A (0:08)

Hello, friends, and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. Ilo has a dream. He carves the most beautiful wooden toys and wants to make toys in the big workshop. But Ilo has a problem. When the letter comes telling him to come to the big workshop, Ilo is not sure he can. The elf that couldn't stop sneezing. Ilo's village looked like someone had frosted it with sugar. SN piled on every roof, candy cane lamp posts glowing with pixie light, and doorbells that chimed little songs whenever anyone walked past. But Ilo wasn't outside enjoying it. He was in his room, hunched over his workbench, carving a wooden rocking horse. The horse's mane was coming along, perfectly. Smooth strokes, careful attention to each strand. This was what Ilo loved, taking a plain block of wood and turning it into something that would make a kid smile. He paused, letting himself daydream about the big workshop. The famous one, the one every toymaker dreamed about. Well, that and living in an edible gingerbread house with marshmallow shingles. But the workshop was a little more realistic. A snow sparrow tapped at his window. Ilo's hands shook as he took the letter from its beak. He opened it and looked at the card. Inside, it said, in great big letters, congratulations. You've been accepted to Achoo. The rocking horse flew off his bench. Bless you, Ilo. His neighbor down the street yelled. Ilo stared at the letter, then down at the rocking horse on the floor. What if I sneeze there? Three days later, Ilo's boots crunched through fresh snow on the way to the big workshop. He'd almost talked himself out of going about 17 times, but his dad had said, you'll regret not trying. Other elves waved as he passed. A few whispered, that's the new toy maker. He tried to smile back, but his face felt stiff. The workshop was enormous. Three chimneys puffed smoke into the gray sky, and the sounds of hammering and laughing leaked through the walls. The doorbells played some complicated melody. When Ilo pushed inside, he jumped at the noise. You must be Ilo. A tall elf with a clipboard hurried over. I'm Torvald. Come on, I'll show you your bench. The workshop was even bigger inside. Rows and rows of workbenches, elves sawing and painting and assembling. Torvald walked fast, pointing things out. That's the paint station. That's where we keep extra wood. Bathrooms are in the back. Names got introduced. Faces smiled at him. Ilo nodded, trying to remember who was who. But everything blurred together. Here's Your spot. Torval patted a workbench near the middle of the room. Beautiful tools laid out in neat rows, a block of fresh pine waiting for him. This was everything he'd ever wanted. Ilo sat down, picked up a chisel. His hands were sweating even though the workshop was cold. Don't sneeze, don't sneeze, don't sneeze. He focused on the wood, pressed the chisel against it, concentrated so hard his eyes watered. The tickle built anyway. His nose scrunched. He held his breath. That never worked, but achoo. Three elves dropped their hammers. One yelped Ow. And shook his hand. A paintbrush skittered across the toy train, leaving a bright blue streak. The windows rattled. Everyone stopped, stared. Ilo's ears burned. Sorry. I'm so sorry. He hunched over his workbench, wishing he could disappear into the pile of wood shavings on the floor. The next morning, Ilo arrived early, before anyone else, maybe if he got the nerves out of his system. Now, in the quiet, he sat at his bench and started carving a little wooden fox. This time, for 20 whole minutes nothing happened. No tickle, no sneeze. The fox's ears were taking shape perfectly. I can do this, he said to himself. The doorbells chimed. Other elves filtered in, calling good mornings. Someone brought a tray of hot cocoa around the workshop filled with the comfortable sounds of work. Saws, hammers, quiet conversations. Ilo kept carving, but he noticed how careful everyone was being around him, Extra polite, extra quiet. When they walked by his bench, were they worried he'd sneeze? That made him worried, which made his nose start to tickle. No, no, no. He pinched his nose, scrunched his whole face, thought about ice. That was supposed to help, right? Ah Choo. Even louder than yesterday, the windows actually vibrated. Pixie lights flickered. A jar of buttons tumbled off a shelf and scattered everywhere. Ilo heard the whispers. Not mean ones, but still. Maybe he's allergic to sawdust. Poor thing. Think he'll be okay? Ilo mumbled something about not feeling well and left early. His wooden fox sat unfinished on the bench, one ear still rough. The third morning, Ilo stood outside the workshop, watching his breath make clouds in the cold air. He could just go home, carve toys in his room forever. Nobody's thumbs would get hammered, no windows would rattle. But that's not who he wanted to be. He pushed through the door. Half the elves were wearing earmuffs, big fuzzy ones, or those protective things carpenters wore around loud saws. At first, Ilo thought maybe they were just protecting their ears from hammering. But no. They smiled at him when he walked in. Someone gave him a thumbs up. They were expecting him to sneeze. Nobody was mean about it, and that almost made it worse. They were being so nice. So ready for it. Ilo sat down at his bench. The wooden fox from yesterday sat there, still waiting. He picked up his tools, tried to focus on finishing that second ear. Achoo. Not even a huge one, just medium sized. But everyone was ready. Ear protection on, barely a flinch. A few gave him sympathetic looks. Ilo put his head down, right on his workbench. His eyes stung, but he wasn't crying. He was just. Maybe he wasn't cut out for all this after all. Heavy boots crossed the workshop floor. Ilo heard them, but didn't look up. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. Mind if I sit? Ilo lifted his head. White beard, kind eyes that crinkled at the corners. Red suspenders over a work shirt dusted with sawdust. Oh no. The famous elf pulled up a regular stool. Nothing fancy, just wood, and sat down beside Ilo like they were old friends. He picked up the wooden fox, turned it over in his hands. This is really good work. Look at the detail on this tail. Thanks, ilo mumbled. He waited for the butt. Want to know a secret? The famous elf set the fox down carefully. When I was your age, I had the hiccups. Not sometimes. All the time. For a whole year. Ilo looked up. Really hiccuped through every meeting, every meal, every toy delivery practice. Thought I'd never be taken seriously. Thought maybe I should become a baker instead. What happened? Someone told me it's not about being perfect. It's about being you and being really good at what you do. He tapped the wooden fox. You're brilliant at this, Ilo. The sneezing. That's just part of your story. So here's what I'm thinking. You keep making these beautiful toys, and maybe we move your bench near that window. Fresh air might help. And maybe a bit away from the others, so fewer hammered thumbs when you do sneeze. I'll probably still sneeze, ilo said quietly. The famous elf grinned. Probably. And we'll probably still jump. But you'll be here, making toys that'll make kids smile for generations. That's what matters. Ilo sat up straighter, picked up his chisel. The next day, at his new window bench, he sneezed while carving. Smaller this time. Or maybe it just felt smaller. Someone yelled bless you. Across the workshop. Someone else laughed. The friendly kind. Ilo smiled and kept carving. Weeks later, the workshop hummed with activity. Ilo's bench by the window was covered in finished toys, each one perfect, each one made with care. Ah. Choose. Barely anyone flinched anymore. Someone passed him a tissue without looking up. The wooden fox sat proudly among his creations, both ears finished now, a reminder of the day he almost gave up. Ilo picked up a fresh block of pine and started carving, surrounded by hammering and laughter and the occasional sound of his own sneezes. Exactly where he belonged. And that is the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight, Sam.