Debbi Musen, 75, was in New York City over the summer to help her daughter pack up her family's apartment. She was certainly not there to model in her pajamas.

But when her daughter, Melissa Gerstein, a producer originally from Creve Coeur, Missouri, saw an open call posted by a casting director on Instagram, she convinced Musen to take a break.

The agency was looking for real-life mother-daughter and sister pairs for a campaign for Soma Intimates, a lingerie, sleepwear and swimwear retailer. They were looking for women to feature in bras or pajamas.

Gerstein, 50, knew that she and her mom were definitely not interested in modeling in their undies, so she uploaded a few photos of the two of them -- fully clothed. To their surprise, they were invited to go audition in person.

"My mom was looking at me like I'm ridiculous," Gerstein said. Musen, a grandmother of five, had more practical concerns: She was concerned about finishing the packing. But she agreed to set aside the tape and bubble wrap for a short excursion.

They walked into a room filled with gorgeous women, some carrying professional headshots and resumes. Gerstein assured her mom they wouldn't be staying long; she only had an hour free before a scheduled work call. Five minutes before they had to head out, they were called in to audition.

"I didn't know what to expect," Musen said. They had never done anything like this before, so they decided to just be themselves.

"They asked us all these questions," Gerstein said, like what they loved about each other and enjoyed doing together during the holidays. The pair talked about their relationship and holiday traditions. When they walked out, they both agreed it had been a fun experience. Then they immediately forgot about it. Neither thought they had a chance of being picked.

"Not a hope in the world, as far as I was concerned," Musen said.

"For sure, we'll never hear from them," Gerstein thought.

Two weeks later, an email popped up in Gerstein's inbox.

"Congratulations, you've been cast," it said. They were going to be part of a nationwide campaign for Soma, with a print campaign hanging in 80 retail stores and on the company's social media accounts.

Gerstein called her mom with the news.

"No way! Don't joke with me," she said. Musen was convinced her daughter was kidding. When Gerstein read her the email, she was in shock.

"How do we have time to do this when we are moving your apartment?" she asked her daughter. She had planned to stay in New York for a couple of weeks to help with the move, but extended her stay to accommodate the photo shoot.

A day was set aside to pick out their wardrobe and do the fittings. The next day, hair and makeup artists got them ready for a full day of shooting with a photographer from London.

"It was very new for me," Musen said. Gerstein said she was delighted to see her mom get pampered.

"For the two of us to have this beautiful day and moment, it was really special. I will never forget it," Gerstein said.

When they saw the photos, they were blown away. Musen said the photographer made them look better than she could have imagined.

The pair said that the best part of the story is that they had decided to do it together on a whim. There's something to be said for being open to spontaneity even when facing daunting tasks like moving.

Musen said she's always been a somewhat serious person, so landing a modeling gig in her 70s was a bit outside her comfort zone. But she trusted that her daughter would make any adventure memorable.

"It was a really fun experience," Musen said.

She was also thrilled that they got to keep the pajamas.

A number of moms are fed up with that snooping, snitching elf.

The trouble started innocently enough in 2005 when Carol Aebersold and her daughter Chanda Bell self-published the book "The Elf on the Shelf: A Christmas Tradition." It included a box with a small elf inside. In the homes that let him in, the elf would report back to Santa every night and get into new scenes of mischief every day.

That box unleashed weeks of misery for overworked parents: Already stressed out during the holidays, they were now saddled with coming up with daily set decorations for the elf. Even just remembering to move him to a new location after the kids went to bed added another thing to a long to-do list.

Children swapped tales of elf antics on the playground. Enter Pinterest and Instagram to up the ante. The elves were courting a backlash.

How to reject the elf game has become a hot topic in parenting groups and chats. A recent post asked for advice on responding to a young child's questions about the elf, and the responses revealed parents' creativity and common sense. Highlights:

-- We didn't sign up for/subscribe to the elf service.

-- Santa is short-staffed (get it?), so there's a waitlist.

-- An elf watching our every move is creepy.

-- Those elves are for kids who need extra reminders to be good.

-- We told Santa "no thanks" because we can't deal with the messes.

-- Every family celebrates the holidays differently. This isn't one of our family traditions.

-- Our elf is invisible.

-- All family members, including pets, must agree that our house is safe for an elf. Our dog can't promise elf safety.

-- We don't need one. I have a direct line to Santa.

-- An elf didn't come with this house.

But the prize for ingenuity goes to Amy Kiefer, 34, a Missouri event planner and real estate agent with three young children. When her daughter was in kindergarten, she heard stories about the elf from classmates and asked her mom why they didn't have one.

