Janelle Evans

“Oh duh” moments are often some of the funniest events that can happen in a family. What is an “oh duh” moment? When you do something so obviously wrong there’s no hiding your hilarious mistake from anyone. One of my favorites while growing up was when my mom told my little sister to put a cup of water in the roast. My mom had meant she needed to add a cup of water to the roast, but she literally placed a cup full of water next the roast cooking in the oven. That day we had dried out roast and a lot of laughs around the table.

This week my daughter added another one for me to giggle about. Saturdays are often long days of writing for me, so my daughter offered to make lunch for her and her brothers. She’s lovin’ her home economics class at the junior high, telling me constantly what a great cook she is, so I figure why not. Besides, they want mac and cheese. You can’t screw that up, right? Wrong.

Water in pan—check

Bring it to a boil—check

Pour in the noodles—check

Allow to boil for seven minutes—check

Less than ten minutes later my daughter’s asking me, “How long does it take for this to thicken up?”

“Thicken up?” I walk over to the stove top and peer inside. It looked like an orangey, yellow soup nobody would want to eat. “Oh honey, you’re supposed to drain the water before you add the cheese powder and butter.”

“Where does it say that?”

I grab the discarded box out of the garbage and show her. “It’s the last part of step two.”

“Oh.”

“Yep—oh.” She’d done it, an “oh duh” moment I’d be laughing about for years to come.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen the saying before you speak T.H.I.N.K. Which stands for, is it True? Is it Helpful? Is it Inspiring? Is it Necessary? Is it Kind? If we ensure all five categories are met, we will never say anything amiss. It’s a grand idea, but believe me it takes loads of willpower to actually put T.H.I.N.K. into action.

This week I attended my youngest son’s last wrestling tournament for this season. For those that follow my blog you know I love to cheer my kids on, and I have a naturally booming voice.

The women sitting below me turned to me. The one said, “Do you have to do that?”

The other followed it with, “It’s really annoying.” Then they snickered and with each other like they were so superior I deserved their ridicule.

My gut reaction wanted to use my booming voice to point out that they were at a wrestling tournament surrounded by hundreds of people shouting and cheering their kids on, but the T.H.I.N.K. acronym popped into my head.

After a few seconds of consideration I realized there was nothing I could say that fit all five categories but, “I’m sorry.”

I stopped yelling. And the rest of the tournament might have been a miserable experience for me if it hadn’t been for the woman sitting above me. Her son came up to wrestle right after mine, and exploded with loud cheers of her own. The two women below spun around in displeasure. When they asked the woman above me to stop, she didn’t even pause to consider her words.

“No,” she gruffly said. “That’s my kid down there. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

Now I’m grateful I managed to hold a civil tongue in my head but I’m not gonna lie, watching those women leave in a huff made my day a whole lot better.

This weekend was the best wrestling my oldest son has ever done, and that’s saying something since we’ve been doing this with him for over six years. This wasn’t his first time in a double elimination tournament, but it was his first time in those six years placing high enough to actually stand on the podium. I couldn’t help but cry as his name was called and he climbed to the fifth place position. Holy cow, out of fifteen boys in his bracket he took fifth place, and some of those matches had required overtime struggles to get there. What an achievement! Then I noticed they only gave medals to the top three finishers.

I turned to my husband. “Where’s our son’s medal?”

“They only give medals to the top three kids in JV,” he said as if I should have known this.

Of course I didn’t know that—our son had never placed so high before. I swallow back the disappointment when I saw my son turn a beaming smile my direction. He obviously didn’t need the medal to know he’d finally bested all those years of pain and defeat. Instead, I took a picture, so we’ll both never forget. Good thing medals aren’t the only way to remember an accomplishment.

I’m not perfect. No surprise, right? But sometimes, not being perfect, makes it hard to be a mother. There are many things I don’t want my children to do that I struggle not to do myself. Sadly, these do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kinds of moments kill my authority the most, as my nine-year-old loves to point out.

“But mom, you swear,” he says.

Right about here I’m clenching my jaw because we have this argument every time I tell him not to talk a certain way. “Yes, but you shouldn’t.”

“Then why do you get to swear?”

Oh, I knew the question was coming. It always does, like a body-slam-of-shame I can’t ever escape—until this week. I had an epiphany that I hope at least ends the debate of this aspect of my non-perfectness.

I turned on him. “I’ve been trying for years to stop swearing. I know it’s an ugly habit, but it is so very hard to overcome, which is why I don’t want you to ever start. I don’t want this struggle to be yours one day. Be better than me, you’ll be glad you did.”

After blinking several times he left with a simple “Okay.”

Okay? Okay! It was a New Year’s miracle! One I’m now considering how to spin on all of my other less than perfect habits he loves to point out. Yes, people, I wasn’t kidding when I said I wasn’t perfect.