The School Years | Cookie Cawthon | product of a tenacious grace

April

Dads, What We Hope You Teach Your Sons…

skating father son

“We did role plays in Health today, and they were hilarious, ” Carson shared at dinner.

“Aren’t you studying Sex Ed in Health?”

“Yeah.”

“WHAT!?!?! WHAT KIND OF ROLE PLAY DO YOU DO IN SEX ED?!?!?!”

She nonchalantly recounted the content while my eyes bugged out of my very head. These conversational role plays that still freaked me out.

“Well, we may homeschool Sex Ed.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can.”

“Mom, I know you’re not a fan but think about Thomas, whose parents will never teach him anything about sex.”

“Well, I have a teaching degree; I’ll volunteer to teach it.”

“Yeah, and I have a lot of experience having sex, so I’ll volunteer too! ” Chris pipes in.

Both girls scream, throw their hands over their ears, and run from the table.

_______________

I am a girl out of season.

Chris is a girl daddy.

I mama women-children.

We know girls.

Dads, one day your sons may be part of our family. We think of you often and hope things are going swimmingly on your end.

We want you to know we are giving it our concerted effort to teach our girls compassion and adventure and purity and boldness. Courage and love, responsibility and grace.

We teach them about the College Football Playoff Selection Committee (highlighting Condoleezza Rice’s participation, of course) and watch as a family as the top teams are announced each week during the season. Our girls can drive a boat, mow the grass, protect the seasoning on a cast iron frying pan, and bake a chocolate chip cookie just shy of done.

We teach them about sex and finances and injustice and hard work. We encourage their voice and questions, and we don’t airbrush our marriage to make reality more palatable. They know we squeaked through our hardest season, that we went to counseling, that I took “stable pills” (an anti-depressant) for a while (and they were glad for it, mind you!).

Most of all we’re pretty crazy about a well-known carpenter, and we hope they notice him building a messy masterpiece of our lives. And they allow him to do the same in theirs.

We’re trying, man. We know she may sit at your table for Thanksgiving dinner, and – if so – we want her to be a permanent fixture there, to be a rich blessing to your family.

If we were allowed to whisper into your ear during this formative time, we’d champion these ideals…

dad and son

Talk real talk about hard stuff. About failure. Your failures. Your struggles. The pressures of being the provider. The weight of being the leader. The ubiquitous measuring-stick that always asks, “Do I have what it takes?” Talk to him about man things. And share how you navigate those difficulties. He needs you to be a guide in his life, not a superhero in his mind.
Overtly teach him that sex is for marriage and worth the wait. Not because it’s a conservative mainstay or because it’s the responsible thing to say. But because you believe it. This is no hollow assertion based on a fairytale ideal. My past sexual indiscretions have borne lasting consequences in my marriage – emotional, mental, relational. That’s just how the thing works. Casual sex is not a rite of passage; it’s an expensive withdrawal from the marriage bed, and when we accept (or worse, promote) the “Boys will be boys” platitude, we act as enemies of their future marriages. It’s not unmanly to wait; it’s the most noble gift a man can give his bride. We want that for our daughters.
Be a man who values women. All women. Without ever articulating one word, you will teach your son 1) what you love, 2) what you think about women, 3) what you feel about marriage. If I could beg one thing of all men, it would be for you to take up the fight against the sexual abuse and exploitation of women. However, for the purposes of this conversation, I would just ask that you live the belief that EVERY woman and EVERY girl is valuable and to be respected. Sometimes the danger here is that your words and choices don’t match. Words that take the high road are proven fraudulent by choices that exploit and denigrate. And – as a bonus – if you want to insist he open doors and pull out chairs and give up his seat to a woman on a crowded subway, I won’t be mad about it. I’ll worry about making him an activist later… 🙂
Make him a lifelong adventurer. Do dangerous dude things that are exhilarating and challenging. We believe the desire to burn stuff and blow things up and climb stuff and shoot stuff is innate to man-ness. As much a cord of his makeup as the network of vessels that keep him alive. Responsibility can gradually tug on slack in that strand and over time completely unravel his sense of adventure. We don’t want that for him. Boredom in marriage is dangerous, so let’s instill in our people a wonder and a courage and an appreciation for adventuring together.
Demonstrate leadership as a posture not a position. A leader who believes his authority comes from his position as the leader is quite susceptible to tyranny. A leader who recognizes his position as an opportunity to serve and help and nurture and foster has influence over many glad followers.
Be certain he knows what you love most. This is the easiest of them all. Without a doubt he will know the answer. If a third party were to ask, “What does your dad love most?” he will have a response. We hope his reply is about that well-known carpenter who’s so important to us…

