I was on a crowded train going home this early evening, standing in front of a grandma and her granddaughter, sitting down and talking in Cantonese. It was clear that the grandma had picked up the little girl either from school or some after-school program, and the girl was explaining to her grandma what her little pez dispenser was and how you get candy to pop out of it. The grandma laughed when she watched the girl dispense candy out of it, and she tousled the girl’s hair affectionately while commenting how interesting toys are these days (never mind that pez candies have been around forever).

I thought about my own grandma and how I lost her in October 1995. I was only nine years old, probably just a little older than this little girl I was observing. Rarely was she so interested in things I brought home from school, nor was she ever affectionate or touched me kindly, with the exception of holding my hand when I was very young while crossing the street. I think about how pretty much all of my friends have living grandparents, and it made me wistful and wonder what it would be like if she were still around. If she were alive today, she’d be 100 years old this September.

It’s a good thing she isn’t still here, though. It’s sad to say that, but too many terrible and destructive things have happened in this family since her passing. I don’t know how she would have handled knowing her youngest grandson committed suicide. She loved my brother very much and was often accused by my parents of spoiling him rotten (hardly the case). She wouldn’t have accepted a daughter in law fleeing to Boston.

On the side of things that aren’t “bad” but in her eyes would be horrendous, she wouldn’t have liked that two of her grandsons married non-Chinese women, nor would she have been a fan of my new brown husband, or the fact that he is from Australia. I also think she would have screamed endlessly at the idea of my going to college in Boston, and then again at my moving to New York after graduation and not moving back home immediately. I guess it’s all timing.

I wonder if she is screaming at Ed in heaven or wherever they are. If she is, poor Ed.

It is my father-in-law’s birthday today, so Chris and I gave him a call this early evening to send him birthday wishes. They are currently in Sydney celebrating with Ben and have been doing a number of fun things, such as taking a cruise along the harbour, visiting the famous Taronga Zoo, and having what looked like a delicious Malaysian dinner complete with wine along Darling Harbour with Chris’s cousin and boyfriend. We chatted about what they were doing in Sydney and what they were eating and drinking, and they asked what we had been up to. I told them about our banana coconut pancakes, our massage and our wonton noodle dinner in Chinatown earlier, and Chris told them that Ben should be using a FitBit and not some exercise tracker of Garmin, which would be going out of business at some point soon. All in all, it was a pretty standard Jacob family conversation.

The one thing I will never really understand but will always respect about Chris’s parents is that they really expect nothing of their children. They don’t get all angry if a gift doesn’t arrive on Mother’s Day or their birthday. They don’t yell if Chris or Ben calls the day after a birthday and not on the day of. They never seem to get mad about anything, actually. There is never a need for them to pull Chris or Ben aside when I am there and have some private “chat” where they are getting scolded at. Everything is out in the open. Nothing is a secret at all.

I wish that was the way it was with my family.

Today, two dozen yellow roses were delivered to my mother at her house. The last time I had flowers delivered to her three months ago, a massive fail happened, as the FedEx delivery guy decided that since no one answered the ringing doorbell that he would take the liberty of throwing the flower box over the gate. Needless to say, my parents came home to a dented cardboard box, and when they opened it, at least six of the 24 pink cymbidium orchid blossoms had been destroyed. I called the Bouqs to complain, and they issued me the full credit back to my account. I guess we can say that today’s delivery was “free.”

I called her after work, and she said, “What do you think you are, some millionaire? Why did you send me flowers again! It’s such a waste of money!” I know she loves them, as yellow is her favorite color, and few things put a bigger smile on my mother’s face than a vase filled with yellow roses. I told her that they were technically free, and then she got all excited, probably valuing her flowers even more now that she knew her daughter didn’t spend a hundred bucks on them.

“Stop and smell the roses.” Sadly, this is something my mother doesn’t know how to do.

It’s always so pleasant and happy when Chris’s parents are in town because they see the best of everything and in everyone. Sometimes, I just can’t believe how genuinely happy they are as human beings. I think we’d all benefit from their positive outlook on life and on people’s intentions. They’re not naive in their positive attitude and see that there are terrible people in the world (unfortunately, they didn’t catch on to the fact that most of my cousins and dad’s sister is in this group), but they don’t dwell on it and move on quickly. It’s no wonder Chris ignores all the idiots in the world and focuses on people he cares about. He gets this positive influence from his parents.

I’ve been working really hard over the last few years to not dwell on things people do that annoy or upset me, but old habits die hard, especially when you’ve basically been trained to be negative and distrust everyone and anyone by your own parents. I’m not necessarily blaming them, but I think it’s pretty obvious that how we were raised has a serious impact on what we end up becoming as adults. It’s a constant struggle, but I am getting much better at not dwelling, moving on, and dismissing idiocy.

