Bot's Self-Esteem
It has been a little while since Sue has posted anything, so I'm putting out this email from January 2008. "Bot", of course, is Richard, our fourth child (of seven), who was seven when this was written. --Jake
OK, I admit I sometimes worry about my middle child--he truly is the forgotten child sometimes, and seems easily brought to tears, whether it's because he knows he did something he shouldn't, because Liam won't share Lego parts with him, because he's convinced that he will NEVER manage to buy the cool Bionicle Liam has when HE is twelve because he might never earn enough money and in five years Lego might not even MAKE that one anymore, because his world is miserable because he has to do homework, or because Duncan is crying and so Bot cries because I might just decide it's Bot's fault. So I tell him I love him even when he puts his shirt on backwards, skips brushing his teeth to get in more time reading Peanuts strips, and puts an extra juice box and four extra fruit snacks into his lunchbox, I make a point of fawning over his long eyelashes (from MY side of the family, I tell him) and the cute faint freckles on his nose, I tell him that he is quite good at saving his money and if Lego doesn't make that one by the time he has the money for it, I'll search eBay (which really means I'll dig it out of Liam's stuff and stick it in a shipping box), and otherwise try to find ways to bolster his confidence with comments on his intelligence, cuteness, kindness to babies, insightful questions, etc. (This makes it sound like I'm a much better mom than I am, because you may assume I do all this ego-boosting *regularly*, when in fact I'm lucky if I've done any of the lovely deeds I've listed more than once each--and when it comes to the HW tears, I have pretty much barked that HW is a part of life and these particular tears are forbidden till he's out of college because I'm not going through this melodrama four times a week. In fact, one time when he started with the whole, "WHY do we have to do homework? I don't think we should have to do it if we already know this stuff from doing it already IN SCHOOL! This isn't FAIR! Why do *I* always have homework, and for the next TEN YEARS!" I spat back that if he really wanted to debate the philosophy of homework he should take it up with Mrs. Carmody or Sister Lena and I'd be happy to schedule an appointment with them for that purpose right now if he said one more word to ME on the topic--and by the way, he didn't take into account college in his tally of homework years. He did his homework quietly, but as he went to put it in his backpack he muttered under his breath that if there was more homework involved he wasn't going to college, he'd be an adult by then and he'd have RIGHTS... Fine, I thought, one less tuition to pay and one more grunt for the USMC if you're *lucky*, or I'll throw you in the they-even-took-Uncle-Joe-the-dancer-so-go-cry-there Army, you little twerp...where was I? Oh, self esteem and my loving style of mothering Bot--see, I only thought it, I didn't say it OUT LOUD. Pretty darn loving given that he was whining about twenty subtraction problems while I was making his dinner, feeding his brother, doing his laundry, and putting up with his father.)
Anyway, it turns out that in all this focus on his intelligence and cuteness and his ability to make Tim smile and his finally being able to put his clothes on not-backwards after seven-point-five years on earth and my general love and fondness for my fourth-born, it seems I might have missed the trait that is the real key to his self-esteem...
Today was Bot's First Reconciliation, and I took him all alone to the service since juggling seven kids by myself (yes, Jake is at the annual sales meeting again, hopefully taking the time to read this so he remembers that Bot was introduced to another sacrament today and he should comment on such to the child when he returns) was not my idea of supporting and focusing on Bot--plus they designate each pew for two about-to-confess kids and their respective family members, and there's no way we'd fit in half a pew. All went well, Bot was adorably pleased and happy about the whole thing and says he got used to it while doing it this first time already and now that he's used to it we should go all the time. Good little Catholic boy! Since it wasn't a traditional throw-a-party occasion, still, it was an event in his life and Grandpa was over watching everyone else and so we stopped at the bakery on the way home to pick up a cake, just because. While we were backing out of the new pay-by-space-number parking by the train station, Bot was just blurting out words with gusto and randomness: "Credit card! Attention! No parking! Parking! Cake filling!" I was only half-listening as I was trying to navigate the crowded parking lot (so much easier in my dad's zippy little car--he has an Odyssey), and absently asked, "Is this just a random word-association thing you're doing?"
"Yes!"
"You're weird, you know that?"
He responded with such matter-of-fact pride: "Yes. It's what I like best about myself."
Apparently Bot has done some serious reflection between comic strip readings and has come to this bit of self-awareness. Weirdness--makes so much sense now that I know...So now all I have to do is keep pointing out how weird Bot is--a very simple task, way easier than giving compliments--and he should be happy, right?