surfing

Thank you for doing the good work of dadding. What a weight to steward……parenting today affects marriages tomorrow! We feel ya, man. Rock the next decade of your father business, and we look forward to fighting over grandchildren and family holidays one day down the road.

Just kidding…

Or not so much.

[ Images: Filter Collective, Gil, and Steve Simmonds]

March

When Your Personality Is a Liability to Your Kids…

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It was Monday, April 14, 2014. The first official day of Spring Break, and I did what any ambitious, sanity-valuing mama would have done. I made peace with reality (aka, if-we-tarry-in-this-place-we-will-be-homicidal-by-2:00), stuck one eyeball through a slat in the blinds and saw sunshine. “We’re going to the beach!” I chirped.

I welcomed a smile into my soul and grabbed the beach bag from the closet, shaking last year’s sunscreen to assess our supply. I confirmed that our baby powder – in its cloudy Ziploc – was still in place and haphazardly grabbed snacks and juice boxes and beach towels and made haste for our departure.

// Time Out: Baby powder is the supreme sand removal agent at the end of a beach day. Carry on with your lives, people. //

The girls’ lukewarm response could not diminish my internal horn-tootin’. Their shortsightedness could not see the harrowing pitfalls of staying at home. My seasoned sensibilities knew the danger. “This is brilliant!” I self-congratulated.

Not wanting to lose momentum, I enlisted Chris’ help clothing the people, loading and gassing the Jeep.

“You want me to put the top up?”

“What kind of question is that? Absolutely not. We want the top down for the beach…” I replied with one eyebrow raised in indignation. I pursed my lips and shook my head at the thought as I entered the closet for a cover-up.

In record time for a morning-averse family, we were in reverse down the driveway. We stopped for an absurd length of time to capture this special moment (and seventeen other very similar special moments just before this one)…

family Jeep pic

Cookie, you are the real MVP of parenting, I gushed as I released the clutch and sped away.

As we crested the overpass just outside our neighborhood, Campbell belted over the gale, “Mama, I’m cold.” As the roofline of our house grew faint in the distance, I cranked the heater and assured her it was all part of the fun.

I repeatedly punched the radio button, insistent on dialing up some vintage country for the occasion. “Mom, do we have to listen to this?” Carson groused.

Unfazed I was.

If I lead with positivity, they will eventually succumb to the merriment of the day, I rallied with a mental fist bump.

About the time we passed the bank, I noticed a down comforter of complete cloud cover. I dared not state the unfortunate and obvious but felt certain the sun was working its magic on the coast. Regardless of how it treats us inland folks, it’s obligated to play nice at the beach….especially during Spring Break.

As we headed east, I nailed the accelerator to the floor as the wind buffeted us for our hour and a half drive. Campbell, with no protection from the battering, regularly registered her displeasure.

“We’ll be there soon, and you can ride in the front on the way home, ” I leveraged.

Once I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw her flapping behind us from the roll bar. She appeared to have a tight grasp, so I kept driving. Press on, sister. Perseverance is a virtue.

When we arrived I cruised the strip in search of a public access with parking, rejecting a dozen or so for one deficiency or another. Too crowded. No available parking. Sketchy surroundings. I finally chose one.

No restroom. 4231347208_c0f2e98461_o

No shower.

No restaurants or stores in sight.

Obviously, I was winning the day.

A dense meringue concealed the sun, but there was still the sand and the surf. There was still fun to be had.

And what fun we had!

For seven and a half minutes.

“We’re bored. We want to go home.”

