The Crashing of Antlers

Hi Everybody,

Ah the subject of kids again….adult kids….again. I just thought I’d share a thought I had a while back, which occurs to me often. Someone told me the other day that when adult lions, from a year old on, meet their parents in the jungle, they no longer recognize their parents. (Now there’s a thought, no more lending the car keys, or kids home from college turning your home into a frat house for the holidays, with pizzas delivered, in vast quantities, at 2 am). And I would be very sad if my kids didn’t remember me, now that they’re adults, BUT I do think there’s a phenomenon we don’t pay enough attention to, that past a certain age, somewhere in their 20’s, when our adult kids are home, from jobs, college, other cities, or even for the holidays with their own families and kids, they become adults (quite naturally) trying to claim their turf. That’s probably some kind of law of the jungle too. Decorate a room for a 5 year old, and they’ll think you have fabulous taste every time (for a girl, do it pink or purple, for a boy, put superhero or cowboy or astronaut stuff around the room, and you have it made). But try to pick a chair, a couch, or even set an object down in your adult kid’s abode and you’ll be lucky if they don’t throw it at you. If they come to your house, they’ll inform you of what lousy taste you have, and ask you where you got all this ugly stuff and when are you going to give it away.

A male friend of mine commented to me several years ago that he used to love skiing with his son, who was in his 20’s then, and suddenly he said it was no longer enjoyable. His son would take him out on the toughest slopes, and run his a– off, and nearly kill him by the end of the day. All I could think of as he said it to me was ‘the crashing of antlers’. At some point our adult kids view us instinctively as the elders of the pack, and they want to take over as leaders of the pack and run us off our own turf. They may not be aware of it. But we sure are, as their parents, or I am. Suddenly, at a certain age in their early or mid twenties, daughters are adult women, with their own ideas and taste, and you are no longer mother and daughter living under one roof, but 2 adult women, like roommates, or 3 or 4 of them, and they want to run the show. (It’s probably a healthy reaction, although not always easy to live with). And let’s face it, there just isn’t room for 3 or 4 or 5, or sometimes even 2 adult women running the show under one roof (if you question that, try living with your mother in law. It’s the same phenomenon. You want to take over and push her into a corner somewhere, which is exactly what our daughters try to do to us, convinced that they know better now, and have better ideas and taste. Suddenly, they decide we’re obsolete, long before we are, and try to take over the reins).

And I think the exact same thing happens with men. Suddenly it becomes a competition among bucks, and adult sons suddenly compete with their fathers, and ‘the crashing of antlers’ is the result. Heated political arguments that turn nasty, games each side wants to win, and athletic events where someone gets hurt.

I am always thrilled when my kids come home to stay with me in San Francisco, and we share an apartment in Paris, but as they grow up, I suddenly feel as though I have 5 wives and not five daughters, or am living with 5 female roommates, and we are suddenly competing for space in the fridge, too few closets, and a wardrobe that overlaps—–or some really questionable comments about what I wear. (Do I comment on how short their skirts are, the color of their hair, or the fact that you can see right through a blouse? No. But they sure don’t hesitate to tell me everything that’s wrong with what I wear, own, or buy, or even try on, and not always in diplomatic terms—–all of which would look better on them, according to reports). I’ve never had roommates, or siblings I had to share a home with (I am an only child); I’ve only had husbands and children. Most husbands don’t care what you wear with only occasional exceptions (my least favorite comment from my ex husband, when I wore a new cocktail dress I really loved, “Is that a costume?” hmpphhh). And when kids are little they either love you or hate you, depending on the day, their mood, whether or not you made them eat their spinach, regardless of what you wear. It’s a LOT more delicate with adult kids.

My point is that I think at some point instinct takes over, and you just become a lot of adults of the same sex under one roof. And I think the secret to success (if that’s possible) is to treat the situation as you would living with a roommate, even if it’s just for a weekend—-with the same kind of respect. Don’t borrow her clothes and trash them or lend them to someone else, don’t slop up the kitchen, don’t leave your friends dirty glasses and pizza rinds everywhere for someone else to pick up (they’re not my friends, I didn’t eat that, is a common mantra), don’t eat everything in the fridge and never replace it (more likely to apply to male children, my daughters eat like rabbits, and only organic foods that look like a science project, usually involving quinoa or grains I don’t recognize and have never heard of). I think the roommate rules and ‘play nice in the sandbox’ rules really apply among parents and adult kids, and applies to both sides. Don’t make rude comments, don’t play the music so loud that people in another state can hear it, or take someone’s favorite CD and then lose it, or shred someone’s favorite magazine to put in the litter box. It’s all about consideration and good manners, and just being “Nice”, once you are same sex adults living under one roof, for however long. And no they can’t take over our turf, while we’re still living on it, and we are the head lioness in our own homes, or head lion, or chief stag. But I think all that crashing of antlers, and emotional pushing and shoving is really biological for our kids. If your daughter is a grown woman, she probably instinctively feels she should be running the house, and the show (and is convinced she could do it better than you do) and she may not even know she feels that way. And adult sons have an instinctive urge to compete with their dads and do them in, on ski slopes, at golf, at tennis, or just jogging—-suddenly the competition becomes intense.

I am extremely aware whenever I am sharing a home with my adult children that suddenly we are all pushing and shoving to rule the same roost, we throw each other’s food away, borrow each other’s make-up and lose it, criticize what we wear (or they criticize what I wear). But I think the urge to run the show is normal after a certain age. What we all need to remember is that at their house it’s their show (and we need to keep our mouths shut and respect their homes), and at our house it’s our show. And in someone else’s house, even if you’re related, you just don’t get to make the rules for everyone else. And as long as we’re alive and kicking, we still have our own ideas about how to run our own home. Maybe if we become more aware of those instinctive urges, we can laugh about it. It does give me a new respect though for men who are of faiths that allow them to have 5 wives simultaneously (what brave souls they must be—-not to mention 5 mothers-in-law).  So let’s all try to play nice in the sandbox, and remember whose sandbox it is. You can make the rules at your own house, but not someone else’s. Maybe remembering that will keep the crashing of antlers to a minimum……and make things a lot more fun when we all spend time under one roof. Good luck!!!

Love, Danielle