5 Helpful Concepts for Raising Teenaged Sons

     They're gross.  They're crass.  They're stinky.  Yep--they're boys.  For those of us who started with daughters and thought we were pretty good at the Mommy thing, they're downright shocking.  But as I watch and play with my two little nephews, ages six and two, I realize something has changed in me.
     I used to think God had tricked me.  You see, He gave me a daughter first.  I thought things were going well because I was such a great mom.  So I followed the daughter up with two sons.  Things got a little out of hand.  More than a little, maybe.  Their noses kept running and they would just lick it off.  And they wouldn't do anything I said without some form of coercion.  Where were all those magical Mommy skills I thought I had?  And why did God give me two sons when I was obviously cut out to be a girl mom?
     Fast forward several years.  My daughter has grown and gone.  I live with my husband and three teenaged boys.  Yep, three.  I went and added another in the form of an exchange student.  My husband and I have over ten years of youth ministry under our belts.  Our house has been filled with teens since before we had any of our own, and we adore them.  Even the boys.  Well, especially the boys lately.  Which leads me to the point of my list:  Here are five helpful concepts that I have learned the hard way, shared with you nice and easy.
 
      1.  When In Rome (i.e. watch the games they play):  I have watched a tour of one son's "home" on Minecraft, watched a gazillion vines,  appreciated the bass in the car stereo, and learned what FIFA stands for.  For the record, I had zero innate interest in any of those topics.  My interest is in my beloved boys.  Your boys will not feel loved and appreciated until you show appreciation for their interests.  Teens define themselves largely by their interests, and they feel a natural affinity toward those who enjoy the same things.
 

       2.  Take Them With Lot's Wife (i.e., one grain of salt will not be enough):  Teen boys live to get a rise out of people.  Especially female people.  Moms.  You.  It's your goat they really want to get.  When you lose control, they win the upper hand. This form of power is unhealthy for a teenage boy.  He desperately needs to grasp and accept the structures of authority in our society, so that he can succeed in the work world (sorry if that sounds patently anti-adventure).  Perhaps because their powers of self-control are often underdeveloped, teen boys tend to respect those who seem unaffected by their goading and antics.  You have no idea how many undeclared wars I have won by acting like I don't care; and by convincing the boys that I have successfully navigated my young years, and now they must navigate their own.  They have to live with the consequences they merit (and NOT in my house, see #3).  Remember--a calm demeanor is a display of power in their world.  Keep your cool, Mama!

     3.  Boys Will Be Men (i.e., don't fight their fledgling masculinity):  Some of the most aggravating boy traits:  aggression, stubbornness, contentiousness, recklessness, and self-absorption, among other "masculine" traits, are simply the raw materials that you can use to form a wonderful man--a man characterized by the qualities of assertiveness, perseverance, passion, courage, and confidence.  While your instincts may tell you to break these wild boy-beasts, don't do it!  Instead, train them.  Teach them to channel their out-of-control natures into the self-controlled temperament of a Godly man.  When they get too demanding, remind them that they will be leaving your house soon enough--and mean it.  That creature before you is destined to be a man someday, and it's your job to make sure he's a good one.  Prepare him, even push him, to be independent of you.

Riding in a Haitian tap-tap

     4.  It Helps to be Wonder Woman (i.e., have an alternate persona):  Before you were a mother, you were an interesting person.  You had exciting interests and a romantic relationship with your husband.  Don't surrender this "real you" to the demands of motherhood.  Hang in there!  Teens, with their (hopefully) growing independence, should be allowing you more and more time to yourself.  Use it to remember the wonderful woman that you are.  In case you feel guilty missing a soccer game so you can meet with a friend, remember that teens admire parents who have interesting, rich personal lives. They actually brag to their friends about your adventures.  And there will be plenty of soccer games to attend.  Do attend most games.  Don't miss rare events (like art shows) if you can avoid it.  Just remember that you must have more to your life than serving a teenager.  Holding the upper hand in your life develops arrogance in your son.  Humble confidence is a better trait to develop, and humility (being humble, not embarrassed)  comes from having an honest view of himself.