I had no hearing for such nonsense. “We just got here. Go make some friends; build a sand castle and moat. Jump the waves with your sister. Collect cool shells in one of our buckets.” I was full of ideas.

“Mom, this is ridiculous. The sun’s not even shining, and we’re cold.”

“We’re not leaving,” I resolutely announced as I tilted my chin skyward, leaning my head against the chair. Eyes closed behind my shades, basking in the dingy cloudiness. You can still get a tan on an overcast day, you know.

I was committed to the mission. Fun was no longer a consideration; it was all about completion.

An hour and a half later, the heavy grey rolled in, and fat raindrops peppered the sand. “Grab everything quickly and run to the Jeep; if we hurry we can probably get ahead of the rain,” I yelled.

Have I failed to mention that I had NO IDEA how to put the top up on the Jeep? My plan was to outrun the afternoon storm. We layered any source of dry warmth, rolled the windows up, blared the heat, and tore westward. Racing the rain. We were golden.

For seven and a half miles.

Traffic stopped. We were gridlocked in the center lane. People to our right stared. People to our left stared. I smiled at them as though we were not stranded inside a mobile aquarium. The girls……..they did not smile at them. Carson looked over at a disturbed passerby and mouthed, “Adopt me.”

Ride or die, ladies.

YOLO.

No pain, no gain.

Life is like a box of chocolates.

All about that Jeep life.

You’re never fully dressed without a smile.

I mean, how many clichés could we live in one day?

I didn’t pull off to find shelter. I didn’t stop at a gas station to find someone to pull the top up. I didn’t take us to a mall or a movie until the rain passed. I gave no moment’s thought to formulating Plan B. That’s not what I do. I get a thing in my head and all else becomes background noise.

Hyper-focus gone crooked.

I did allow the girls to persuade me to stop at my parents’ – about halfway through our disastrous return – for dry clothes and Papa’s Jeep expertise.

Once we were home, a dry though sour Campbell commented on my Instagram post of the picture above:

“Werst trip ever.”

Carson was probably in her room trying to call DHEC or the Department of Social Security (as she frequently threatens) for my dogged inflexibility.

I have a problem.

And the worst part………I have replicated myself.

Screen Shot 2016-03-16 at 10.35.03 AM

Reproduce responsibly, people.

silly girl edit

[Images: Brittni Gee Photography, Vanessa Myers, and Ame Rainey]

November

The Advice That Changed My Parenting

awkward family

Disclaimer: Yesterday it was 55° (that’s cold to South Carolinians), and my girl rolled out the door for school in shorts and a short-sleeved tee. You may not wish to read any further…

I’ve been at this parenting gig for thirteen years now, and it’s a beast. Along the way I’ve snatched up tips like a rabid woman on Black Friday, throwing elbows and pressing in assertively. A mama needs all the help she can snag. I’m a generous rabid woman though, so here’s the goods (no throwing of elbows necessary):

1) As your children age, move from control to influence. This gem is from the teaching of Andy Stanley, pastor of North Point Community Church in Atlanta, and it provides a truth we can break ourselves against or adjust ourselves to.

My oldest girl is 13, and the fastest way I can alienate her is to attempt to exercise the control over her I did when she was younger.

There are certainly decisions I still hand down that carry the weight and finality of the mama, but there are other dimensions of life where wielding influence is most protective of our relationship AND most effective in preparing her for post-mama life: classes, friends, extracurriculars, dress & style (she’s quite modest), schoolwork, social opportunities, room decor, and time management.

While our non-negotiables remain our bedrock, I have found a margin for independence buys me a lot of influence in this season.

2) Respect cannot be commanded. I learned this one from my Education degree. I began teaching high school English at twenty-two and looked like I was fresh off the school bus. True story, a fellow teacher asked for my hall pass during the beginning of my first year. I had to learn to walk in an authority that neither my age nor my inexperience commanded. Mutual respect and sincere apology were the tickets to looking up into the faces of grown boy-men, requiring them to toe the line.

I wasn’t a pushover. But I wasn’t a tyrant either.

Behavior can be marshaled, but respect rubs shoulders with trust and care. As a former teacher of adolescents, this truth is serving me well with my tween and middle school woman-child.

