Eyes In The Back Of My Head

As a child, I held my mom’s ability to sense what I was doing in high regard.  It never seemed to fail that when I was about to get into some mischief, she’d know exactly when to show up.  She always told me that she had eyes in the back of her head.  I knew that was a lie because I looked for them.  I finally pieced together that she was just good at listening for certain things.  As a child, you seem to miss the subtle clues that you give off. 

“Get off that bed,” she would yell, and you would freeze in wide-eyed disbelief of how she knew, from the other side of the house, what you were doing.  All the while, you were completely oblivious to the ka-THUMP, ka-THUMP, ka-THUMP sound the headboard was making as it slammed against the wall.  The wire of the box-springs screaming their protest somehow evaded your ears as well.  But not Momma’s ears.

Slowly I learned that it was these tell-tale sounds that gave me away, but it took even longer for me to learn that it was the sounds I didn’t make that also gave me away.  As a parent, I’ve learned that silence is golden, but too much is an indication of trouble afoot.  There is a certain spectrum of white noise that is always present in our home.  When that drops to pure stillness, it’s time to track down the boys.

 As we grow, life meanders on and we’ve become more accustomed to picking up on those clues.  Boys have accidents all the time.  There’s frequent crying from bumps and bruises that are unintentionally inflicted.  I don’t mind that, but I don’t want big brother using little brother as a punching bag.  Thankfully, it’s quite easy to tell when this sort of thing has happened.  Observe:

{A loud sound from the other room grabs our attention}

{Gage begins to wail}

Griffin then says to his little brother, “You’re not even hurt”

At this point, it’s safe to assume that whatever Gage is ‘not even hurt’ over was caused by his elder brother.

   

Also, toddlers and younger don’t seem to have a fully functional volume control.  A whisper from my five year old is just as audible across a room as if he were speaking normally.  And he’s genuinely surprised when I can tell him what he just said. 

One of my favorite applications of this occurred early one Saturday morning when Griffin wanted us awake.  The boys came in our room and I heard Griffin whisper to his brother, “Tell daddy that you want breakfast.”  Without opening my eyes, I said, “Griffin, quit trying to get your brother to wake us up.”  With an air of disbelief and defiance, he said “You didn’t even hear that.”  I couldn’t help but chuckle.  Obviously I had heard it.

Hopefully, it’s a good long while until our kids figure out the signs that give them away.