Raising parents is tough. My parents used to be responsible. Now they are out at all hours doing who-knows-what with who-knows-whom. When I’m not worrying about their well-being, I am trying to locate them. When they have been found, my next step is to make sure they have not lost each other. (It happens.)

I was talking on the phone with my dad the other night, just checking up on things. I gave him the stats on my new niece and nephew. When I was done filling him in, he said, “Well, your mom went to the eye doctor today. She has to put drops in one of her eyes now.”

He sounded kind of grim. He went on, “There is a side effect to using these drops.”

“Don’t tell her!” my mom yelled in the background.

“I’m going to tell her. Just hush,” my dad said to my mom.

“So, what is the side effect?” I asked. Somehow my brain’s connections went haywire and I was suddenly fearing kidney failure.

“The drops will make her eyelashes grow longer and she can only use the drops in one eye,” he said.

“I said not to tell her!” my mom yelled.

“She’s been asking me if I will cut her eyelashes,” my dad said.

“He won’t!” she yelled in the background.

“Well, I am not going to cut your eyelashes,” he said to my mom.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do with one set of long eyelashes,” I could hear her saying in the background.

“Tell her to use that product that Brooke Shields advertises…the one that makes eyelashes grow. She can use it on the other side,” I said as I tried to think of the product name.

“Your daughter said to use Brooke Shields’ product to grow out the other side,” he said to her.

“She wants me to look like Brooke Shields?!”

“No,” he said. “Just the eyelashes. You don’t want to look like Brooke Shields. She’s a big girl.”

The name came to me. “Latisse!” I said.

“She doesn’t want to look like Brooke Shields,” he said to me.

“Yeah!” my mom said, sounding insulted. “Why would I want to look like her? She’s a big girl.”

“Dad, just cut her eyelashes,” I said.

“I am not going to do that,” he said.

“He’s never going to cut my eyelashes!” she yelled.

“Here, talk to your mom,” he said, handing the phone over.

“Hi, honey! How are the boys?” she asked.

And just like that, the eyelash stalemate was forgotten. Forgotten for now, until the long eyelashes can no longer be ignored.

Oh, geez. It just dawned on me. I am going to have to cut her eyelashes, aren’t I? Yes, parenting parents is a trip.