Robin Junior Leatherman

Robin Junior Leatherman joined our family on December 1, 2012.  Only a foot tall and weighing less than a pound, Robin’s presence and travels are recognized daily by all in the Leatherman household.  He has striking blue eyes, a perky nose, rosy cheeks and a permanent grin that can be infectious.  He is always wearing a red suit with a matching red hat and has been found sitting on shelves and window sills, hanging on light fixtures, perching on a wreath or a tree and sitting on a reindeer, train bank or easel… whimsically operating without a plan.

Robin in candle

Wherever Robin starts the day, he finishes it, quietly watching and listening in between.  He has x-ray vision and is capable of seeing us wherever we are, even when we’re not at home.  He never speaks, and we never touch him.  These are the rules, which, to my surprise, are respected by everyone.  When the kids are sleeping at night, Robin travels back to the North Pole (how he does this we can only explain as magic) to give Santa a report on Cal and Ella Leatherman.  I don’t know how this exchange goes; but I like to think that a long report is a clear sign of a good day, and a brief report is an implied rough day.  There’s no need to burden Santa with the details of the bad stuff.

Robin’s arrival came at a good time.  We were coming off of several weeks (exact duration unknown) of unprecedented stubbornness, disrespect and uncooperativeness out of our first born.  Every request we made seemed to be met with a “no” or “my hands are broken” or “I don’t know how.”  It wasn’t uncommon for Dan and me to field “I don’t like you” comments, even when it was unwarranted (not that I think this is ever warranted; but he would even say it in response to a non-controversial question like “what socks do you want to wear, Cal?”  Response: “I don’t like you, Mommy.”) Our morning routine of getting dressed, putting shoes and coats on and heading to the car was typically ending with shouts and tears out of everyone, about which Cal would forget by the end of the day but from which Dan and I may still not be fully recovered.

Cal is fully aware of Robin’s purpose.  We drilled it into his head when we slowly read him the story of the Elf on the Shelf and first introduced him to Robin.  We ensured his full attention was on me and every word of the story I read, and he didn’t skip a beat when we ended the story by asking him what he’d like to name our elf – “Robin Junior Leatherman!” Cal exclaimed.

Robin and Moose

Robin?  Where’d this come from?  Red Elfie, maybe.  Cal has a tendency to name his animals what they are -- there’s Monkey, Skinny Monkey, Moose, Big Teddy, Teddy Bay-yeh, Teddy Sox, B (short for Bear)… to name a few.  We didn’t question it and immediately referred to our elf as Robin (or “Dobbin” if it’s Ella doing the referring).

Since Robin’s arrival, Cal’s behavior does seem to have improved.  When he misbehaves or has an unwelcome sharp tongue, we immediately pull Robin into the situation for help – that exchange might go something like this:

Cal: <jumping on the couch>

Dan: “Cal, please stop jumping on the couch.”

Cal: <continues jumping>

Dan: “Robin, Cal’s jumping on the couch even though we asked him not to.”

Cal: “No! Don’t tell Robin.”

Dan: “We don’t have to tell him – he can see and hear you on his own.”

Sometimes there’s a bit more of a struggle to get him to stop from there; but oftentimes, there’s not and the misbehavior stops immediately upon pulling Robin in to the fight.  Regardless, I find it promising that there’s at least some recognition of wrongness in the scenario.  Clearly Cal understands he’s in the wrong – why else would he not want us to tell Robin?

To be honest, I expected Robin to have a bigger impact than he has.  Maybe it wasn’t that I expected it so much has hoped he’d make all of our mind-boggling struggles with our fiery 4-year-old completely disappear, at least through the holidays.  I’ve come to terms with the fact that that’s not going to happen.  It was really an unrealistic dream.  I do feel like Robin is another tool for us, though, another incentive to get Cal to cooperate, listen and just be nice.  Like the threat of timeouts or having toys taken away, the possibility that Robin might relay misbehaviors to Santa is typically enough to turn Cal around for the better.  When he cooperates, Cal will ask us to tell Robin, as in “tell Robin I washed my hands before dinner when you asked me to").  We usually oblige that request and then follow it up with “you know, we don’t have to tell Robin this because he already knows you did because he can see and hear you.”

Robin in my stocking

Finally, Robin is a daily diversion we’ve come to count on.  Every morning, whether in the middle of a clothing war with Cal or trying to get Ella to de-focus on her “binkie” or actually functioning struggle-free, we ask the question, “Where’s Robin? Let’s go find Robin!”  And this is always met with a happy march around the house to find Robin perched somewhere, Ella uttering the same phrases, “Dobbin?” and “No fall” and “Nice.”

Robin’s going to be around for only five more days, and then he’ll be heading back to the North Pole until December, 2013 comes around.  Thinking about this actually makes me sad.  I’m going to miss his daily movement and our daily interactions with him. I think the kids will, too; and I just hope his stay with us in 2012 has a lasting effect on Cal well into 2013.

Robin and Santa