The Enforcer

It is a challenge to be the parent of “adult children”--an oxymoron if ever there was one.  Now nineteen and twenty-two, my kids like to pretend that they are independent and stand on their own two feet.  That is, until they need something, like help with a class, or an expensive online purchase, or a home-cooked meal. 

I realize that while they are away at college I have very little control over their lives.  I am not there to monitor alcohol intake, or to put them to bed at a reasonable hour.  I cannot prioritize their schoolwork over their social calendar.  Nor can I assure them that they are prepared for an exam, or comfort them when they are lonely, or care for them when they are sick.  However, during vacations and summer breaks, when the house is back at full occupancy, it can be a tricky tightrope walk.  On the one hand, they are legally adults—able to vote and serve their country.  On the other hand, this is my house, and these are my cars, and I am the law.

That’s why I have an “enforcer.”  Every parent needs a reliable instrument for maintaining the balance of power against self-aggrandized kids who have been misled by friends and social media into believing that they have standing.  Inevitably, however, that day comes when kids and parents stand eye to eye in a battle of wills.  At that moment, when my kids smirk with self-satisfaction, believing they have generations of history and the Constitution on their side, I stare back defiantly.  Dare me to blink, please.

You see, I pack a force so powerful that even kids as spoiled as mine quake in its shadow.  During a bold exhibition of “acting out”—such as around a new boyfriend or girlfriend, or at a holiday dinner table—I need only wink at my husband and gesture toward the bedroom to snap these hapless jokers into obedience and respect.  This is no idle threat.  I have the greatest weapon known to parenthood:  the “tushy picture.”

At the risk of outing myself to the kiddie porn police, I am in discreet possession of a tasteful (yet amazingly embarrassing) photo of my children, ages 5 and 2, lying face down and naked in grandma’s spa tub.  Their expressions are playful—even mocking and a bit cheesy—as they prop up their heads on their arms and mug for the camera.  As blackmail photos go, this is a money shot, getting a lot of mileage over the years.  It has bought me help with a wide array of household chores and has reduced my anxiety in polite company.  There is no limit to what my kids will do to keep the tushy picture safely sequestered out of the light of day.

Ah, but it has other powers as well.  Sometimes it is a mood elevator.  A frowning, self-pitying teenager is instantly transported back to happy land by a strategic appearance of the tushy picture.  It might find itself hiding in a well-used drawer, or reflecting back in the mirror—someplace where it is least expected.  Taken by surprise, a kid may instantly drop to the floor laughing his…um, tushy off.

It is also a peace maker.  On those occasions where harmony dissolves into familial dissonance, or when common ground is lost, an appearance of the tushy picture can set everything right again.  It is a constant reminder of the ties that bind brother and sister together.  And what is more unifying than shared laughter?

But most important of all is that I alone wield the power of the tushy picture. I have no plans to abdicate or to retire the photo.  We are now a household of four adults and considered equal under the law; however, as long as I have the tushy picture, I rule.   

Tomorrow's blog:  cc: Men