A History of Me: Carrie Meets Nana!

History: The Future Wife Meets the Future Mother-In-Law

Disclaimer: The version of this I tell is slightly different than my wife’s.

My mother did not know about Carrie.

I grew up with a certain set of rules. One of them: if Mom knows, everyone knows. Nana thinks and processes by talking. If I didn’t want something talked about then it was best if she did not know.

As a teenager, I decided I didn’t want my mother talking about my love life. I didn’t want motherly advice. I didn’t want motherly commentary. I didn’t want my mother telling anyone about any break-ups I may or may not have had.

That said, the rule didn’t apply very often. I had one girlfriend before I hit twenty and none before college. 

My sisters set me up on a blind date for my high school prom, so I wouldn’t go stag. Then I scraped the side of my parents’ van in a parking garage with my friends watching and my date beside me.

The rule stuck, though. Nana cemented it in my mindset when she asked if I was really interested in girls.* It became a running joke to reply to her questions about my love life with offbeat answers.

“Mike, are there any cute girls in your new classes?” Nana asked once.

“Sure, but I don’t care. I ordered a mail-order Russian bride.” I replied. “She should be here next week. Will you be home to sign for her?”

Nana’s jaw dropped.

The goal was to get her goat. I didn’t curse; I wasn’t mad. I loved my mom even when I thought she was being nosy. I wanted to say something absurd, because I found her prying absurd. The more surprised Nana was the more amused I was.

This joke (among others) was replayed multiple times over the years.

By the time I was twenty-six, I only had two girlfriends that my mother knew about. Both relationships could be measured in months instead of years (to be honest: there were some other dates in between, but not a lot. I was no Casanova).

Enter Carrie.

When things started clicking, I knew that I was going to have to introduce her to Nana. I love my family and it was important to me that Carrie could love and be loved by them.

My replies to Nana’s questions and advice started to change.

“I ordered another mail-order Russian Bride, Mom. This time, I paid extra for air mail!”

My sense of humor wasn’t any classier (I like to think that it’s improved with age), but I did start teasing 

Nana that some sort of change was imminent. I don’t think she really recognized that it was anything but obnoxious.

I told Carrie the whole story. It turned out my future wife had a flair for theater. She decided to play the part.

We called my Russian friend, Igor, on the way to visit my parents. He coached Carrie on how to say several quick phrases (spelled somewhat phonetically in English and riddled with errors):

“Privyet” – Hello!

“Oh-cheen pree-aught-nya” – Pleased to meet you.

“Mayo-eem-ya __________” – My name is __________.

By the time we arrived, Carrie was Katalyna.

Pop and Patrick were working in the yard as we walked up the driveway. They stopped working and Carrie greeted them in Russian. They smiled. They knew mischief was about.

“Hey Dad, where’s Mom?” I asked.

“In the basement.” I want to say he chuckled. I'm sure I remember his smile reaching ear to ear.

Carrie and I went inside. We found Mom cleaning out the basement. She started to talk as I came down the stairs, but stopped the moment she saw Carrie.

Carrie acted coy. “Privyet. Oh-cheen pree-aught-nya. Mayo-eem-ya Katalyna.”

Nana was shocked silent. She sat there for a pregnant pair of seconds that felt like longer.

“Mike, that’s illegal!”

Right after she said that, in my recollection, Nana squealed with joy and hugged Carrie. My wife swears that she had Nana completely hoodwinked and under her acting spell for far longer. I’m sure Nana will rebuttal that she was never fooled at all; Just amazed that I found a woman!

There was plenty of laughter in the house that night. I felt truly blessed to have found my future wife and to be part of the family I was born into.

It was the age before good cell-phone cameras, but I do have one blurry picture from that night. I swear I look squirrelly.

I’ll always like this picture, though. 

*Which, was an honest question on her part. She’d dated since elementary school (aka holding hands) whereas I tended to pine behind a stoic face after girls I had no chance with for way longer than I should of. It turns out I have a very good poker face about some things. I wasn't really offended when she asked, either. Good mothers care, which means they ask. Besides, I’d been hiding almost all the information about my love life from her, so it’s not like she had much to go on. It did irk me at the time, but (as mentioned above) it became a running joke.

PS - It turns out, I DID write this story once. Rats! However, I spent the time writing it so I'm not going let it go to waste. I should search my own blog more often. It's funny to compare and contrast the then write up and the now.