3) Laughter is relational glue. I have been so guilty of living in the serious. Of taking myself too seriously. Of making life too serious. Of chasing off fun to be responsible. And you know what? That’ll make you sharp and tired, friends. I extinguished there.

Matt Chandler, pastor of The Village Church in Texas, says in his study Recovering Redemption, “I believe with all my heart that God delights in the laughter of Christian homes.”

I have really messed this one up, but my people and I, we are trying to make up for lost time.

We cackle on the regular.

cawthon humor

4) Don’t try to protect them from God. I snagged this one from the Big Guy Himself. God is always more concerned with who we are becoming than what we’re doing. Well, that’s true for our kiddos too, and it doesn’t start when they’re adults.

Unfortunately, adversity is a great character builder.

I have found myself standing before God with my gals metaphorically tucked behind me. As if to say, “I’ll tell them what You say, and I’ll help them grow into who You want them to be.” We only delude and terrify ourselves when we think we have the ability to protect them from the work He wants to do in them.

The great news is He loves them more than we do.

5) Be a student of your child. I first encountered this idea from a Sunday School class corporately studying The 5 Love Languages of Children. To me, learning my offspring – their passions, their personalities, their gifts, their wiring – is how I can be most efficient and effective in my parenting efforts.

Carson, my oldest, is an introvert whose love language is gifts. This summation informs a lot of my interactions with her. When I pick her up from cross country practice, she doesn’t want to talk. She’s been “on” all day and is ready to quiet and withdraw. But by dinner, she’s ready for questions about her day.

And buying her a new book or her favorite snack sends her into her own self-described love cocoon.

the fam.

Campbell is 10. She’s an extrovert whose love language is quality time. This past Friday she and I picked up a couple of birthday gifts, grabbed dinner, and carried it home to eat and watch a movie. I could give away all of her favorite possessions – bow and arrow, BB gun, legos, puzzles – and she would only notice if she realized they were missing.

Which she wouldn’t because she’s an extrovert and never spends time in her room.

6) Be guilty of being demonstrative. I recently read this in a book about raising teen daughters. Hug and say “I love you” a lot, even when they feel they have outgrown it. I’ve never heard an adult with parent issues complain, “My parents were too affectionate and harassed me with ‘I love you‘s.” And if mine do, I’m striving to be guilty as charged.

7) Allow your children to make choices you disagree with. Okay, we’re gonna revisit why I allowed the 10 year old tadpole to wear shorts and a t-shirt to school when it was 55°.

My husband and I once attended a PTA meeting where a school administrator challenged us to allow our children to face the consequences of their choices. If they refuse a coat, allow them to be cold. If they forget their homework, don’t bring it.

I took his advice, recognizing school as a safe place to allow my girls to exert some independence and feel the consequences of their choices. We don’t return home for forgotten ID’s, and we don’t require coats. If they don’t do a homework assignment, they pay the piper. Did I try to convince my child to wear jeans instead of shorts? I did. But I didn’t mandate it. Luckily for her, Mother Nature was feeling gracious later in the day.

8) Resist settling conflict for your child. One day I was driving, listening to a parenting segment on the radio. The speaker lauded the value of allowing our children to navigate conflict, especially sibling clashes, on their own. Once a disagreement takes a trajectory of escalation, put the siblings in a confined space, she suggested, for a specified period of time to resolve the issue. If they have not reached resolution at the conclusion of the time frame, they are assigned another block of time for forced togetherness.

cawthon humor

For years since, our girls are relegated to the bathroom for 15-minute intervals when they can’t tame the tongue or rein in the rage. They may paint their nails, scream, apply make-up, cry, play a game, but they aren’t allowed out until the altercation is no longer active. More than anything it removes me and my ire from the mix.

9) A family dog eradicates the food-on-the-floor impasse of parenthood. Speaks for itself, but yes and thank you. #ThreeCheersForObadiah

I would love to hear from you, fellow soldiers in the trenches. What has been the parenting advice that changed your parenting?

