Janelle Evans

There’s something about being comfortable in situations that tends to lead me into hilarious mistakes. This past week I was asked to lead the music for a congregation of people. The patriotic music and already been chosen by someone else, but I was fine by that, I’ve always loved patriotic music.

So there I stand singing and waving my arm about, having a good old time. Well, the last song just happened to be the National Anthem—a song I have sung acapella probably a hundred times for various sporting events. It’s hard for person like me not to get cocky with that kind of comfort level. I didn’t even bother to look at the music for almost the entire first verse. But as I’m swinging my arm I can tell my arm-motion is off, I’m not hitting the top of each measure right. To people who don’t know music this probably wouldn’t bother you, but it was the weirdest sensation for me to keep singing although the 4/4 time of my arm was off. I finally look down at the top of the music and see that it is written in 3/4 time. I’d just gone almost the entire first verse in the wrong meter time. This gave me such a fit of giggles I struggled to finish the next two verses with the kind of dignity the National Anthem deserves.

It just goes to show—no matter how expert you think you are—it’s always a good idea to check the instructions at least once.

I just love do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do moments when I’m trying to teach my children how to do something. Sadly, they happen often so I’m never going to win that mother-of-the-year award.

My children have been weeding my flower beds for years. In fact, my youngest will tell you nobody pulls weeds better than him, though you’ll have to ignore the eye rolls of my other two kids every time they hear that statement. I do a much better job of hiding my eye rolls.

Anyway, the time had come to weed and thin my climbing roses. I’ve never had my children do this chore. The roses growing up the fence are New Dawns. Though their fragrance is divine, when fully grown, their thorns can pierce even the thickest glove so I’ve always opted to take care of this section of garden myself. However, this year, I decided it was time to give them a tutorial on the process.

The first thing I point out was the sharp thorns. “Be careful how you handle these, especially the dead vines we’re cutting out, those thorns are often even sharper than the living ones.”

Not even a minute later I put my hand down, without looking, to use my full weight to move to the next section of roses. Three large thorns from the dead vine I’d just cut out went right through my gloves and pierced my palm. They went so deep the vine remained attached to me even after I lifted my hand. What else could I say as I cringed in pain but, “See, guys, this is what you don’t want to do.”

Ugh, I hate pain, but I just can’t seem to avoid it.

My oldest son graduates from high school this week. Part of me is still trying to grapple with this fact, while the other half of me not in denial is crying. Where did the time go?

On the other hand, I’m excited to see where he goes from here. Once you graduate high school, what you do next is really up to you. It’s the best part about being an adult—you get to control the path your life will take.

I’m glad he lives up to the work ethic his father and I have taught him. He’s proven time and time again, that he’s not afraid to work hard. This fact alone comforts me. No matter what struggles he faces, he has the internal tools to work through them.

His last gift to me from high school is the metal gates you see below. Over the years he’s created many items for me from both wood and metal, but this one was my personal request. One that took longer than it should because I kept making other metal request along the way this year. What can I say, the boy is talented and I couldn’t help abusing it. Thank you for the gift I’ll cherish forever.

I’ve had the explainable happen only a few times in my life. Every time one of these instances occurs, the strength of my there-must-always-be-a-possible-explanation flies out the window.

Two weeks ago our family was enjoying our yearly Christmas vacation. Yes, this year it happened in April, but that’s how it goes sometimes. Anyway, my husband woke up the first night and discovered his wedding ring gone. Not he-left-it-on-the-nightstand-gone, we’re talking it-has-never-left-his-hand-for-almost-twenty-years gone.

For the entire week we searched the room at least once a day. We stripped the bed, looked in every piece of luggage we brought, ran our fingers under every piece of furniture we could not lift. It was gone!

On the last day of our vacation I finally convinced my husband we needed to move on and just buy him another ring. Our twenty-year anniversary was coming up in May. After living with me that long, he definitely deserved another ring. And jewelry in the Caribbean is way cheaper than the states, so it was best to pull the trigger now rather than wait. Of course the jewelry store didn’t have his size so we filled out a shipping form to have it sent to us.

After being home more than a week, my husband went into a coughing fit in the middle of the night. This happens a lot around here so the cough drops are always flowing. He reached inside the bag to pull out a cough drop, but his fingers felt something weird. To his amazement, he pulled out his ring. Yes, I had that bag of cough drops on the trip, but I never left it lying around. I kept it tucked in my travel purse the whole time. My kids swear they didn’t touch the ring. I know I didn’t. My husband would have never let me buy him another ring if he had found it and put it there. So how in the world did that ring end up there? I. Have. No. Idea… Fairies?