Dusty Robin

So, we have an elf.  His name is Robin.  Robin, Jr., to be specific.  Cal named him a few years (seems like decades now) ago when he first entered our lives.  If I could take back that moment, I would.  It seemed like a good idea at the time -- Robin would be the inspiration for good Leatherkid behavior during the Christmas season, good behavior that might even stick beyond the holidays and into the next year.  But he's become a mostly ineffective gimmick holding Dan and me hostage, having to remember for 25 days straight to move him every night.

Here's how it works... at least, how it works in our house: On the morning of December 1st, Robin miraculously shows up in our house somewhere visible to the kids.  How he gets there from the North Pole, no one really knows -- it's only ever described as "magic."  The kids excitedly point out his presence and say, "hi," and Robin proceeds to stay in that same spot all day, with the same exact pose, with his hands always crossed, with the same exact expression on his face, and with the same beady eyes constantly looking slightly to the right for some reason.  At night, he heads back to the North Pole to give Santa a report on the Leatherkids' behavior that day.  No one ever sees him leave -- we only know this because he's in a different spot in the house the next day, which the Leatherkids always point out in the morning.

Robin, hanging out in my stocking

This cycle of Robin magically travelling back and forth between the North Pole and our house goes on until Christmas Eve, his last day with us because he and the kids know that Santa will be (if all goes well) visiting our house that night, the culmination of all of the good reports from Robin, I'm sure.  Or, mostly good reports.  There have been days where we're certain Robin delivered a bad report to Santa, which we don't hold back communicating to the Leatherkids.

There is only one rule by which everyone must abide, and that is that Robin cannot be touched by any person else he'll lose his magic.  This is for obvious reasons, at least to any rational thinker.  Frankly, I'm surprised the Leatherkids don't question his "realness" -- I mean, Robin does always stay completely still, always has the same expression and is always looking the same direction.  How this is not questioned amazes me.  At least Santa Claus is a moving person in the movies.

There have been days where Robin appears to have stayed in the same spot as the day before.  We're not sure if that's a day he didn't make the trek back to see Santa the night before or if he just liked that spot so much he returned to it.  One year, he forgot to go back to the North Pole with Santa and was still sitting in our tree on Christmas morning. Oops.

Robin is really more trouble than he's worth for Dan and me.  One might think that remembering to move him (uh, yeah, so he's not magically flying back to the North Pole and returning overnight) every night is easy, requiring a few seconds of effort.  Really, that's what it takes; however, we'd probably need all of our fingers and toes combined to count the times where we didn't remember to move him.  Eh, that may be a little high.  But throw in the times where one of us (me!) had to reluctantly get up and out of bed, having forgotten to move him before crawling into bed, and we do need all 40 digits.  I can't really explain why this is... why is it so difficult to remember to move our elf?

Robin's effectiveness has waned over the years, not for lack of really driving home the purpose of the elf on mine and Dan's part.  Early on, Robin was an effective motivator for the Leatherkids to be nice, cooperative and generally pleasant to be around.  Anytime they'd start to stray from the path of goodness, we'd say things like, "Uh, Robin's watching," or "You don't want Robin to give a bad report to Santa, do you?"; and, sure enough, they'd get back on the right path virtually immediately.  Today, Robin works about as effectively as my threats of "no books at bedtime" if the Leatherkids continue to not cooperate -- i.e., not at all.  At least they see me deliver on my threat -- I don't know that they think Robin ever gives Santa a bad report about them because they never actually see him do it.

That said, the Leatherkids do still seem to believe in Robin, his story, his relationship with Santa and his magic.  I know this because a couple of days ago as I stood in our dining room with the Leatherkids, I glanced at Robin who was hanging on a wine glass and noticed a dust ball on his "knee."  Instinctively, I reached up to dust him off when, fortunately, Cal caught me and yelled, "DON'T TOUCH HIM!!!"  He did this just in time -- I hadn't touched Robin yet and, therefore, hadn't removed all of his magic by doing so.

I have mixed feelings about this.  Had I touched him, Robin would just be another Christmas decoration in our house, similar to the elf with which I grew up and who did not have magical powers (lucky you, Mom and Dad!).  Dan and I would be off the hook for remembering (and frequently failing) to move him every night and coming up with semi-, not over-the-top creative ideas for poses and locations for Robin.  The kids may not like me for awhile, but they haven't liked me before and generally get over it pretty quickly.  But the panic in Cal's face when I almost ruined Robin's magic was enough to tell me that no matter how ornery he (Cal) may be despite Robin's presence, he really does appreciate what Robin brings to our house every Christmas.  A little mystery and a little fun.  So I can't take back bringing Robin into our lives; but I can keep him alive for the kids to enjoy for awhile.  Sigh.