The Third Eye

I tell my minis all the time that I have eyes in the back of my head.  And they BELIEVE me...HEHEHEHEH.  Luckily, being the proprietor of said eyes, I can choose when and where to use them.  When there's a beer-gutted shirtless guy behind me at the football game (Does that G on your belly stand for 'garish' maybe)?  Nope, no eyes.  (Thank god) When the oldest mini gives his baby brother the last piece of Mocha Chocolate Chip Bread behind my back?  Yep, the eyes are there...filled with tears!  Of course they're also wide open when the 'covert' punching and pinching and kicking is happening.  Ah, the joys of little boys!

I also love telling the boys that I can read their mind.  I am the coolest person around to a 4 and 5 year old!  But lately, I've been second guessing advertising and making a big deal of both of these 'abilities.'  Am I training my sons to be the type of man that leaves adult women mentally and emotionally frustrated and exasperated?  The ones that don't communicate but still expect us to know what's going on in their pea-brains? The ones that leave the seat up, don't replenish the toilet roll, don't take out the garbage...because they know that we know they're doing it and will just sigh and do it ourselves?  My boys already don't know where anything is.  Especially if it is something that they themselves removed from their very own body.  Don't you love the 'mom?  where's my shoe?'  Right, I was the one that took off the size 13 Cars tennies with the velcro straps.  Didn't I just see those in Vogue?

Maybe I need to stop being so cool with all my supernatural abilities.  I'll leave the mind reading to the certified psychics.

But wait.  It's not that I'm not a believer (every self-respecting woman has a set of tarot cards and books of spells...) but I find myself maybe questioning the psychics that work out of their homes.  I mean, everytime I drive by I think to myself, "Self, maybe it's time to go in and have your future told."  One of these times, if these psychics were any good, wouldn't they be waiting for me at the end of their driveway with a sign that says, "Yes, Jen.  It's time.  Please come in."