Synopsis
A humorous reflection on over a decade of three-generation living with both sets of parents, exploring boundaries between caregiving and marriage, and finding balance, love, and responsibility in everyday conflicts.
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No Two Tigers Share One Mountain, Unless One Is Male and One Is Female
No Two Tigers Share One Mountain, Unless One Is Male and One Is Female
- A lighthearted take on boundaries in a three-generation household
- A lighthearted take on boundaries in a three-generation household
Written in Silicon Valley on April 28, 2026. Published by All Dimensions Press™ on April 29, 2026
Translator: Lara Lee
Friends who know my family often ask how we’ve managed to live with both sets of parents for over a decade without wrecking our marriage. I usually just chuckle it off, some things are too hard to unpack…
To be honest, when my husband and I chose, more than ten years ago, to take on the responsibility of caring for three parents, we didn’t overthink it. At the time, all three were in relatively good health for their age. But after more than a decade of caregiving, we’ve come to understand that elder care, like marriage, is a long walk where responsibility and commitment move alongside love and tolerance.
We’re nothing special as a couple, not paragons of virtue, not mama’s boys or daddy’s girls. We simply didn’t have much of a choice, so we made one: to shoulder the presence of these “three great mountains.” As people online like to say, wherever there are people, there are rivalries. In our household, with these three “mountains,” plus a teenage daughter and another at that wonderfully exasperating age, my husband and I are basically the Monkey King trapped under the Five-Finger Mountain. The only advantage my husband has over Sun Wukong is that he’s got a “female Zhu Bajie” beside him, that would be me 😂（Note: Sun Wukong, the Monkey King is a rebellious, powerful monkey hero from Journey to the West. He is clever, brave, and skilled in magic, but also impulsive and proud. Zhu Bajie, Pigsy, is his companion, part human and part pig. He is lazy, food-loving, and a bit lustful, but kind-hearted and loyal in the end.)
When it comes to the most vivid lesson I’ve learned about elder care, a line from a skit by Zhao Benshan always pops into my mind:
“No two tigers can share one mountain, unless one is male and the other female.”
If you’re up for more venting and a bit of drama, let’s keep finding humor in hardship 😂
When It Comes to Big Family Decisions: Be the Tigers
When It Comes to Big Family Decisions: Be the Tigers
In daily life, we can be lambs, couch potatoes, or even sloths. But at critical moments, the “male tiger” and “female tiger” of the household have to be my husband and me.
People say the man handles the outside world and the woman the inside, or vice versa. However you divide it, a family needs clear roles. In our home, with three adult men, two adult women, and two kids who are suspiciously quiet when they’re probably up to something, having the final say really matters.
Whether it’s hormones or traditional patriarchal instincts, men, no matter their age, often feel a strong urge to be in charge. When disagreements escalate into a three-way (or multi-way) standoff, that’s when we “close the door and release the husband”, our male tiger.
After the “bad cop” male tiger has taken a beating from the elders (pat, pat…), I step in as the “good cop” female tiger. After all, economic power determines decision-making power. Whoever supports the household gets a bigger say. I’m very democratic, if you have the money, everything is negotiable. Heh.
Everyone knows how insane housing prices are in Silicon Valley. In a good school district, even a run-down house with four bedrooms and three bathrooms starts at $3 million. My husband and I don’t work in big tech, and we’re basically black holes for stock investments. Our daughters attend reasonably priced Catholic schools. Buying a new home wasn’t even on our radar, until one of the elders fell on the stairs. Thankfully it wasn’t serious, but it pushed us to consider a single-story house.
Looking back on the past few years of house hunting, being crushed by all-cash buyers, we talk tough, but inside we feel like cockroaches just trying to survive. Meanwhile, ads for “Flying Home” financing are everywhere. Supposedly started by a group of wealthy Asian women in Silicon Valley, they can casually put down $5 million in cash as if it’s pocket money, while actual homebuyers are stuck carrying what feels like a year-long high-interest burden.