[Feature image: Kevin N. Murphy]

July

What My 13yo Wants You to Know About Life

I don’t know how to mama an adolescent. The thought of it kind of makes my stomach hurt. Really bad. Because it’s not the same.

It’s not the same as when they stuck Honey Smacks up their noses or insulted slow grandmas in grocery stores.

[Sigh].

Those were the days.

Now I mom a young lady who is witty, saucy (Sarcasm is one of our family values), and brilliant. My girl is brave and real. I am watching her ford the headwaters of anxiety, stress, responsibility, hormones, decision-making, independence, and I am ever trying to determine where my mom sphere ends and her space to flourish begins.

That property line is pretty fluid at this time, but I am trying my best to be mindful of it.

To respect it.

Even when that means I sit in my recliner in the dark of morning, head bowed, tears fresh, and pray. While I sit on my hands, purse my lips to detain my words, and allow her to learn difficult lessons. Only because I believe that’s part of my job in preparing her to walk in the fullness of all that God intends for Carson Lane Cawthon to be.

And she’s doing it beautifully.

So while I am thick in another writing project (HINT), my girl’s gonna take the helm here…

Be still.

The thing about still is….I don’t especially like it. I’m a mover. I get bored easily. I like to be challenged. I’m a D personality. I’m driven. I’m somewhat of a perfectionist. Still is not my jam. Nor is it how my generation operates.

In our world today, we don’t have to be “searched out.” No one is looking for us in the Yellow Pages. On any given day, my agenda can be found full of to-do’s and appointments written with an array of colorful pens. It is easier than ever for our lives to become “I was supposed to be there 10 minutes ago” and “If one more person gets between me and Starbucks, I may just lose it.”

The results are less than great.

Anxiety can take over and we might as well schedule worry into our Google calendars. This is not God’s best.

We are not pursuing our callings, using our gifts, and experiencing what God has created for us as well as He intended. The Bible has something to say about this.

Moses answered the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The Lord will fight for you; you need only be still.” Exodus 14:13-14

blue chair rest area

He says, “Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10

These words ring true in my life through panic attacks, stress, and fear. I felt like I couldn’t trust God with my circumstances because of difficult times in the past. But, I learned when fighting my own battles, I always lost.

Even today the Lord presses us to show that we trust Him enough to let Him fight for us. Oddly, it takes faith to be still. And let God handle our storms. However, still does not always look like not moving. Sometimes still is a state of mind. Sometimes still is just taking a breath amid hectic circumstances and trusting that the Lord will deliver us from Egypt.

Dad in Intensive Care Unit. Breathe.

Moving to a new city. Breathe.

Starting a new school. Breathe.

Play response due. Breathe.

I haven’t always gotten it right, but I have experienced the power of this trust in small increments just enough to understand that it could change my life. Still is a radical form of trust that I want. And the world needs.

What would happen if we all found peace even when “the mountains fall into the heart of the sea” or when “nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall“?

What if we believed that “The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress”?

A steadfast Psalm 46 type of trust could start a movement in our world.

Just because we were still.

Guest post by Carson Cawthon

You may also enjoy reading Madness I Say and rewinding to a post about my Carson when she had just completed first grade, I Get a Kick Out of That Girl…

[Feature images: Barta IV and Tim Lenz]

February

3 Ways to Fight – And Win!

brick-2-3Ways-to-Fight “…And that’s how you fight,” I concluded.

It all started when I began noticing my girl being bullied. She was anxious and fearful. Shaken. This is middle school…I thought – remembering the emotional, social, and hormonal trauma of bad hair, zits, and girl drama. It’s about that time, I guess. This is where life gets sticky.

Carson came to me at bedtime and asked if we could talk. Thankful for her desire to chat and sensing the cues of anxiety, I followed her and tucked her back in. She spilled her feelings, the ways she felt targeted, the destructive words, the role of social media, how it played out at school, the impact on her rest. I listened with a solid, reassuring face that did not betray my sadness or my troubled mama heart. I left her room, willing my tears to remain at bay.

I was heavy with fear.

