I admit it, we exhibit our children for their entertainment value.

We paint their toenails just to see them walking around, hunched over and staring at the bright colors as they bump into the coffee table.

We think it’s adorable when they learn the names of body parts and can point to them when you say their names, knowing they’ll be fascinated with the most private of those parts and show them off, usually in public places.

We teach them how the zipper works, so now they can slide out of their clothes slicker than a snake out of its skin.

We taught them how to fasten their shoes, and they found the fastening on the diaper is similar.

Next thing you know, you’re flashed by a naked baby, who enjoys the freedom so much you think she must have rolled in oil as she slips through your hands and down the street.

We laugh.

We blush.

We hope no one’s watching.

We wonder what these newfound skills will result in when our children reach adulthood.

We remember stories of our own childhoods and our penchant for being “naked as a jaybird,” and realize tormenting adults is just a part of growing up.

Kids will do just about anything to see the trying-not-to-smile look that’s spiced with a hint of frustration and holds a dash of “what am I going to do?”

Most frustrating are the tricks we teach them that are intended for public performance dancing, repeating their A,B,Cs, clapping, waving, sweet kisses goodbye which never see the light of an audience.

Children are like cars. They rattle until the mechanic gets under the hood and then not a sound is heard.

“Give Momma a kiss,” I asked Katie as I was leaving for work. We had been working on kisses all week, and in the privacy of home, with no witnesses, she’d pucker up with a sweet smile.

I expected the same at the baby-sitter’s. Thought I was getting it, too. Katie put down her toy and ran toward me at top speed, a toothy grin and arms open wide.

When she was one step in front of me, both her hands came together on the sides of my head with a “whap.”

She did kiss the dog, her teddy bear, her blanket and the wall before I left.

She’ll perform all right, but on her own terms.

There’s nothing like parenthood to teach you that you don’t own anybody, even (and especially) your children.

Still, we use them as props for show and tell.

We can’t help it, we know there’s a performer in there somewhere.

In front of friends, relatives, acquaintances (OK, even complete strangers), we boast about Katie’s intelligence not an easy feat when she’s putting a blanket over her head and walking into a wall.

It’s even harder when she gets up, puts the blanket back over her head and walks into the wall again.

Tired of that game, she lays on the floor, crawling position, puts her head on the carpet and plows forward into the couch, backs up and does it again.

To be honest, in attempting to show off the talents of children, adults are the ones putting on the show.

There’s not a lot they won’t do, in two-year-old style, to get children to perform.

It’s hard to tell who’s showing off for who.