Who Knows?

My mother was omniscient.

When I was a LITTLE-little kid, back in the last century, I still got into my fair share of trouble. But once the kind of trouble I could have gotten into was the really bad kind, I started behaving. (Or, as my oldest brother once said when Mom yelled at him, "BeHAVE!"..."I'm BEing-have!)

I was a good kid solely because if I got into trouble, she would know. Miraculously. Mysteriously. She would just know. And then she would kill me.

Fast-forward [mumble] years. I'm not a parent. However, I am a step-grandparent. And I'm learning a little about the mystery of knowing.

At the moment, the 10-year-old g-son and the 7-year-old g-son have taken a shine to grapefruit soda.

We know it's soda.

They know it's soda.

But they think we don't know it's soda. And thus they think they're getting away with something.

So we don't let them know we know. It's more fun this way.

But boy, when they do stuff that is dangerous, we see it, and we let them know we know, and we make them stop. Especially when they know better.

And although their first response to anything--any little old thing--is still to throw it, at least they don't throw at each other. Always. As much, anyway.

How did my mother always know? See subject line. (Maybe I shouldn't have skipped the "parent" step.)

What I'd really like to know: When is that "throwing" thing going to stop? See subject line.