THE EYES-IN-THE-BACK-OF-MY-HEAD-GENE

I was always certain it was a load of bull, but I could never ever figure out how she did it. How she (almost) ALWAYS caught us (and by "us," I mean mostly my brother, of course) with our hands in the cookie jar, both literally and figuratively. Trying to sneak the spare change off the counter, or scrape the frosting off the cake, or hide the phone under the covers (yeah, I know we had cords back then), or hiding veggies under our napkins or in our laps for the dog, or the cat (what was his name?), then another dog, and a few more cats.

But tonight, after having had a pretty rough week already, for which they've lost movie privileges, they were eating at the kitchen table while I was cleaning off the stove and tupperwaring their left-behinds, my back to them.

As I glanced up from the stove, I see their reflection in the microwave and very calmly, without turning around, and continuing to wipe down the counters, I say, "Saia, for the last time, please get your fingers out of your mouth and use your fork."

And she says immediately, "Yes, ma'm," but then she and her brother lock eyes across the table and she mouths to him with her eyes wide, How did she see me?

Hismouth agape, he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, and then mouths back, I don't know. Ask her.

No, you ask her, she replies.

And although I'm nearly on the verge of laughing out loud, I contain myself long enough to say (without looking at them, of course), "If you have something to ask me, go ahead and ask. Otherwise, you're better off just finishing your dinner quietly."

Gasp! was all I heard from the table behind me. Followed by a rare and most glorious silence.

Well, at least for the next 4 1/2 minutes.

So, along with my penchant for overtelling a story, my love of cheese, and my appreciation for old movies and musicals, I would like to officially thank my mother for passing along the eyes-in-the-back-of-my-head gene.

This is gonna be fun.