MOTHER-IN-LAW OR MONSTER-IN-LAW?

A report in The Star yesterday probably had many mothers-in-law either squirming with guilt or fuming with anger. It published the results of a study undertaken in 2004 by the National Population and Family Development Board (LPPKN) that listed “meddlesome in-laws” as the number one cause of marital breakups in Malaysia.

Mothers-in-law (MIL) have long been the brunt of jokes and a favourite topic on late night talk shows.

Q: Why do they bury mothers-in-law 18 feet down, when everyone else is buried 6 feet down?

A: Because, deep down, they really are very nice people.

Adam and Eve were the happiest, and the luckiest, couple in the world, because neither of them had a mother-in-law.

Q: The difference between outlaws and in-laws?

A: Outlaws are Wanted!!

Are mothers-in-law really the monsters they are made out to be? Well, to be fair, there are some MIL who get along magnificently with their children-in-law. But by and large, judging from the numerous websites dedicated to the sisterhood of agrrieved daughters-in-law, there seems to be more MIL of the troublemaker and witch types.

As a mother-in-law myself, I'm blessed to have two most caring sons-in-law who are generous to a fault. Admittedly, sons-in-law are much easier to get along with than daughters-in-law. Perhaps that's because most mothers find it hard to accept that they are no longer the only woman in their darling son's life.

Me and my sons-in-law (photo taken in 1999)

Here are my 10 tips on how to get along with your daughter-in-law. If you need more tips from the experts, check out "The Mother-in-Law's Manual" by Susan Abel Lieberman, Ph. D.

1. Give your daughter-in-law (DIL) her own time and space, especially in her home.

2. Give your advice only when asked, especially advice on raising the children, housekeeping and budgeting.

3. Stay out of any argument between your son and your DIL.

4. Treat all your children (that includes DIL) and grandchildren equally.

5. Respect the rules set by your DIL e.g. no junk food or expensive toys for the grandchildren.

6. Show sincere appreciation when your DIL does something for you.

7. Keep any criticisms of your DIL to yourself.

8. Make an effort to bond with your DIL e.g. go shopping together or cook a family meal together.

9. Lend a helping hand and a sympathetic ear whenever your DIL needs it.

10. Look upon your DIL as a valued member of the family rather than a rival competing for your son's affection.

GET A LIFE - A REAL LIFE!!!

(The following speech is from Pulitzer Prize winning ex-journalist and best-selling author Anna Quindlen's commencement address at Villanova University, 23 June 2000. Do share this with your adult children before they get sucked any deeper into the rat race.)

I'm a novelist. My work is human nature. Real life is all I know. Don't ever confuse the two, your life and your work. The second is only part of the first.

Don't ever forget what a friend once wrote Senator Paul Tsongas when the senator decided not to run for reelection because he'd been diagnosed with cancer: "No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time in the office." Don't ever forget the words my father sent me on a postcard last year: "If you win the rat race, you're still a rat." Or what John Lennon wrote before he was gunned down in the driveway of the Dakota: "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans."

Two of Quindlen's bestselling books

You walk out of here this afternoon with only one thing that no one else has. There will be hundreds of people out there with your same degree; there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you will be the only person alive who has sole custody of your life. Your particular life. Your entire life. Not just your life at a desk, or your life on a bus, or in a car, or at the computer. Not just the life of your minds, but the life of your heart. Not just your bank account, but your soul.

People don't talk about the soul very much anymore. It's so much easier to write a resume than to craft a spirit. But a resume is a cold comfort on a winter night, or when you're sad, or broke, or lonely, or when you've gotten back the test results and they're not so good.

Here is my resume: I am a good mother to three children. I have tried never to let my profession stand in the way of being a good parent. I no longer consider myself the center of the universe. I show up. I listen, I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my husband. I have tried to make marriage vows mean what they say. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh. I am a good friend to my friends, and they to me. Without them, there would be nothing to say to you today, because I would be a cardboard cutout. But call them on the phone, and I meet them for lunch. I show up. I listen. I try to laugh.


I would be rotten, or at best mediocre at my job, if those other things were not true. You cannot be really first rate at your work if your work is all you are.

So here is what I wanted to tell you today:

Get a life. A real life, not a manic pursuit of the next promotion, the bigger paycheck, the larger house. Do you think you'd care so very much about those things if you blew an aneurysm one afternoon, or found a lump in your breast? Get a life in which you notice the smell of salt water pushing itself on a breeze over Seaside Heights, a life in which you stop and watch how a red-tailed hawk circles over the water gap or the way a baby scowls with concentration when she tries to pick up a cheerio with her thumb and first finger.

Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure, it is work. Each time you look at your diploma, remember that you are still a student, still learning how to best treasure your connection to others. Pick up the phone. Send an e-mail. Write a letter. Kiss your Mom. Hug your Dad. Get a life in which you are generous.

Look around at the azaleas in the suburban neighborhood where you grew up; look at a full moon hanging silver in a black, black sky on a cold night. And realize that life is the best thing ever, and that you have no business taking it for granted. Care so deeply about its goodness that you want to spread it around. Once in a while take money you would have spent on beers and give it to charity. Work in a soup kitchen. Be a big brother or sister.


All of you want to do well. But if you do not do good, too, then doing well will never be enough. It is so easy to waste our lives: our days, our hours, our minutes. It is so easy to take for granted the color of the azaleas, the sheen of the limestone on Fifth Avenue, the color of our kid's eyes, the way the melody in a symphony rises and falls and disappears and rises again. It is so easy to exist instead of live. I learned to live many years ago.

Something really, really bad happened to me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had my druthers, it would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is what, today, seems to be the hardest lesson of all. I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world and to try to give some of it back because I believed in it completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this:


Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby's ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness because if you do you will live it with joy and passion, as it ought to be lived.