To make a comparison: the wedding was almost two weeks ago now, and his parents are still glowing about everything from the floral arrangements to the venue’s architecture to the view at the ceremony of the Pacific Ocean. They are all smiles about the wedding the way you’d expect two normal parents to be when their child has just gotten married. While that is happening here in my apartment, my mom in San Francisco is talking to me four times a week to yell at me about the right and wrong way to send thank you cards based on what gifts were given, to get angry about people she thinks were cheap or didn’t proactively greet her at the wedding, and to give me all these warnings about how to live life (in the form of thank you cards and future gift giving, of course) and how I better still obey her because she has so much wisdom. When I tell her that none of this matters and that she needs to stop thinking about all this negative stuff, she screams, “YOU LISTEN TO ME AND SHUT YOUR MOUTH! I’m TRYING TO TEACH YOU AND ALL YOU EVER DO IS ARGUE WITH ME EVERY TIME WE TALK ON THE PHONE!”

Two different families. Two different outlooks.

For dinner tonight, Chris’s dad had a hankering for Biang, which is the sister and sit-down restaurant version of Xi’an Famous Foods. Unfortunately, they are located in Flushing (and I have since found out that they shut down in favor of a location in East Village), and so we told him that the next best thing would be Chris going to the Xi’an Famous Foods just a block and a half from our apartment and getting takeout. He’d get his spicy numbing fix, and we’d also tempt him with wine. Everyone wins.

My mom is in super jealous mode right now. She doesn’t like it when the in-laws come to town because it means I am spending time with them, not her. Last week, she said to me, “Is it really necessary that they come for a whole week? They just spent several days around the wedding time with you.” Can you imagine her making that same statement about herself and my dad?

“What are you eating for dinner tonight?” she asked.

I told her that Chris would be picking up some takeout. She responds, “Why can’t his parents pick it up and pay for it? They’re not working and the two of you are. It’s the least they could do since you are housing them and they aren’t paying rent or anything.”

Again, imagine if she said this about herself and my dad. It always goes back to the money.

I can’t stand it when there are outstanding things to get done and I haven’t started, so I’ve already begun writing thank-you cards for those who gave gifts for our wedding. I’ve decided that since I did the lion’s share of planning for this wedding that I will write all thank-you cards for my side, and Chris will write all his. It’s only fair. Of course, I’ve already taken care of about half of mine, and Chris has taken care of… can you guess? Zero. And I want him to get the Aussie ones done before his parents go back to Melbourne next Monday, so that way, we won’t have to deal with international postage.

My mother as always has inquired whether I’ve begun the thank-you card writing and insists on giving me directions on how to address people and how to send the cards:

“If your cousins all signed the same card as your aunt, then you should just send a thank-you card to your aunt only and address all the cousins in it,”  My mom advised. “No need to give them all separate thank-you cards if they couldn’t even all give you separate gifts!”

“Mom, I already wrote them separate thank-yous. The thank-you cards were printed for free anyway at Wedding Paper Divas, so why are you being so cheap?” I exclaimed.

Mom was annoyed. “I’m just giving you suggestions! You can choose to listen to me or not! And also, make sure to address all my friends as ‘auntie’ or ‘uncle.’ You need to show them respect.” She really just never knows when to stop. I just got married, yet to her, I am still 3-years-old.

Me: “Can you just stop telling me how to do this?! I know what to do and how to write thank-you messages!”

Mom: “Why can’t you ever just listen and not talk back?”

Now that the wedding and all the hype around it has slowly but surely come to a close, we have now reached the next stage of pestering that I also anticipated from my mom: her interrogation regarding who gave what for the wedding and if it was cash, how much cash they gave us.

She literally went guest by guest for who she could remember, and if she didn’t remember their names, she went by the description of how she remembered them. She also made sure to put in some assumptions about people who apparently just “looked” like they were cheap or wouldn’t give any money or gift.

“The Korean couple that came, those are Chris’s friends, right?” my mom asked.

“No, I said. “Those are my friends! Why do you just assume these people are all Chris’s friends?”
“Well, you’ve never mentioned them to me before, so how am I supposed to know?” my mom responded defensively.

“Yes, because if I told you about them, then you’d ask me 500 questions about them all the time!” I shot back.

“How much did they give? They gave you a gift, right?” she asked.

“I’m not telling you how much they gave, but yes, they did give a gift!” I said.

“Why won’t you tell me? I’m not going to take it from you. I just want to know what kind of heart these people have.” Great. Now money is associated with how big a heart our guests have.

“The Korean with the white boyfriend… the one you used to work with at Efficient Frontier.. I’m sure they didn’t give you anything,” mom insisted. “And Chris’s boss… I’m sure he didn’t give you anything, either.”

I responded that they did give a gift and that she shouldn’t be making mean assumptions about people. The response was not good.