Henry helps with our Maundy Thursday observance

     5.  Don't Hide Jesus in Your Heart (i.e. help him find his own faith):  One of the hardest things for me to do as a Mom Of A Teen has been to allow my older teens to attend a different (but scriptural) church.  However, let me assure you that a teen must develop his own faith, independent of yours, in order for him to carry that faith into his future.  Most boys prefer to quietly follow Mama and Daddy to church each Sunday, mindlessly awaiting the time when they are old enough to decide not to attend.  Make certain you are having conversations in your home that challenge your son to be a man in his spirit.  Live a vibrant, spirit-filled life before his eyes.  Pursue God with your whole heart and life, and your son will know what Christianity truly is.  A son who decides where he wants to attend church has the advantage of actually wanting to be with a faith family.  However, I am not encouraging you to allow your son to choose whether he attends at all.  We go through so much trouble making certain that our sons brush their teeth.  Why on earth would we give them a choice of whether to care for their eternal souls?  Make certain your son hears the Word of God while you are still in a position to do so.  If nothing else, your son will be able to make an informed decision.

     A home where teen boys thrive is, indeed, a boisterous place.  Fill yours with laughter and love, and firm rules.  Read Christian parenting books which focus on firm boundaries in a home.  The concepts which inspired rule #3 came from Bringing Up Boys, by Dr. James Dobson.  Much of my parenting philosophy is guided by John Rosemond, especially his book Parenting By The Book.  However, my biggest influences are The Bible and parents with children older than mine.  I encourage you to find other parents with whom you can openly share your struggles.  My worst parenting moments have been when I allowed shame to keep me from getting good advice from other parents.  Some of my best occurred when I finally spoke up.  Shockingly, many had been through similar experiences!  They helped me toward some of my best parenting moments.  It really does take a village to raise a son.

   

An Open Letter to My Daughter

Dear Bridget,
     Today the Holy Spirit revealed something wonderful to me:  I hate my life.  I know that sounds strange.  Please bear with me.
     I have been struggling for a long time now with frustration, anxiety, and bouts of depression.  I was frustrated when I spent days alone in the house;  I was frustrated when I had to take care of company.  I was frustrated if your Dad was home too much; I was frustrated when he was gone a lot.  I was frustrated almost all of the time.  I had anxiety attacks.  I got down and couldn't find any energy or joy.  Yet, through all of this, I loved my life.  I was grateful to God to have such wonderful children and a wonderful husband, a beautiful house and plenty of money.  Most of the time, I was happy with the decisions I had made in life.  So why was I struggling?
     Lately, I have been sinking into another spell of the blues.  I came up with so many excuses:  the recent move, the mysterious stomach pains, your growing up, my need to find a close friend in LaGrange, the chilly spring.  So many, many more.  Still, the confusing thing is that when I actually think about it, I have the things I've really sought:  children, marriage, old house, great church, etc. .  Today, I had one of those fits where I decide all I ever do is clean, and yet the house is never clean.  I began filling the donation boxes, as I usually do during these times.  I think the idea is solid:  if I didn't own so much stuff, I wouldn't have to spend so much time cleaning my stuff.

Love hurts.

     As I was working, I was talking to God.  One of the nice things about being home alone is that I am completely free to talk out loud to God.  I was telling God that I am so SICK of spending all of my time on meaningless labor.  I do dishes, laundry, floors, beds...meaningless, cyclical work.  Please don't try to explain how satisfied I should be.  I finally got so frustrated that I shouted to the Lord, "I HATE MY LIFE!  THERE!  I SAID IT!  I HATE MY LIFE!"
     As soon as the words were out, I felt a bit of peace come to my spirit.  That Still Small Voice said, "Good.  That is the first step.  Now, what did I tell you?"  My mind was immediately filled with scriptures:  Luke 14:26-28, and the story of Mary and Martha.
     In Luke 14, Jesus finds Himself followed by a large crowd.  As usual, Jesus reacts by separating the men from the boys, so to speak.  He says, "If anyone comes to Me, and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be My disciple.  Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple.  For which one of you, when he wants to build a tower, does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if he has enough to complete it?"  Our culture teaches us that to love one's life is a virtue.  If I don't love my life, something is terribly wrong.  Today, the Holy Spirit said to me, "Finally.  You are finally ready to become My disciple."

