The first time I met my future mother-in-law, she was visiting Karin, her youngest daughter. The two of them were sitting in the commons, the dining area of my college’s dormitories.
I’d seen Karin on campus—a striking blonde—and decided it was time to introduce myself that Friday afternoon. The room was empty, except for the three of us. They watched as I wove between all the tables to present myself.
“Hello, I’m Robb,” I said. Karin nodded, and her mom spoke.
“I’m Norma,” she said, offering her hand, “pleased to meet you. This is my daughter Karin.”
I smiled at Karin and plunged right in. “I was wondering if you’d like to see a movie tonight?”
Karin shook her head. “Sorry, I’m busy.”
“Oh. Well, how about tomorrow night?”
“I can’t. I’m busy then, too.”
Wow, I thought. I hear she’s a nursing student. They’re sure busy.
So, I persevered. “Well maybe next week?”
“I don’t think so,” Karin said. “I’ve got a very busy semester.”
“Well…. OK.” I said, somewhat at a loss for words. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
I learned years later, that after I left, a surprised Norma asked: “He’s nice. Why didn’t you go out with him?”
“Oh Mom,” Karin said, “He’s really weird.” She then went on to explain her doubts.
Karin first laid eyes on me at a dance the week before. It was a beginning-of-the-term dorm meet and greet. I’d heard that you were supposed to “dress Hawaiian,” so I appeared in a tie-dyed shirt, straw hat and thongs—the kind you wear on your feet—an authentic grass skirt, and clown-sized sunglasses. All the other 20-somethings knew that appropriate attire was an OP print shirt and Levis.
So you could say I stood out.
Karin eventually softened her position on just how odd I was, thanks in no small part to Lisa. Lisa was one of Karin’s dearest friends, and an acquaintance of my roommate, Stan. Lisa realized that I could behave normally on occasion, and conveyed this message to Karin.
Eventually, I wrangled an invitation to visit Karin at her folks’ over Christmas break. They lived a few hours down the road, so I stayed with them a few days.
Her mother was every bit as warm as before, apparently not concerned about my fashion impairment. She put me at ease with her gifts as a great conversationalist. That was helpful because I found Karin’s father, Don, intimidating. He’s an engineer who worked for the military, a man who’s educated—and direct. Don asked me right off the bat what my career plans were. I was still figuring things out, and I don’t think my answers passed muster, especially the part about volunteering for the Peace Corps.
But Karin and Norma kept him at bay, and we had a great evening. At one point, I was watching TV with Karin, her mom, and sister Patty. Without warning and at the same instant, all three of them clapped their hands over their eyes and began shouting “YAH-YAH-YAH-YAH.”
I figured it was some sort of Swedish thing.
They soon explained that they were shouting to blot out a preview of the upcoming movie. They didn’t want it to spoil the suspense.
And she thought I WAS WEIRD?
Later, Karin showed me that she, too, had a warped sense of humor when she served me milk in a dribble glass. I didn’t think this was nearly as funny as she did.
But the main activity of the evening was a “friendly” game of Uno. This was the first of a handful of times I can remember Norma being angry.
I sat between Karin and her mother, and I was dealt a toxic hand. I had to unload it on someone to either side of me, and I wasn’t about to offend Karin.
So I dumped each and every nasty card on Norma.
At first, she took it just fine. But then when it became obvious I was saving the worst of it for her and her alone. She quit smiling. In more than 31 years of visits, I think that was the only time that Norma was glad to see me go.
Another time I irked her was when I made the mistake of laughing too much at a joke Don told. He’s half Swedish and half Norwegian. He was chanting a ditty about “Ten thousand Swedes crawled through the weeds to kill one sick Norwegian.” I was looking at his gleeful expression, and missed the dark cloud that was gathering over Norma.
Things got a bit frosty.
That evening I learned there are two rules in the Gilbertson household. You always tell chef Don that the tri-tip steak he just served is the best that has ever been grilled in all of creation. And, second, you never, ever show disrespect to anything Swedish.
Not even in jest.
So I now know how to behave myself when I’m visiting my in-laws. I’ve learned to steer clear of Uno and that it’s far safer to bowl with her—so long as you don’t mind losing. She’s unbeatable. And if you really want to have fun, then take Norma and Don out dancing. They can hold their own with any teeny-bopper. Yes, Norma loves a party, and she’s a part of all our birthdays—the keeper of the cake—either baking it or buying it even if she won’t be around to eat it.
She’s a sharp gal, too. Only once was I able to get best of her. Years ago, she was traveling alone along HWY 36 to come visit us. She had a flat, and a “helpful” passer by broke off three lugnuts trying to remove the wheel. I was sent to rescue her, and arrived in a borrowed car. I found her sitting on the hood of her VW, wearing a scarf, bored, and staring off into space. I pulled down my sunglasses, and leaned out the window of my parents’ TransAm.
“Hey Girl,” I shouted. “Wanna ride?”
She ignored me.
“I’m talking to you, Baby.”
She turned and scowled. “BUZZ OFF BUSTER.”
I burst out laughing, and pulled off the glasses. She realized it was me, and I loaded her suitcase in the back. Norma was a bit quiet on the ride back to our home. I wasn’t sure if it was the heat or my humor. She revived in the car’s AC.
“Did I scare you?” I asked
“I can take care of myself,” she said coolly.
And indeed she can.
But she’s not one to hold a grudge. One of the best things about Karin’s mom is that, whenever the two of them are talking, Norma asks: “What does Robb think of this?” At the end of many conversations, she says to Karin. “Now, you be nice to Robb.”
I think this is cuter than Karin does.
To give you an idea of what I think of Norma, I’ll tell you this. Years ago when I was dating Karin, I read somewhere that women tend to “become their mothers.”
I thought about this a long time, looked at how fun and feisty Norma was, and knew then and there how lucky I’d be if I married Karin.
And I was right. Norma is a peach, and Karin has been a plumb, a real catch.
It’s true that we all have a mother, but few of us are lucky enough to land a Swedish mother-in-law.
Robb has enjoyed writing and performing since he was a child, and many of his earliest performances earned him a special recognition-reserved seating in the principal’s office at Highland Elementary. Since then, in addition to his weekly column on A News Cafe – “Or So it Seems™” – Robb has written news and features for The Bakersfield Californian, appeared on stage as an opening stand-up act in Reno, and his writing has been published in the Funny Times. His short stories have won honorable mention national competition. His screenplay, “One Little Indian,” Was a top-ten finalist in the Writer’s Digest competition. Robb presently lives, writes and teaches in Shasta County.