In such a brutal market, last year when the “three mountains” in our family saw a house they liked, they urged us on: great high school, great location, nice greenery, safer as a single-story home… They even claimed that in a “family vote,” they won three to two, with the kids abstaining. Since when did we ever hold a family vote?
When we “released the husband,” he faced three opponents and gradually lost ground. In a moment of desperation, he declared that we were like permanent members of the UN Security Council, with veto power. The three elders scoffed: “You dare not listen to us? You must not have been disciplined enough as a child.”
Catching his pleading glance, I stepped in. I laid out the estimated home price, down payment, and monthly payments, plus the kids’ tuition and our current mortgage. Until we sold our existing home, we’d be living on credit cards. In an era where layoffs in Silicon Valley are so common they barely register, if either of us lost our job, the bank would take the house.
Then I added, “We can buy it, but we’d need you to lend us the down payment. Let’s start there.”
Silence. Then they turned away: “We don’t have that kind of money. It’s late. Let’s sleep.”
The Boundaries of a Three-Generation Household have always been there. When they’re crossed, there’s no need to call it out immediately. We all leave each other a bit of dignity.
They didn’t say we’ve failed to make it in Silicon Valley. We didn’t call them broke.
After the initial rush faded, they realized themselves that they’d been anxious, that they’d overstepped. When it comes to something as big as buying a house, wanting to call the shots is natural, but in the end, money decides. And when money is tight, even heroes are humbled.
No one is really to blame.
After all, only those with money can afford to be willful.
Small Household Matters Require Shared Understanding
Small Household Matters Require Shared Understanding
Buying a house is a major decision, but life isn’t made up of big decisions every day. What about the little things, the trivial, everyday details? Like what to eat for dinner, or what to plant in the garden, are those small matters?
Well, one “small matter” once pushed me over the edge. I actually dragged my husband in for a proper emotional beating…
My money tree, I had nurtured it for over a decade. It started as a tiny plant in a small pot when I first arrived in Silicon Valley, and it has accompanied me through all the ups and downs of my career. I fertilized it, repotted it, watched it grow lush and full. Eventually it became so large that one person couldn’t lift it, and even two average adults would struggle. I kept it under the eaves, as it prefers shade and shelter from rain.
One day, after coming home in a downpour, I found that the plant had been moved outside the corridor. It had been drenched by the rain, looking utterly miserable, its leaves gone, the whole plant seeming half its former height. I was heartbroken. I had only been away on a business trip for a week, how had it come to this?
I rushed inside and asked my husband if he had moved it. That pot was so heavy, surely neither my father nor my father-in-law, given their age, could have managed it. The culprit had to be him.
He hesitated. Under my questioning, the truth came out: my father-in-law had used a wooden plank to pry the pot loose and pushed it outside into the rain… Not only that, he thought my plant was thriving, so he dug up a large portion of its roots and transplanted them into the backyard. No wonder my poor money tree looked half-dead.
The moment I learned the truth, my internal CPU practically burst into flames. I knew my father-in-law loved gardening, he spent his days repotting and propagating plants with great enthusiasm. What he did in the backyard, I could ignore. But he should never have touched my plant without asking.
I dragged my husband into the room. This time, we “closed the door and released the wife.”
He said he would buy me a new one. I snapped, “Is it just a plant to you? That’s my career lifeline!” That was a burden he simply couldn’t shoulder.
Later, my husband enlisted a neighbor to help move the plant back to its original spot, trying to revive it while quietly enduring my anger. Trouble caused by his father had to be borne by him, no fighting back, no arguing, just more housework on top of it all. He also told his father not to touch my plant again. Meanwhile, my father-in-law happily tended to the transplanted roots in the yard.
When, after some time, new green shoots finally appeared on my plant, we both breathed a sigh of relief. Paying the price for boundary-crossing, when there was no ill intent, is frustrating, but something we have to let go.