     The hardest part of coming to this point of realization was coming to terms with my role as a woman.  Ever since I got saved at 18, the loving folks I did church with began teaching me to love being a homemaker, and to find fulfillment there.  I did.  I still love being a homemaker.  Nonetheless, I am not fulfilled by housework; nor do I feel that housework and childcare fulfill my calling as a disciple.  As a youth worker, I have heard countless speakers assure crowds of youth (of both genders) that God has a plan for their lives and a calling on them.  Somehow, I do not believe that that calling is to a sink full of dishes.  Nor even to childrearing.  I believe that, as we fulfill our Christian calling, we set the example for our children.  We also bring them along with us, so they can begin their own good work.  That is how a woman raises the next generation of Christians, not by pampering and protecting them behind the middle-class walls of American suburbs.  Walls which I have sometimes protected and pampered my children behind.
     I think a woman is just as called to discipleship as a man.  Like it or not, Jesus had female disciples who travelled with Him and supported Him financially (typically the job of a rabbi's disciples, see Luke 8:1-3).  Consider, also, the familiar story of Mary and Martha.  In Luke 10:  38-42, we see Martha keeping busy with household work.  Mary, on the other hand, was completely focused on Christ.  Martha complained that Mary wasn't helping with the work.  What did Jesus say?  "There is only one thing worth being concerned about.  Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her."  Boom.
   
The point of this letter is two-fold:

1.  Don't ever fall for the teaching that women are not as called as men.  Stay in the scriptures and in prayer.  You are an anointed woman,  as were many women in both the Old and New Testaments.  Act 2:18:  "Even on My bondslaves, both men and women, I will in those days pour forth of My Spirit, and they shall prophesy."
2.  Don't be sad that I hate my life.  Be happy for me!  I believe the wind is picking up.  Do you know the wind I am talking about?  I think you do.  And if you ever find yourself thinking, "I hate my life," don't despair.  Brace yourself.

     With all my heart, I love you, Bridget.  --Moma

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THIS EPISODE'S DIY

What To Do With Grits

     My in-laws ain't from around here.  They live in Iowa.  Every time he has breakfast with us, my father-in-law asks, "What's a grit?"  Well, grits are ground corn.  They began as a cheap way to fill hungry bellies.  Lately, I see them on snooty foodie shows.  The grit has arrived.  Up for your consideration:  2 easy ways to use grits.  Note:  I only use regular grits.  No quick grits.  NO instant grits.

     I frequently serve grits as a quick-and-easy weekday breakfast.  Mix 1/2 cup grits and 2 cups water in a large microwaveable bowl.  The bowl should seem a bit ridiculously large because the water will bubble up while the grits cook.  Throw in some salt, depending on how salty you like your food.  I add pepper, too.  Cook it 10 minutes on power level 6.  You may need to adjust these settings for your microwave and your taste in grits.  I like mine thick, not watery.  While the grits cook, get out an egg, grated cheese, butter, and milk.  Remove the bowl from the microwave when it finishes, and immediately stir in one raw egg, while the grits are still burning hot.  They will cook the egg, but you can micro it a little longer if you are the nervous sort.  Next, add 1-2 tbsp butter, 1/4-1/2 cup grated cheese, and some milk if it gets too thick.  The purpose of these additions is to enrich the grits with nutrition, calories, and flavor.  My boys don't eat much in the morning, so I pump up the calories.  And they are skinny.  When I make grits for myself, I usually leave out the butter, and just add cheese or an egg.  This recipe serves 3 if they aren't big eaters.  2 if they are.

