The Church Picture Family Farce: If I Laugh At Us First, Then You Can Laugh Too

I certainly have never claimed that that we are the Waltons; if anything, we are the anti-Waltons. While it's true that we get along 100% of 52% of the time, that's mostly because we see each other in passing. Friday night, however, required cooperation and a coordination of four schedules; the result of which I am pretty sure lowered our family average to 51%.

The event under question was the scheduling of church pictures. Every five to six years, the church hires a photography company to snap the pics of current, occasional, tri-holiday *, and wanna-be members. This has never been a big deal for our family, mostly because previous pictures were taken before a) the kids learned how to voice an opinion, and b) the kids could drive and be employed. Thus, the first arduous task of said venture was finding a workable time. After three or four attempts and subsequent rescheduled dates, we finally agreed on September 20 at 8:00 pm. I knew that the 8:00 pm time slot would be a challenge for me because a) it would be a Friday night**, and b)  it would be t-minus one hour from my usual bedtime. However, since the kids were amenable to that time slot, I would take one for the team.

At least, I thought we had 100% agreement on the time slot.

On Monday, as I was depositing clean clothes in Nick's room, I glanced at the calendar on his door and noted that he had written "Family pictures" on the September 27. I wrinkled my brow, walked over to the calendar, and corrected the error. As I exited the room, a flicker of doubt passed through me. Originally, I had schedule pics for the 20th, but due to a work conflict with one of the kids, I had re-scheduled for the 27th. I had told him that, right?

I sent a text to Erika, and she confirmed that she was off Friday night. Good. One down. Now, to check with the other.

As Nick headed out the door to work on Thursday morning, I reminded him of pics on Friday night. "Uh, no," he replied sarcastically, "You told me the 27th. I have to work on Friday night." *** After bickering for a few minutes, he left in a huff, and I was indignant. After all, I had told him the 20th, and he had screwed up . . .or . . .did he?

As I sat back in my chair, I thought to myself, "I did tell him about re-scheduling, right?" I have now reached the age where I-think-I-did and I-did merge together to create its own special reality. The only difference is that as one ages, s/he becomes exponentially stubborn about admitting that such a phenomenon occurs. Later, after a kind entreaty, Nick softened a bit and said that he might be able to get off an hour early. . .if he got all his work done early at Cub. Ok, I could live with that.

On Friday afternoon, I sent a text to Erika to remind her: "Remember church pics at 8."

Erika: "How long"

Me: "IDK"

Erika: "I need to know"

Me:"I suppose it depends on how on schedule they are and how cooperative we are"

Erika: "Guess"

Me: "1/2 hour at the very most"

Erika: "OMG why"

Knowing that all the burgeoning drama was due to the fact that a) there was a home football game, and b) there was a new young suitor on the line, I suggested that she wear her clothes for the pic to the game and shoot across to church (which is directly across from the football field ****and meet us there at 8. There were a few more pointed texts about attire *****and the time of rendezvous ******, but Erika was taken care of. Check.

By 7:45 p.m. Mike and I were sitting in front of Cub, waiting for Nick to exit *******. When he didn't appear, Mike went in to get him. When he exited, shaking his head, I knew that it wasn't because there was a pack of angry bees swarming his head. As he opened the door and slid into the seat, Mike reported, "He said he will be out in five minutes. He wants to work until 8."

"But we have to be there at 8!" I yelled ********.

After five minutes, Nick still had not appeared. I tapped the steering wheel. I reached for the ignition. . .three separate times. Then, I opened the door, and as I exited the vehicle, I could hear my long-suffering, exasperated husband say, "Oh, my. Here we go."

As I entered Cub, I made eye contact with #1 son, waved, and mouthed "we're leaving" as I abruptly turned around. As I was making my way out, I saw two of his co-workers and stopped to say hi*********. Nick was close on my heels, and I could tell by the flaring of the nostrils that the bull had been poked.

Speeding somewhat**********, Nick changed in the backseat***********, and we "shared our feelings with one another" on the way to church. As I entered the parking lot, my phone began buzzing loudly in my purse. "Will someone get that, please?" I asked, "I'm sure it's Erika, wondering where we are."

Right. The phone continued to buzz again and again. "WILL SOMEONE PLEASE ANSWER MY PHONE?! I AM DRIVING HERE!" Loath to dig in my purse, neither made a move. For whatever reason, the boys in my house seem to think that a woman's purse is like a giant snake pit into which no one of the male species is ever allowed to enter.

After parking the car, I grabbed my phone out of my purse. Sure enough, Erika had called me. . .five times. Grumbling and muttering, we ran across the parking lot; Erika was waiting for us at the front door: "Um, you told me I had to be here by 7:45. You're late."

"It's your brother's fault," I said pointedly. "He wouldn't leave work."

