Classic Response No. 1 to Your Engagement Announcement: "you picked the blackest day..."

What would you say if you went to tell your future mother-in-law (MIL) that you and her son had decided to get engaged and this is what she said:

"Why, that's nice, but you picked the blackest day..."

Hmm...

Nothing. What can you say? Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones, my grandfather used to say.

Just grin and bear it. it's probably her sentiment (overwhelming her) over losing out to another girl (and chikas can be right bitches to one another some times, a fact that is really very, very sad indeed for the world at large!). That's how I resolved the episode of  "tell the FMIL today that we're planning a wedding".  I'm sure there'll be other times, other unguarded moments between us in future that will be just as (ouch!), just as awkward, just as "WTF?".

Sure some MIL's (like some other people in your life) are, quite simply, something else. Then you'd need to get the heck out or jump ship. But the majority of mother-in-laws are just regular women with their own emotional baggage, regular women no different from the women in their sons and daughters' lives. Except for the sex.

Here is my mother-in-law mantra:

She is doing her absolute best to get along with me and with other people in spite of her prejudices and limitations, just as I am trying to do.

She is doing her absolute best to live her life the way it turned out in spite of fallen dreams and ongoing concern for her loved-ones, just as I am trying to do.

She is human, faulty at best and fragile always, vulnerable to all elements, just as I am, a woman just like me. Underneath it all, we share the simplest, most universal hope: that life will be kind.

Previous post continued: why Auntie May feels its hers, too

Previously, I waxed on about my poor friend who was manhandled/guilt-tripped/emotionally-blackmailed into hosting a larger than life wedding with half-a-thousand guest. She had wished for a more intimate gathering of roughly 100-150 people. Instead, she and her partner found themselves surrounded by people who were perhaps just as bewildered as they were to be in the same room on a startlingly bright, sunshine-y day (even for good ol' Sydney).

I'd love to share the details, go all pic-porn heavy, but this blog isn't about that. There are gazillions of blogs replete with smashing pictures, tips and how to's, of which I'm a fan! However, this blog is about something else. It's about the internal wheel,  the ruminations, the contemplation. I'm basking in some peace and reprieve from our image-saturated society, though online (and even online).

When one of my husband's sisters got married in early 2003, we were treated to a spectacle of old world charm (as much as anything can be old world in Sydney) and contemporary affluence. You knew it was expensive, but it wasn't pretentious/tacky/showy. Comfy, not tossy. You knew they'd been doing this sort of thing for a long time.

The venue was appropriately picturesque yet relaxed. Catering was provided by one of Sydney's top function caterers and the sommelier matched each superb dish to a fantastic selection of wines.  As for me, I went out with the champagne.

By the time we were seated and the first course was laid in front of my gaudily awful pink dress (WTF was I thinking? really? ouch!), I had (apparently) already propositioned one of the older aunts to something which would have ended in my being invited to her holiday home. And she was not amused! I of course have no recollection of any of this.

The event was a glowing success.

Bride was the picture of WASP comportment in a custom-made bias-cut silk creation, its only embellishment an heirloom pearl and diamond brooch which highlighted abundant cleavage. Groom was, of course, suitably tall, dark and very handsome, and had made quite a name for himself as a lawyer about town. Eat your heart out ladies! End of story.

No, not quite...

Behind all of the gag-making gloss was Auntie May's constant meddling, manouevres and excited interventions. The bride wanted flowers, lots of flowers. And why not? Her budget was generous.

Enter Auntie May.

"Oh no, it's absolutely not done these days to have masses of flowers. Think of the waste. Think of the environment. Think of what people will think."

Aha! Think of what people will think. So the bride thought and thought some more and ditched the idea.

When Auntie May heard that the bride was considering a traditional 3-tier wedding cake --shock horror! the bride wanting cake on her wedding day!-- she was off again.

"I had a 3-tier cake for my wedding, and believe you-me, it went to waste. Who has that these days? It'll be such a waste! Think of what people will think."

So the bride thought and thought some more and ditched the idea.

That Auntie May really did some dream-wedding damage there. Funny old bitch.

So you're thinking, she's the bride. She was in control there. She could have told Auntie May to stick-it and mind her own. You'd be right, of course. But you'd also be wrong.

This is exactly why families are such bastards to get inside of, to make heads or tails of, to make peace with.

Auntie May is a respected older member of a close-knit extended family. She's been around for a long time. People listen to her when she speaks, heed her advice and generally make nice with her. So, when she says insanely old-fashioned things like "think of what other people will think", even sophisticated new-world brides take a moment, then another and then another to get their bearings. Surely Auntie May knows what best, right?

The bride might have thought that if she ignored Auntie May's advice, she would regret it for the rest of her married life. The bride might have thought that Auntie May's done so well in her own life that surely she can't be touched when it comes to cakes and flowers. The bride might have thought that Auntie May would get really upset and upset the whole familial balance.

It's all about maintaining the familial harmony, right? If you can help it, you ought. Can't have anybody as respected as Auntie May be upset during the wedding now, can we?

I have absolutely no idea what the bride thought, it's all conjecture, but I'm sure it's pretty good conjecture.

Auntie May might have thought she was campaigning for her family's reputation as old-society types who don't go around showing-off their bank balances because "only those new to money get all giddy like that". She might have thought "how dreadful" if she didn't say anything to guide her niece in the right direction. Or, Auntie May might really have just been thinking that she didn't want to be in yet another wedding with "too many cakes and flowers flying about everywhere".

I've absolutely no idea what Auntie May was actually thinking, especially as it was some time ago now. But I think I'm on the right track here.

So for all the Auntie Mays out there, please just back off, because we love you and we don't want to hurt you, but we will if we have to.

Why parents feel it's their wedding, too: the short response

Why does a wedding bring out the worse in families?

There are obviously no cut and dried answers. My proposition is this. Whereas friends (well, at least the majority of them) know that it's your day, that it's about you, and that they are there as your support crew, families feel that your wedding is just as much about them, too.

Your wedding is your family's wedding, too. I know this from my own experience. After lengthy reflection, I realise that this conclusion also holds true for other weddings I've attended and been involved in.

A very good friend of mine got married in 2005. Her wedding was witnessed by 500 guests. A grand wedding that seemed even larger than life given that it was held in Sydney. Most Australian weddings peak at around 120-130 guests. Of her demi-thousand guests, she only knew 100 to 150 personally, with whom she had contact on a sufficiently regular basis during the course of a year. The rest were her parents' and her in-laws' guests.

She lamented that she had felt manhandled into accommodating such a large number. In the end, she felt that she owed it to both sets of parents, especially to hers, whose tearful entreaties about "the family's reputation" and "lose of face" really sobered up whatever opposition she had. She didn't want to be the daughter who sent her ageing parents to intensive care.

"They are usually such reasonable and loving parents", she told us.  It seemed that her reasonable and loving parents had temporarily abandoned their parental hats to become, over the course of this special event, show ponies. For a time, they were no longer her parents as much as they were social butterflies who had a set agenda about maintaining this reputation. They felt that their standing in the community was weightier than the significance of that day for their daughter.

To them, she became again a child, and not this well-adjusted successful career-woman. Perhaps the fact of this anticipated social ritual, this wedding, community-centric as it is, simply magnified how they really saw her, how they would always see her. A child still, their child, a product of their aspirations, a ward in their care. And by jove, she couldn't possibly know what was best for her. They knew! They were her parents after all!