     While grits are wonderful in the morning, they are becoming increasingly popular as a dinner dish.  Shrimp and grits is a classic, and I have my own quick-as-a-flash version to share with you.  First off, I try to put a bag of dried red beans, a chopped onion, and 8 cups water in the crock pot in the morning.  Let it cook all day on low.  Or the first few hours on high if you will be around to change it to low, and you don't get them in till noon.  Otherwise, canned red beans are fine.  You will need:

Red beans, one bag or 3 cans

1 c grits

4 c water

3 tbsp butter.  Accept no substitutes (like margarine) but olive oil is fine.

bag of pre-cooked shrimp.  I used large, tail-on.  You don't need pre-cooked, really.  I used what I had. Thaw if frozen.

3 tbsp paprika, to taste

Jane's crazy mixed-up pepper.  Or any pepper blend you like.

     Combine the grits and water in that big bowl.  Microwave 13-15 min, power level 6.  Meanwhile, melt the butter in a medium frying pan on high heat.  Drain any water from the shrimp and add them to the pan.  Sprinkle on paprika, salt to taste, and pepper to taste.  Heat the beans if they are canned.  Cook the shrimp until the paprika thickens around them.  Remove from heat.

     Put a serving of grits in a shallow bowl, top with a scoop of beans, and top again with shrimp and sauce.  Enjoy.   Makes about 4 servings.

Bridget loves grits.

Waxing and Waning

My Henry, back in 2003.  He wasn't so sure he wanted any part of the night back then!  Now, all 3 of my children are night-owls like their mother.

     My natural tendencies are those of the night-owl.  Left to my own devices, I will stay up later and later, sleeping in later and later the next morning.  Eventually, I will settle at a 2 or 3am bedtime, awakening between 9 and 10am.  The problem, you see, is that the rest of the world refuses to adjust to my schedule.  By the time I have staggered around and gotten some coffee into my system, I am left with the distinct feeling that I have wasted my whole day.  Yes, "I have been one acquainted with the night."  (Click here to read this gorgeous poem by Robert Frost.)  I continue to struggle with my conflicting feelings.  On the one hand, I adore the quiet beauty of the night, the way its blanket of dark air embraces me, the selfish indulgence of the solitude.  On the other hand, I love being with my family and friends, and I prefer the efficiency of the early-to-bed-early-to-rise schedule.  The manager in me loves the day; the poet in me loves the night.

     Why are we humans so given to struggle?  Our entire history is a story of struggle.  God even named His people after struggle.  The Hebrew word Israel is said to mean "He struggles with God."  We struggle between selfishness and our desire to sacrifice for the good of others.  We struggle between our cravings and our desire for good health.  We struggle between our love of sunshine and our need for rain.  We even struggle with our envy of people who seem to have given up struggling.  In the spirit of poetry and struggle, I share with you a poem I have written about my recent struggle.  

THE CHANGE

by Donna Craig.  August, 2012

She packed up her life

To take it away

Her heart beats with joy

As she waits for the day

And I cry cry cry

I am dying inside.

We load up the car

With parts of my life

My last glimpse of my Bridget as we drove away from her dorm.
I miss her so much!

My heart in my throat

Her glee like a knife

And I dread, dread, dread

The road which lies ahead.

We leave her behind

She waves at the door

My eyes ache with strain

But I see her no more

They are dry, dry, dry

And I can't explain why.

We talk on the phone

The light in her face

My heart is at peace

She has found her own place

And I smile, smile, smile

They're just ours for a while.

     Since we are on the topic of struggle, I would also like to share with you that I have struggled between keeping this blog literary, and offering something practical to you.  I have decided to stop struggling, and to offer you a bit of each.  On the practical side, I would like to say that I have struggled a bit with the fact that we as a culture pay for professional services in an incredible number of areas of life.  Growing up, no one I knew ever paid someone to perform simple tasks such as washing a car (except for fundraisers), bathing a dog, painting your toenails, or making sweet tea.  In the brief time that it took me to reach the age of 44, I suddenly know hardly anyone who does these things for themselves.  Not only do all of my friends have perpetually perfect eyebrows, but also, they pay someone to create them! Then they tell me their budgets are tight.  Well, no wonder.  We have forgotten how to use a boxed cake mix.  