"Solid color, huh? Then, why is Dad wearing that sweater?" She replied, pointing at Mike. To explain, Mike was wearing a solid gray sweater with an argyle front.

Not wanting to get stuck in one of Erika's tangled verbal labyrinths************, I simply said, "Because he looks good in that sweater" as I brushed by her."*************

As we approached the check-in desk, it was just as I feared; they were behind schedule. Normally, I don't care, but since I had pulled Thing 1 and Thing 2 from their preferred activities, I knew I was never going to hear the end of it.

As usual, I was so right.

First, Nick started in, "So we are going to be late, huh, Mom? I had to leave work early. . " Then, Erika cut in and tag-teamed, "Oh my gosh, seriously? We have to hurry up. I left _____ at the game, and I didn't tell him where I was going. . ."

Ugh, even though I didn't have to use the restroom, I escaped under the guise of needing a potty break. After a few deep breaths to restore my equilibrium, I was ready to head back into the ring. After fifteen more minutes of bickering **************, it was our turn.

And just like that, aliens (presumably) entered the bodies of our two children, and they turned into cooperative, cajoling subjects for the Lifetouch guy. "Do you two get along?" he asked in attempt to put them at ease.

"Oh yes," Erika smiled and gushed, "We're the best of friends."

I choked, and Mike rolled his eyes. Then, he looked at me, shook his head, and started to smile.I wasn't quite to the point where I thought this was a charming moment, but then again, Mike has always had a much higher tolerance threshhold. It's part of the reason why this marriage works so well.

And so, we cheesy-smiled our way through the portrait session where our family picture will soon be found in the church directory. After it was all said and done, I received a text from Erika that said, "Sorry for the sass."  Nick, too, must have been remorseful because as we were dropping him off at a friend's house, he gave me a pat on the shoulder, which is as close to an apology as I am going to get.

As we drove home, I thought about the fact that this would probably be the last family picture we would take for church. In five years, Nick will be 24, Erika will be 22, and both will more than likely no longer be living at home. While I had wanted a Waltons moment . . .for the last picture to be memorable ***************, I should have known better. We are, and have never been, the Waltons. Rather than reminisce about fun trips and happy events, my kids prefer to re-tell and giggle over our family faux pas and embarrassing moments. Ok, I guess I will take that; those stories definitely bind us together. And now, thanks to Friday night, we'll have a new one to laugh about. . .eventually.


* Members who only show up on the three important church holidays:
Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter

** Cupcakes (aka jammie pants) are applied by no later than 7:00 pm on
weeknights. On weekends, and if it has been an especially trying week,
cupcakes are on by 6:00 pm, and are accompanied by a glass of whatever
wine happens to be in the house

*** Note to self: 6:00 a.m. is not a good time to discuss anything with a
teenager. EVER.

**** How convenient

***** Wear something long-sleeved and solid-colored

****** Erika: "I will be there at 8" vs. Mom: "Be there at 7:45"

******* Nick's car had been sold at 5:00 pm, so he had no wheels and had to be
picked up from work.

******** Prior to having children, Mike and I were the most punctual people on the
planet. . .for realz. We were ALWAYS fifteen minutes early for everything.
Then, we had kids and blew that track record clean out of the water.

********* As a teacher, rudeness is never an option.

********** Ok, excessively. Sorry, law enforcement officers. Usually, I am a very
temperate, responsible driver. However, stress and driving is an ugly
combo for Missy.

*********** Yes, I had picked out his outfit AND ironed his shirt.

************ If Erika had been the lawyer at OJ Simpson's trial, that man would never
have seen the light of day again. Word.

************* Yes, I went there. I pulled the parental "because" card.

************** One-sided. I refused to play. I opted for the silent treatment, which is a
deadly weapon to kids. They know how to combat tears and volcanic
explosions, but silence plays with their minds.

*************** For the record, it WAS memorable.

Navigating Through the Perfect Storm

To live is to experience stress; that is a basic law of life - as natural as breathing and eating. While there are, indeed, two types of stress - eustress (good kind) and distress (bad kind), it is the latter we tend to experience and lament the most.

My spin on this topic has always been that any stress can be endured as long as it is an isolated case. For example, if I have a bad day at work, it is much more bearable if everything is ok at home/with the family or at church. But when all three are out of joint, the stress is overwhelming.

Every once in a while, the perfect storm ignites - when the gales from the different shores of one's life become so turbulent that one loses his/her sense of balance and direction. I can't say that I am in a storm right now, but I can certainly smell rain in the air.

As usual, God is good and dropped just the perfect scripture into my lap to combat the brewing storm.  First, yesterday's devotional verse was Romans 5: 3 - "Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit whom He has given us."

