When you come in the kitchen right before dinner and ask me if you can have a snack, and I say No, and you say Oh, OK all too cooperatively, and then say I'll be right back, and then go in your room and come out 45 seconds later with your mouth closed tightly and a look on your face that says Please, Mama, don't ask me to speak right now, or fist tightly closed so that you have to open the back door with a hook hand, I'm on to you. I know you just went in to your room and sneaked some candy from the stash you hide under your pillow, or in the pillow case from Halloween. I know this because I'm your mom. I know what you look like when you are lying and when you are guilty. I don't call you out on it because I'm too tired for the fight and for now, arguing over a snack size twix isn't worth it. You may think you get away with it each time, but I'm on to you, Friend. Don't think you can get away with this in High School.
When I was a Sophomore in High School, and I went to Mexico for the summer to build latrines and teach the good people of Sta. Maria Jaltianguis the Fly Cycle, I got a postcard from my mom, your grandma Nu Nu, that read Dear Fiona, I know that Greg is in your closet right now and you are supposed to be studying for finals.......she had written the postcard a month before I left for my volunteer trip. It terrified me. I just want you to know, Niamh, the terrifying part WILL come.