     My contribution to your sense of competence this week:  How to turn 15 minutes (including cleanup) into a pan of  Rice Krispie Treats.  A whole pan of them for less than $3.00.  And you have a better idea of what is in them.  Also, get your children involved, if you have them.  The kitchen is a wonderful place to bond, and they can easily take over this task once they learn and are old enough.  If you are thinking I am foolish for including such a simple and ubiquitous recipe in my blog, I hope you have never paid Keebler to make these treats for you!

Rice Krispie Treats

1/4 cup butter or margarine (I always use butter at home, never margarine)

1 normal bag of marshmallows

6 cups of crisped rice cereal (off-brand is great)

     Prepare a 9X11 pan by spraying pam on the bottom and sides.  Set aside.

     Place the marshmallows and butter (cut up a bit and scattered onto marshmallows) in a large microwave-safe bowl.  Microwave on high in 1-minute bursts.  Stir between bursts.  I usually only go 2 minutes in my powerful microwave, but three is normal.  The marshmallows will puff up, then melt when you stir them.  When they are a thick melty liquid, stir the cereal in quickly.  

My husband, brother, and sister-in-law try to look gangsta while eating
Rice Krispie Treats, with mixed results.  It's no easy feat.

     Dump mixture into pan.  Moisten your hands with cold water and press the cereal lightly into the pan to fill it up and be fairly smooth on top.  Cool and cut into smallish squares.  Wash the pans immediately (it's better to just have it over with).  Try not to eat them all in one sitting.  I put them in  cheap baggies so they are ready to go into lunch boxes.  What?  You don't make lunches?  Well, that is another blog altogether.

     This recipe is incredibly flexible.  You can experiment with different cereals, add frosting to the top, stir in chips (they'll get melty), etc.    Have fun!

     

The Wayfarer

     Our town is filled with beautiful old architecture.  The houses in the downtown are all different, and rife with old Southern charm.  As I ate lunch yesterday, I gazed out of my window at the windows next door.  My eyes lingered on the antique glass, the peeling paint on the wood frames.  I adored the bricks, the angle of the roof, and the depth of the sills.  Eventually, my eyes caught sight of the vines growing up and around the windows.  The green plants contrasted with the red bricks.  The sight was captivating, but what occurred to me was the juxtaposition of the deliberate, well-planned and measured angles against the casual, ambling curve of the vines.
     There is something in  the eye that loves an angle, especially a well-built right angle (and, unfortunately, something in my knees and elbows that is attracted to them, too).  I will not suggest that we abandon angle-making; however, I do simply suggest that we intentionally practice the art of the free-form curve here and there.  No planning, no pattern, just flow.  Perhaps even allowing yourself to (gasp!) follow the Path of Least Resistance.

     Admit it:  there is something in a creek which feels so incredibly right.  I submit to you that the rightness is due to  an utter lack of stress.  A creek doesn't plow, persist, or assert itself.  A creek meanders, bubbles, and takes its time.  If something gets in its way, the creek goes around.  A creek adopts the temperature that the sun, air, and earth around it suggest.  No worries; no regrets.  Why not occasionally allow the creek to suggest the course of your day?  Make certain you have days when you wake up, meander outside for the paper, and say hi to the neighbors.  When they ask you what you are up to that day, say, "Oh, I don't know.  We'll see what the day brings."  

Niagara Falls, Ontario

     We pride ourselves on being busy.  How foolish!   Look at some pictures of yourself last time you took a real vacation, one where you were at a resort, or at least in a hotel.  One where you had no responsibilities.  Preferably, no kids along.  Look at your face.  I always look younger, happier, and incredibly at ease in those pictures.  I mentioned that fact to a friend, and she said, "Of course:  you were relaxed."  Even more, I was wayfaring.  I was moving in wanton curves, and I was beautiful, green, alive.  Like the vine growing up those deliberately perfect bricks.
     Most days I am the brick.  Some days, I am the vine.  LORD, please help me to be the vine more often.