Then, this morning's verse was from I Samuel 17: 37 - "The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine." Even though David was talking about himself, the verse could be talking about anyone of us; all we would have to do is insert three different nouns. The God is the same, and so is the power.

My particular talent is waking up in the middle of the night to agonize over things that a) I cannot control, and b) I certainly can do nothing about at 3 am. This morning, however, God brought the Fruits of the Spirit to mind. Rather than five smooth stones, here is the way in which He is helping me to approach the Philistine of stress in my life:

(Inhale) Love. . . . . . . .(Exhale) Hate
(Inhale) Joy. . . . . . . . . (Exhale) Sadness
(Inhale) Peace. . . . . . .(Exhale) Chaos
(Inhale) Patience.  . . . .(Exhale) My timeline
(Inhale) Kindness .  . . . (Exhale) Bitterness
(Inhale) Goodness. . . . (Exhale) Judgment
(Inhale) Gentleness. . . .(Exhale) Harshness
(Inhale) Faithfulness. . . (Exhale) Doubt
(Inhale) Self-Control . . .(Exhale) Selfishness  

Dream A Little Dream With Me

“The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head.” This quote from Tim O'Brien's book, Things They Carried. As O'Brien writes book about the Vietnam War, he tries to reinforce that storytelling is an act of love; it is a way for us to bring life to those who are no longer here. September 14th marks the day on which my cousin, Lisa Jarveis, would have turned 43. Dream along with me as I relay fourteen memories about her.

One toy that I always wanted as a kid but never got was a Sit 'N Spin, but Lisa had one. It was blue with the tell-tale rainbow swirl in the middle. I remember us both sitting on the Sit 'N Spin, one on either side, our legs straddling each other, so we could both be on it at the same time. We would spin and laugh until we were ready to puke, or until the person's legs on the bottom had become numb. Then, we would switch places and do it all over again.

When Erika was born, Mike and I asked Lisa and Jason to be her godparents. After baptism, everyone was back at our house on Quincy to have lunch. At the time, Erika was about a month old, and she was struggling with digesting formula. Long story short, right after eating, Erika would projectile vomit, and of course, that's what she did that day as well. I remember taking Erika back to her room to change her clothes, and Lisa quietly walked in behind me. Almost in tears, Lisa said, "What's wrong, Miss? Is she going to be all right?" When it came to kids, no one had a bigger heart for them, especially babies, than Lisa. I included this memory because I was touched that day by her empathy - tearful because my baby didn't feel well and wanting to know how she could help.

When Grandpa and Grandma Ryks first moved to town (Prinsburg), our uncle, Harvey, lived with them, and the basement must have been his domain. Anyway, there was a turntable down there, along with all of Uncle Harvey's disco records. I remember laughing and dancing as Lisa and I tried to figure out what the heck a "Hustle" was supposed to look like. Our favorite disco record was KC and the Sunshine Band; the orange shag carpeting completed the disco vibe for us.

As long as we're talking about Grandma's basement, there was a time when all four of us (Lisa, Brad, Ross, and I) were together, and it was time for lunch (the-farmer-schedule-3pm-midafternoon-snack-lunch). We decided to eat downstairs at the card table, and Grandma brought the food, including a freshly-made pitcher of grape Kool-Aid. While pouring up the juice, Lisa felt confident that it was a spill-proof pitcher and decided to test the laws of gravity by tipping the pitcher upside down.  She was right. . .for about two seconds, and then, there was a purple flood. . .which trickled over the sides of table to the orange shag. It was not our best moment, but we all hustled to get the mess cleaned up.

As a kid, there was nothing better than playing in the grove. When Lisa's family moved to the "home" place, we cleared out parts of the grove, just west of the house. At the time, Harvey's raccoon "palace" still existed, but we were told we couldn't play in there. Instead, we removed the brush and sticks in several "pockets" of the grove to create a house with rooms. We even got a broom and swept the dirt of our "house." As most people know, the grove is usually a treasure trove of broken and cast-off pieces of household crap. This was true for us as well, so we spent lots of time scouring the grove for broken plates, old frying pans. . .whatever junk we could use to make our "house" better.

For my 30th birthday, Mike, Lisa, Jason, and I all went to Stillwater to take a river cruise. We had dinner aboard the paddleboat and listened to a Dixieland Jazz band while cruising the Mississippi. Since our lives had gotten so busy with our kids, it was nice to be able to spend a little time together, so it's a special memory for me.

Every once in a while, Lisa and I would get to have a sleepover. It was more fun at Lisa's house because she had a huge queen-sized bed. I remember very distinctly, lying side-by-side, whispering late into the night. As the night went on, the deeper and darker secrets would be revealed with a solemn promise that went something like this, "I'm going to tell you this, but you can't ever tell anybody." This was the closest moment I have ever had with regard to having a sister. Even to this day, there are things that Lisa told me that I have never revealed to anyone.