OK, I admit I sometimes worry about my middle child--he truly is the forgotten child sometimes, and seems easily brought to tears, whether it's because he knows he did something he shouldn't, because Liam won't share Lego parts with him, because he's convinced that he will NEVER manage to buy the cool Bionicle Liam has when HE is twelve because he might never earn enough money and in five years Lego might not even MAKE that one anymore, because his world is miserable because he has to do homework, or because Duncan is crying and so Bot cries because I might just decide it's Bot's fault. So I tell him I love him even when he puts his shirt on backwards, skips brushing his teeth to get in more time reading Peanuts strips, and puts an extra juice box and four extra fruit snacks into his lunchbox, I make a point of fawning over his long eyelashes (from MY side of the family, I tell him) and the cute faint freckles on his nose, I tell him that he is quite good at saving his money and if Lego doesn't make that one by the time he has the money for it, I'll search eBay (which really means I'll dig it out of Liam's stuff and stick it in a shipping box), and otherwise try to find ways to bolster his confidence with comments on his intelligence, cuteness, kindness to babies, insightful questions, etc. (This makes it sound like I'm a much better mom than I am, because you may assume I do all this ego-boosting *regularly*, when in fact I'm lucky if I've done any of the lovely deeds I've listed more than once each--and when it comes to the HW tears, I have pretty much barked that HW is a part of life and these particular tears are forbidden till he's out of college because I'm not going through this melodrama four times a week. In fact, one time when he started with the whole, "WHY do we have to do homework? I don't think we should have to do it if we already know this stuff from doing it already IN SCHOOL! This isn't FAIR! Why do *I* always have homework, and for the next TEN YEARS!" I spat back that if he really wanted to debate the philosophy of homework he should take it up with Mrs. Carmody or Sister Lena and I'd be happy to schedule an appointment with them for that purpose right now if he said one more word to ME on the topic--and by the way, he didn't take into account college in his tally of homework years. He did his homework quietly, but as he went to put it in his backpack he muttered under his breath that if there was more homework involved he wasn't going to college, he'd be an adult by then and he'd have RIGHTS... Fine, I thought, one less tuition to pay and one more grunt for the USMC if you're *lucky*, or I'll throw you in the they-even-took-Uncle-Joe-the-dancer-so-go-cry-there Army, you little twerp...where was I? Oh, self esteem and my loving style of mothering Bot--see, I only thought it, I didn't say it OUT LOUD. Pretty darn loving given that he was whining about twenty subtraction problems while I was making his dinner, feeding his brother, doing his laundry, and putting up with his father.)
Anyway, it turns out that in all this focus on his intelligence and cuteness and his ability to make Tim smile and his finally being able to put his clothes on not-backwards after seven-point-five years on earth and my general love and fondness for my fourth-born, it seems I might have missed the trait that is the real key to his self-esteem...
Today was Bot's First Reconciliation, and I took him all alone to the service since juggling seven kids by myself (yes, Jake is at the annual sales meeting again, hopefully taking the time to read this so he remembers that Bot was introduced to another sacrament today and he should comment on such to the child when he returns) was not my idea of supporting and focusing on Bot--plus they designate each pew for two about-to-confess kids and their respective family members, and there's no way we'd fit in half a pew. All went well, Bot was adorably pleased and happy about the whole thing and says he got used to it while doing it this first time already and now that he's used to it we should go all the time. Good little Catholic boy! Since it wasn't a traditional throw-a-party occasion, still, it was an event in his life and Grandpa was over watching everyone else and so we stopped at the bakery on the way home to pick up a cake, just because. While we were backing out of the new pay-by-space-number parking by the train station, Bot was just blurting out words with gusto and randomness: "Credit card! Attention! No parking! Parking! Cake filling!" I was only half-listening as I was trying to navigate the crowded parking lot (so much easier in my dad's zippy little car--he has an Odyssey), and absently asked, "Is this just a random word-association thing you're doing?"
"Yes!"
"You're weird, you know that?"
He responded with such matter-of-fact pride: "Yes. It's what I like best about myself."
Apparently Bot has done some serious reflection between comic strip readings and has come to this bit of self-awareness. Weirdness--makes so much sense now that I know...So now all I have to do is keep pointing out how weird Bot is--a very simple task, way easier than giving compliments--and he should be happy, right?
posted by Jake at
10:53 PM
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