"There was a man all alone; he had neither son nor brother.
There was no end to his toil,    yet his eyes were not content with his wealth.“For whom am I toiling,” he asked,    “and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?”This too is meaningless—a miserable business!"  Ecclesiastes 4:8

Child Support

Excuses to not blog:
1.  I just moved from AL to GA.
2.  We had eight house guests last weekend.
3.  Our new house is an old fixer-upper.
4.  My daughter grew up and moved to a college dorm in VA.

     Well, I could go on and on, but what is the point?  Instead, I will share one of my old writings with you.  I found it while I was unpacking.  (Yep, I'm still unpacking.  I will be for some months yet).  The article seemed appropriate, since I just dropped my oldest baby off at college this past weekend.
     Anyhow, I was unpacking, and I found some old articles I used to write for my church newsletter.  They were aimed at the youth group, and I called the column, "Youth Turn."  This particular article is about my youngest child.  I hope you enjoy the article, dated January 2004.

     Well, today is Henry's third birthday.  My baby is three.  I am all right with it!  Really!  I am!  Oh, dear...
     Henry has grown away from so many of his "baby ways."  He is potty-trained.  He drinks from a regular glass.  He speaks (and speaks, and speaks...) in paragraphs.  Most of all, Henry walks away from Mommy to play with other children.  I feel like a former smoker, standing there wondering what to do with my hands.  You kids don't realize how cruel you  are, walking away from us like that.  You are so focused on the path ahead of you.  
     Ah, but I am rambling.  This process is healthy.  It is called growth.  I remember when Henry was 6 months old; he was an incredibly fat and jolly baby.  At his check-up, the doctor pointed out to me that Henry was not yet supporting any weight on his legs.  She wanted to evaluate him in two weeks.  What fear she instilled in me!  What if Henry were developmentally delayed?  What if he wasn't...normal?  What a relief when, two weeks later, she pronounced him simply lazy!  What a relief to have a lazy but normal child!  She pointed out that supporting his substantial weight was a bigger challenge than most babies face.  We both laughed aloud--she with humor, I with relief.  
     Do I have a point?  Of course.  Check out this little tidbit from the word of God:  "...it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn.  In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God's word all over again.  You need milk, not solid food! ...solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.  Therefore let us leave the elementary teachings about Christ and go on to maturity..." (Hebrews 5:11-6:1).  Well, that is a scathing remark.  Have you been in for an evaluation lately?  Be certain that you are supporting weight on those legs!  Get enough milk to grow strong, then move on!  Grow!  And don't worry.  Mama has plenty of other things to do.

     This article is dedicated to my daughter, Bridget, who has made me proud by needing me a little less with every year of her life.  Now she has left the nest and is doing exactly what I taught her to do:  break my heart by flying on her own.

Me vs Reality

     Ok, so I am 3 days behind on my blog this week.  Forgive me; moving in is hard work, and if I don't have quiet time, I have a hard time listening to the movement of the Spirit.  And I don't write.  Anyhow, I found this poem in my bedside table stuff while I was unpacking boxes.  I wrote it a couple of years ago, when I was feeling Bridget grow away from me, and when I was losing another young person from my life, even if he wasn't (technically) my own child.  It was hard to see him grow and go.  Now, with my daughter, Bridget, teetering on the edge of the nest, this poem feels especially apropos.  Fly, my baby B--fly!

These Ties Don't Bind

The hardest things to let go of

Are the ones I never held

The ones I grasped at

But never really caught.

The ones that I only thought

Truly belonged in my life

They were just shadows behind

The true life I lived.

And now the time has come.

I know you're free.

The hand releases, and

The heart must follow suit.

by Donna Craig