hacking, cough coming from Nim. Flaky vaguely patted him on the back.
“We’ll do better, sir!” squeaked Pepper.
Santa shook his head and walked away, mumbling under his breath. “Maybe we should rename the program. Holiday Hijinks seems appropriate…”.
“Are you mad?” Nim glared at Smarti. “We cannot tell Santa about the giraffalopes!”
“Why not?” demanded Smarti. “They are becoming more of a hindrance than a help.”
“Yes, but they have been helpful in helping us get to know our kids,” said Lil.
“That’s true,” added Pepper. “I never would have thought to leave Frannie a unicorn craft if it weren’t for Lucile. It’s her favorite thing I’ve done this season.”
“And I wouldn’t have known to leave nuts out of the oatmeal raisin cookies I made if hadn’t been for Mildred,” said Lil. “The girls’ dad would have swelled up a like a balloon if he’d eaten one.”
“Gretyl got me to zipline,” said Flaky as she made a snow angel.
“Leonard has been pretty helpful overall,” said Nim. “Despite the marshmallow mess.”
Smarti swelled and stomped and shouted. “Well, Harold has been nothing but trouble from day 1! Ruining my beautiful Lego cottage! Destroying the walls and floor with his crude drawings! Daring to criticise my beautiful broccoli Christmas trees with cherry tomato ornaments! I’ve. Had. Enough!”
Four pairs of elfin eyes stared at Smarti. The silence grew and grew until Flaky bent over, quietly rolled a snowball, and launched it straight at Smarti’s face.
Everyone held their breath as they waited for his reaction.
Smarti slowly wiped his face and dusted his hands together. “Well.”
“Indeed,” said Flaky.
And then, anarchy. Smarti, who rarely let loose, threw himself wholeheartedly into the most aggressive snowball fight in the history of the North Pole.
“IF you are all quite finished!” Mrs. Claus’ voice boomed pleasantly over the dying fight. The elves, breathless and giggling, settled down at the sound and sight of a smiling Mrs. C.
“There,” she soothed. “I’m sure you all feel quite better now you’ve got that over and done with. Now, run along to the kitchen for a cup of candy cane cocoa before your flights back.”
Five “yes, ma’ams” filled the air as the elves trudged to the kitchen, spirits still high.
“Should we tell them, Mrs. C?” Santa had returned to watch the end of the snowball fight.
“Oh I think so, dear. I think so. Keeping it secret is doing more harm than good.”
“All right. We’ll tell them tomorrow.”
Both Santa and Mrs. Clause watched the elves fly off to their separate homes and wondered how they would take the news.
a pinch of homestead 