Of course, if it were my father who caused trouble and hit my husband’s nerve, then I’d have to sit through his full “Tang Monk chanting session.” And I mean really sit through it, no headphones, no excuses about meetings, no zoning out. I’d have to listen carefully and even give feedback, whether I agreed with his perspective or not.
In our family, the hardest times are when the elders fall ill and need emergency hospitalization. During those periods, my husband and I are stretched to the limit, running between hospital, school, and home. Fortunately, in the U.S., hospital staff tend to be humane and attentive to elderly patients, which helps ease some of our stress. But at that point, we’re too busy to think about whether it’s exhausting or worth it. By middle age, we realize that aside from life and death, nothing is truly overwhelming.
The most difficult thing to coordinate is travel. Over the past decade, the elders have gone from being able to handle long-haul flights to now only tolerating short trips, two hours at most, to places like Seattle, Las Vegas, or San Diego, followed by 4–7 day cruises.
We’ve done Alaska cruises, Mexico trips, even three years ago, we flew to Toronto, rented a car to Montreal, started a cruise there, and ended in Boston before flying back to San Francisco. We had a wonderful time, like birds released from a cage. But upon returning to San Francisco, my father-in-law fainted at the airport…
During holidays, our kids watch their friends travel to Japan, Korea, Europe, Boston, New York, or at least do the classic Bay Area trio: Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Lake Tahoe. Meanwhile, our daughters mostly accompany us on family outings to Napa, Sausalito, or Monterey Bay.
In their own quiet way, they are making sacrifices too. When we’re out walking, they take the initiative to support their grandfathers, something that clearly warms the elders’ hearts. My husband and I comfort each other: these children are kind and loving; when we grow old, they probably won’t abandon us. 😂
Of course, when the grandparents try to make them do math or geometry problems, they vanish without a trace. 😂
It’s been over a decade of three generations living under one roof. These years of adjustment have been filled with daily stories, reflections, and recalibrations. Boundaries aren’t innate, they are shaped over time, through give and take, through testing limits, through compromise and mutual accommodation, until a relatively comfortable balance is reached.
We care for one another, try to be understanding, and learn empathy and tolerance. Through all the bumps along the way, we gradually come to understand each other’s limits and expectations.
Now, our shared understanding is this: under one roof, everyone deserves enough space and freedom. We communicate when needed, and step up without hesitation when family members need help.
And of course, the “Five-Finger Mountain” members also understand one thing clearly, those who provide for the household hold the final say. One male tiger and one female tiger are enough to make the decisions.
P.S.
P.S.
As for the lessons we’ve learned over the years about navigating elder care without stepping on landmines, I'll share more in a future installment ^_^
About the Author
About the Author
Cici Tung was born in China and now lives in Silicon Valley in the United States. A literary-minded soul paired with the straightforward logic of a science-and-engineering girl, she turns laughter, irritation, and everything in between into writing. She still carries a youthful spirit—though she may have gained a few pounds over the years, she insists it’s all “substance.”
© Cici Tung 2026 Copyright
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Article Information
Article Information
Category: Non Fiction / Essay
Tags: Housing / Family / Elder-Care
Featured Comments
Featured Comments
This “mountain” is indeed quite large 😊, but within a big mountain, personalities are rarely extreme. The difficulties of the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law relationship are universally recognized; in-law families generally shouldn’t stay under the same roof for too long; and a generational gap between parents and children is almost inevitable. Yet this household has managed to live together for over a decade. One can’t help but admire the courage, tolerance, patience, and capability of both the man and woman tigers.
The home-buying episode shows that while the older generation may have clear preferences, they are still able, at critical moments, to understand the younger generation without being overly rigid. The “money tree” incident reveals that although the daughter-in-law was on the verge of erupting like a volcano, she chose only to pull her husband into the room to vent. Just imagine the consequences if she had impulsively lashed out at her in-laws in front of everyone. It is precisely because this “mountain family” possesses such exceptional character that they have been able to stay together and uphold this home year after year.
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