Yesterday was my mother-in-law’s birthday. As I type this, her husband is preparing a pandemic-style, blow-out, surprise birthday party for her at their home in suburban Chicago, to take place later this evening.
My mother-in-law has three daughters. One (my wife) lives here in Vermont. Another (the youngest) lives high in the Adirondacks with her partner. The other (the oldest) lives with her husband, daughters, and stepchildren about 400 yards (as the crow flies) from my mother-in-law’s house.
This pandemic surprise party will involve a three-plus-hour Zoom call that will bring in guests from the northeastern and southwestern United States. The daughter who lives nearby, plus her family, plus my mother-in-law’s two stepchildren and their partners, plus some old friends who live in the area — all will attend the party in person.
My stepfather-in-law has been working hard to pull the party together. He’s hired a DJ to set up in their home. He’s coordinated to get my mother-in-law out of the house. He’s attempted to get President Barack Obama to make a cameo appearance (his aunt is a member of the Illinois delegation to United States House of Representatives), and while I doubt he’ll be successful, I wouldn’t put it past him to hire a look-a-like or someone just as surprising and as interesting. He’s been texting with his stepdaughters and their partners, plus his son and daughter for weeks now, trying to make sure everyone understands how important this party is to his wife.
Three days ago, my sister-in-law who lives in the Adirondacks informed all of us via text that something had come up at her work and she wouldn’t be able to attend the surprise party. She asked if my stepfather-in-law could change the date.
He agreed: “Plug in next Friday at 7 and wait for us. The rest of us will be partying this Saturday.”
She replied, “Ok well sorry I can’t be there / Yup really really sorry…”
Meanwhile, my sister-in-law texted her two sisters that she was just fucking with him; she would, in fact, be on the Zoom call. After keeping up the charade for two days, she received this suggestion from my stepfather-in-law: “how about getting dizzy and collapsing at work or cutting off a finger and having to go home around 7:30ish?”
Instead of doing either of those, she admitted to the prank.
He responded with, “I wasn’t kidding about cuttIng off a finger. Looove ya.”
Yesterday, my daughter received an early birthday present from my mother-in-law and her husband: a 24-volt Razor Pocket Mod Electric Scooter, an adorable, electric-powered moped that reaches a top speed of 15 miles per hour and is perfectly sized for an eight-year-old girl.
I unboxed it while she was at a friend’s house, installed the front wheel and handlebars on it, plugged it into a charger on the front porch, then called her home. My wife called my mother-in-law on FaceTime so she could watch my daughter discover the present.
My daughter came onto the porch, saw the electric scooter, and fell to her knees with tears in her eyes, crying to herself, “I’m so happy. I’m so happy. I’m so happy.”
My mother-in-law made that happen, and my stepfather-in-law busts his ass at work to help her make that happen.
Tonight, my beloved Celtics will be playing in Game 3 of the Eastern Conference Finals, the most important game this team has faced all year, and yet instead of cheering them on, I will gladly sit in front of our laptop for a three-hour Zoom call that celebrates the love we hold for my mother-in-law.
I love her and her husband with all my heart, and I respect the hell out of both of them. I make fun of them (only to their face), call them “Boomers” (only to their face), and bitch about being their tech support (only to their face), but I don’t want to imagine calling a different mother- and stepfather-in-law family.