I prayed as I crawled back under the covers and settled on my pillow, but sleep had hitched a ride on I-95 and wasn’t coming back any time soon. I tossed in my own marinade of disquiet until I finally moved to the couch to try something different. It dawned on me that I had to teach my girl to fight. And win. But how would I do that? There was no wisdom to glean from the one physical altercation I had been a party to; hair-pulling and colorful language wasn’t feeling like the course of action I should prescribe. It wouldn’t have worked anyway…because her fight wasn’t against another girl. Not even a boy. It was far more complex than that.

It was internal and it was spiritual. This may be where we depart on beliefs. I believe there are selfish desires inside us that are just part of being human AND there’s evil in the world around us; both attempt to keep us from being all we are intended to be. It is a very real battle that we all either cooperate with (reaping consequences we may fail to ascribe to anything other than misfortune) or we fight.

So at 1:30 a.m. I began to pray over and formulate a plan for teaching my girls to fight and win:

1) Truth. This type of internal blitzkrieg lobs lies inside the wall. Grenades that detonate the poisons of self-loathing, guilt, insecurity, self-destructive choices and behaviors. And the antidote to lies is Truth. Big T Truth that only comes from the Bible. In a time of such liquid veracity, WE ARE FAMISHED FOR ABSOLUTES – stakes we can drive in the ground and tie some weight to. So I began pecking out an email to my friend in the wee hours of the morning – explaining my weighty wakefulness and asking if she could take the verses I was attaching and make them graphically beautiful, matching the decor of my gals’ rooms. They needed an arsenal of their own, and I was about to put a round in their revolvers.

The girls loved decorating their living spaces with these cards, and now while they play, get dressed, work on homework, and over their heads while they sleep, they have Truth at their immediate disposal. They can pray Truth over the screech of a lie and fight back.

And if you’re that person who gets weirded out by people who post Bible verses all over their houses; I’ve been you. I feel you. But I have woken up in the mudhole of defeat of this kind too much in my life to not be aggressive for my children and myself. We like to win.

2) Honesty. This type of warfare murmurs, “If they only knew…knew what you thought…knew what you did when no one was looking…knew what you secretly desired, they would hate you. You are a worthless disappointment. You are a freak. You are crazy. Absolutely no one would love you if they only knew…” I have been arrogantly guilty of believing Jesus and I had no need for anyone else. I would openly boast, “I tell Jesus everything. He knows the whole picture and can give me perfect wisdom. Everybody else is just jacked-up too and have their own selfish motives and blind spots. What kind of advice can they give?” Did I mention my arrogance? All of those things are true of Jesus, but we also need flesh and blood and audible voices – used by Jesus – to fight the power of secret shame. Secrets breed isolation and isolation guarantees defeat. While it was difficult to hear my girl share her struggles, I gently asked probing questions to press her to voice what she deemed unspeakable. A spoken secret immediately loses a large measure of its power. Don’t vomit the depths of your soul to just anybody and certainly not on social media, but test the waters for trustworthiness in some of your relationships and find one or two people in your life that you can tell everything. I would have fought you on this one in the past, but it is absolutely a non-negotiable.

3) Community. This one is directly related to #2, but you have to have your people. Even beyond your one or two confidantes. We all need a din of voices that love us, that we can count on for sound wisdom, that we laugh with, that we cry with. We need to be intentional in surrounding ourselves with people we love and trust. I am thankful my girl has an open relationship with me and Chris; she has a best friend and a best cousin, a small group at church, a small group leader and several beautiful, godly young ladies who invest in her. She has a team she serves with at church and school friends. All different types of relationships that pour into her and create safe places to be real, to be challenged, to be loved. I, too – an introvert and loner – have sought out a dozen or so relationships to strengthen my fight. Nobody wins a war by fighting alone.

“So,” I outlined in a follow-up conversation,”you’re gonna…

pray truth
commit to complete honesty with me or someone else in your life you trust to give you godly wisdom
continue to surround yourself with people who will make you better

…And that’s how you fight,” I concluded.

PS – If you are interested in ordering Scripture cards or have other ideas about how you might incorporate Truth into your space, shoot my beautiful friend a design request at LindsayHaselden.com. Girlfriend brings the magic!