Janelle Evans

As I had a particularly bad crash and burn while accompanying on the piano this week, I’ve started to wonder if I’ll ever be able to fully overcome my nervous hang-ups with that blasted instrument. I spend daily, concerted effort at practicing. You’d think all that work I could ensure perfection during performances. Yet, here I am, a grown woman who can only count on one hand the number of times I got a piano piece right while an audience was watching. Good thing I’m not the personality type that gives up, or I would have given up on this skill years ago. I guess if I had to find a silver lining in this struggle, it keeps me humble. My personality type that keeps me fighting can also start to get a little full of itself. If I was good at everything there would probably be no living with me—but ooo… (visualize me shaking my fist right here) what I wouldn’t give to be more consistent at the piano.

I went paintballing for the first time over the Thanksgiving weekend. All of the men in my life, from my husband to my brothers and father, kept saying things like, “It hurts, but it’s not that bad.”

Their words gave me little comfort, especially since every one of them said “hurt” somewhere in their explanation of what it felt like to be shot by a paint gun. I had all kinds of trepidation as I walked through the tall weeds, my gun in hand, searching for a good place to hunker down against the other team. Why had I agreed to do this in the first place? I hate pain! I didn’t have much time to dwell on my insane decision once the game started. My inexperience showed, being one of the first shot—right in the shoulder. The amazing thing, my frenzied mind had imagined something so much more painful than what it actually felt like to be hit that it almost didn’t hurt at all that first time. Now if only the second shot hadn’t struck my bare hand getting ready to squeeze the trigger. That one hurt way more but was still survivable. I’m glad I didn’t chicken out, giving in to my panicked thoughts. Like my oldest son said, “It’s even better than laser tag.” I have to agree—super fun.

There’s no doubt about it, there’s a learning curve to life. When my oldest received his driver’s license a couple of weeks ago, I tried to walk him through all the scenarios he would have to deal with as a new driver. I even talked about how to fill up the car. Well, that fateful day came—a near empty tank. He came home so proud, having filled the car up without a hitch. And I thought nothing more about it.

The next day my husband had to take the car into work. On his drive home the check-engine light came on. I don’t think there’s an indicator on a vehicle I hate more. A check-engine can mean anything from it’s-not-that-big-of-a-deal to a financial catastrophe—and right at the start of the holidays. Ugh!

We take the car down to an auto store that will check your vehicle’s computer for free.  All the while I’m wringing my hands, figuring the diagnosis will be bad, bad, bad.

“The only thing popping up is a missing gas cap,” says the man reading his computer screen.

“Gas cap?” I look at my oldest son who was also with us. “Did you not put the gas cap back on when you filled up the tank?”

“I did, I did.” He swears following me back out to the car.

I pull back the lid where the gas goes in. The cap is there, but when I twist it, I feel how loose it is. “Jeez, you have to make sure the cap is tight when you put it back on. See how it clicks when it can’t go any tighter?”

My son’s “oh” and embarrassed flush made all of us laugh, and I realized something. It really is impossible to not make silly mistakes like this along the way in life. That darn curve of learning ensures we will mess up with new experiences simply because we’ve never done it before. It doesn’t mean I won’t be calling my son “gas cap” for the next couple of months. Ah…it’s moments like these that make being a mom so fun.

My oldest son received his official driver’s license this week. While that left me feeling a little older inside than I care for, it also gave me a sense of relief. Wrestling is starting just around the corner, a sport where before and after school practices are the norm, but this mom won’t have to drive him to any of them. Or when he’s on a bus, coming home from a late night tournament, I won’t be sitting in the school parking lot wondering why they can’t seem to make it back before midnight.

Yes, part of me does worry about the choices he’ll make now that he has a little more freedom of mobility, but to no longer be the on-call taxi in his busy life frees up my schedule immensely. I call that a mommy win. And if I happen to start making him pick up his other siblings from their chosen extracurricular actives, it’s just part of the joys of that new found freedom he’s gained. Ah…bring on the virgin daiquiri, this mommy is putting her feet up and taking a break.

Over the weekend, after months of prepping, my ten-year-old son accompanied a large group of children on the piano for the first time. Mr. Bigshot has rolled his eyes at me for weeks as I talked about this milestone in piano playing.

“I got this. It’s no big deal,” he said over and over again.

He may have successfully practice the song several times with the children, but performance-time is a whole different beast. Nothing I said seemed to make a dent, so I gave up trying to help him understand how the I-got-this attitude might change once every eye in the room was on him. I left him with the best words of advice I’d been given the first time I tried to accompany anyone. “If you mess up, just keep going. You can’t go back and fix the mistake, the singers will have already moved on.”

Even with that advice my first time accompanying anyone was a complete disaster. The further into the song I went the more my fingers shook. It wasn’t that I hadn’t practiced—I hadn’t realized how nervous I would be. Unable to control the emotion, my fingers no longer worked like they should. It was such a horrible experience it took me years before I dared accompany anyone again, which is why I bugged my son to death on the subject. I figured my words would somehow help him deal with those mistakes he might make better than I did.

The day of the performance he sat down next to me at the piano, his eyes as big as saucers. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

Finally, he understood what I’d been trying to say, but now was not the time for I told you so. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. “Yes you can. Just remember, no matter what happens, forge ahead.” And he did, doing a much better job at his first time accompanying than I did. I’m grateful too. Disastrous first experiences really kill the confidence.

My oldest son is probably going to strangle me, but I just have to tell the world. This weekend he took not one, but three girls to the Homecoming dance. I couldn’t be prouder—not because he scored three dates instead of one, and not even because he went to something extracurricular and I didn’t have to make him. No, this teenager gets the golden star for emulating one of the many conversations I’ve had with him about the importance of being a good person.

I don’t think there’s anything more important in life. In my opinion, having perfect grades or even being a star athlete mean very little if you can’t treat others with kindness and compassion. So, I continually tell my children to “look about themselves,” which basically means be aware of those around you no matter what you’re doing.

Now enter a returning cross-country bus ride and those three girls. As my son sat in his seat listening to those girls lament their disappointment at not being asked to Homecoming, he decided to speak up and offer himself as a date for all of them.

When he regaled me the tale I was shocked beyond belief. My introvert son doesn’t like conversing much at all, especially with girls.

My dropped jaw had him putting his hands on his hips. “What, Mom? It was the right thing to do.”

“Yep,” was all I could say. And if he keeps this up, he’ll be quite a man someday.