Good Cop, Bad Cop.

Our daughter’s thirteen-year old car bit the dust Saturday.  It coughed up its last noxious fumes shortly after she left the gas station, with a full tank, of course.  She asked her dad and I to go car shopping with her on Sunday.  Her parameters for purchase were simple:  Used, low mileage, good on gas, cheap.  Here’s the kicker:  She asked for her dad because he can (euphemistically) kick the tires.  She asked me because I’m the “bad cop.”  I’m the one who doesn’t care about the kids in the picture on the salesman’s desk.  I don’t care if Heather “looks good” in a blue car.  I don’t need a new best friend. And I’m not afraid to walk if the deal isn’t right or takes too long.

She was right, of course.  Historically, I’ve always been the hard-nosed realist.

“No, you can’t wear the jeans with a hole in the knees to Mass.  I don’t care if dad said you look cute.”

“No, you can’t eat an ice cream sandwich for lunch.  Yes, I know.  Funny daddy said it is a sandwich, after all.”

“Call when you get there so I know you’ve arrived safely.  Call me or I’m coming to find you.  Yes, I trust you but, unlike daddy, I can’t sleep until I know you’re safe.”

I cross-examined the boyfriends.  Dad played golf with them.

I wasn’t always crazy about my reputation with my kids as the bad cop, but I also silently loved that they had such a sweet relationship with their dad, too. 

This is the part of parenthood that gets better with time.  Instead of the tears or stomping feet or swishing hair or rolling eyes I got when she was a kid, I now get asked to use the bad cop part of my parenting repertoire. 

And here’s the best part:  I’ve raised a good negotiator.  She called today to say, “I told the salesman to put the car up on the rack and have it inspected (they don’t offer that at this small lot) and to put a full tank of gas in it, too (they don’t do that, either) if they want me to buy it.  And I want it in writing.  He agreed.“  Well done, grasshopper.

I guess that makes me a good “bad cop.”  

Who’s the “good cop” in your household?  I’m betting it’s the hub.  If it’s not, humor me and tell me it is, okay?