As far as I know, Lisa never wore blush. Did you know that? Since she was a Mary Kay dealer for a long time, I would occasionally buy stuff from her, and one day, I asked her what kind of blush I should buy - creme or powder. She explained that she didn't know because she never wore any. She said she didn't like it because it looked fake. Random, I know, but I thought it was interesting.

Another toy that Lisa had that I coveted for a long time was the Barbie Dream House. You know the one. . .with an elevator and multiple floors. It was the bomb. Every time I was over there, I wanted to play with the thing because I was a Barbie girl, hard-core. While Lisa was fine with playing Barbies, she was a baby doll girl. She loved and loved her babies. I guess she was preparing for her career and greatest passion, motherhood. Sidebar: My mom and dad made me my own Barbie Dream House and furniture, which I received somewhere around 1978-80 for Christmas. I still have it, and my children have never been allowed to play with it.

One Christmas, Lisa and I were at her house when they lived on the home place. We usually celebrated with the Ryks bunch on Christmas Day. After eating and opening gifts, we were bored and went outside. Her dad (I think) had just bought a brand-new snowmobile, so after getting the green light to use it, we took off - she was driving, and I was behind her. If you knew Lisa at all, the word, "slow," was not a part of her driving vocabulary, so naturally, she had that throttle mashed wide-open as we jetted across the plowed field. The same was true on the return trip to the yard, only as we were headed toward the driveway, she didn't slow down. . . at all. I don't know if she didn't see it, or what, but we hit the driveway approach at full speed. . .and were full-on, Dukes-of-Hazzard airborne for a bit. We landed hard, and by an act of God, we didn't flip. As we stopped to catch out breath, neither of said a word, looked at each other, and burst out laughing. When we ran into the house to tell the adults what we had done, no one believed us. We still laughed about this incident in later years.

Back in the day, the Ryks children were subjected to an annual activity that occurred at the very buttcrack of summer. . .swimming lessons. Usually, our parents would book lessons for us at the Renville pool during the first or second week of June. Did I mention that the Renville pool was an outside pool? The first week of June was brutal because the water was ice-cold, it rained often, and we would have them in the morning or around noon. Anyway, Lisa and I had a hard-core crush on one of the lifeguards/instructors; his name was Shawn Grabow, and even in June, he had a deep Coppertone tan and feathery David Cassidy hair. One of the tasks we would have to complete in order to move to the next lesson level was jumping off the high dive. Honestly, there was no logical reason we had to do this if we are talking about swimming lessons, but that was what we had to do. Confession:  Lisa and I would pretend that we were scared to jump off so that Shawn had to climb the ladder and "threaten" to push us off. It was so silly, but we loved the attention because he was hott. Ha!

My memory is faulty with regard to the actual vehicle involved with this next memory. The car I most associate with Lisa is the minty greenish Caprice Classic; she beat the poop out of that guy, so I am going to say this incident happened with that car. Anyway, one night when I was out on a date with Mike, we spotted Lisa and Amy, and so we started a game of chase on the side streets of Willmar. We were ripping around the corners at a pretty good clip on the southwest side - over by Redeemer Lutheran Church; it was all in fun. However, it's all fun and games. . .until a cop is involved. While we got away, Lisa was pulled over. I can't say if she got a ticket or not, but I can tell you this. The next morning, bright and early, the phone rang at my house. It was Lisa. "Hey, you know what happened last night?" she asked. "Can we keep that to ourselves?" (Translation: I don't want my mom and dad to find out.) I think it's safe to spill the beans on that one now. ;)

Even though we weren't sisters, there are three months between us, and there were some connections between the two of us that were more than coincidental. For example, my name, Melissa, was a name that had been seriously considered for Lisa as well. My mom and dad didn't find that out until later.  Later, the name, Gretchen, was on my list for any girl children we might have, and Lisa named her firstborn Greta (a lovely name with a strong heritage). I don't know if I ever told Lisa about that. When our son was born, we named him Nicholas, which was also Lisa's number one choice of a boy's name.

Number 14 is a memory that I can't share but am so thankful for. On March 16, 2012, I drove out to see and chat with Lisa. By divine appointment, we were alone in the house, so we were able to talk about whatever we wanted to, and we did. For about two hours, we chatted, cried, laughed, and discussed. Had I known then what was about to transpire, I would have stayed much longer. Even so, I am thankful for the time we had.

Every time I think about her, it's like enjoying the warmth of a favorite sweater then pulling a thread and unraveling a sleeve. The memories make it feel as though she is still here, but there are so many questions. In any case, I am thankful for the memories, and there is joy and comfort in knowing that she is spending her birthday in the best possible place.