Kiefer also had a 1-year-old and a 2-year-old at the time.

"I was not new to the concept. I knew I did not have the time or the attention to give an elf, to make it what her expectations would be," Kiefer said. She put off her daughter's questions with a noncommittal, "We'll see what happens."

She started searching online for alternatives. That's when she stumbled across the idea of a gnome: a mythical creature that could just hang around without requiring any additional work.

She found what she was looking for in the clearance bins at Target. She picked up one larger gnome and a three-pack of mini-gnomes. They showed up in the Kiefer home, along with a note explaining that "Gnomie and his homies" would camp out in the family's bedrooms, keep an eye out for Santa and bring holiday magic. The only rule was that they couldn't be touched or moved, or it would ruin their magic.

Brilliant move, Mom.

Kiefer didn't intend to start a new holiday tradition. She was just looking for a simpler way to give her child a fun experience.

"That fact is that there are so many expectations put on parents. It's not just Christmas -- it's birthday parties, it's the treats you bring to soccer practice. Everything is so built up," she said.

The glittering posts on social media have lost their luster for this younger generation of moms, Kiefer says. They are tired of the Era of Excess Parenting.

"All the moms in my generation are feeling constant anxiety about all the expectations and having to do all the things. So, we are starting to throw in the towel and realizing, 'I don't have to follow the mainstream. I can do what works for my family.'"

Kiefer's background as an event planner gives her a healthy perspective on those picture-perfect social media posts. She knows they are stylized and staged and not representative of reality.

Their laid-back gnomes have appeared for the past three years, and her daughter loves them.

"Anytime she tells anyone about her gnome, they think it's funny, too," she said.

The best part of Gnomie and his homies, for Kiefer?

They're cool and lazy and just sit there.

For children of a certain generation, the library was a refuge and a sanctuary.

I count myself among that generation. I spent countless hours in our local public library. I perused all corners of it -- even the ones that made no sense at the time.

I took my own children to the library frequently when they were young, hoping to foster a similar connection to this place. When they checked out books, I would glance at the titles, but I never worried much about the reading material they could access at the library. If I wanted to look at it, it was right there in front of me.

I was far more concerned about the digital material they could access through their phones that I couldn't easily see. Tech companies have profited wildly from children's and teens' increased use of their devices and platforms. Children are more likely to be exposed to graphic, violent, pornographic and damaging content through these devices and websites -- and unlike a book or magazine that parents can see with their own eyes, we can't monitor every screen our child encounters.

As a parent, I have long wanted lawmakers to enact stronger regulations on Big Tech companies, especially in how they market to, and collect data about, children. I wanted better protections for tech consumers of all ages. But for years, Congress failed to regulate these companies, and they became even more powerful. The Democrats didn't take action, and neither did the Republicans when they were in control.

But somehow, libraries have now emerged as the biggest informational threat to children.

Missouri's Secretary of State Jay Ashcroft has proposed new rules that would block state funding for public libraries that offer books containing "non-age-appropriate materials." Anyone can challenge access to any book under Ashcroft's rules. Missouri libraries that are found to violate the rules would lose state funding -- taxpayer support. The proposal forbids the use of state library funding for any materials that "appeal to the prurient interest of any minor."

This is so utterly bizarre, given how children actually look for and consume information.

Once upon a time, Republicans would have argued that it was a parent's responsibility to monitor what books their child read at a public library. Certainly, it was not the job of the state to ban books for an entire community. But now, alleged conservative Ashcroft is pushing for the state to be able to shut down literal bastions of free speech and independent thought by threatening their funding over "age-appropriate" books.

Any parent who thinks a library presents a risk of salacious material for their child hasn't spent much time on the internet.

Retired teacher John Samuel Tieman of University City, Missouri, who taught English and history for 40 years, recently wrote a column for international news site axar.az about Ashcroft's proposed rules. In it, he argues that "parents should supervise what their children read, but no one should censor what the community reads."

This idea is foundational to what living in a free and open society means. Ashcroft threatening public libraries has nothing to do with protecting children and everything to do with furthering his political ambitions. Threatening to shut down a library, which ought to be a sacred place of knowledge and ideas, is perverse in a free society.

For those who think these types of rules won't actually lead to the most draconian scenarios, consider that in Missouri, a girl who is raped is now legally mandated to bear her rapist's child.

That's what happens when we think the worst outcomes can't actually occur.

In his column, Tieman posed a question to Ashcroft and Republicans who support him: "Burn any good books lately?"

I wish it were hyperbole.