What you don't know....

I hide things. All the time. I never dreamed being a mom was such a sneaky business. But it is. It could be that it is just me, I used to hide things as a teenager too, but then, it was for the same reason: I was the oldest, and there were children around.

I hide chocolate. I hide cookies. I hide granola bars, juice boxes and any thing else likely to be wanted for a specific purpose at a later date. It has become very hard to hide food from Jacob. My instinct is to put things up. But he is taller than I am, driven by insatiable hunger, and practiced. He has been finding what I hide for 15 years now.

I hide shock and surprise, disappointment and pain as needed.

I hide very little from Leslie, because she is an observant child, and it is almost impossible to accomplish.

I hide nothing from Nathan because it is unnecessary. He doesn't look for things. He thinks I hide things, but this is confusion, he just doesn't know where it goes.

I hide the TV cable when I think we have had enough for a while.

I hide Christmas and birthday gifts, and sometimes the wrapping paper for the gifts, so it will still exist when it is time to wrap presents. Small boys are drawn to wrapping paper rolls, they like to unroll and destroy the paper, and the gravy is playing swords with the cardboard tube.

I hide vegetables in my baking.

I hide things in my closet and my drawers. If you are one of my children, caught in my closet, you are dead meat, pounded with a mallet.

I hide the clothes kids have grown out of, but will be mad that they need to go to a new home. I take them out of the wash each time I fold clothes. I hide this from the children too. They do not know there is a pile named Confiscate.

I hide matches. I have four boys descended from a long line of pyromania.

Sometimes, I hide myself, in my room with the door locked, for a few minutes of quiet.

There are troubles with hiding things. One, is that around Christmas time, I can't find the clothes in my closet. Two, is the older I get, the more forgetful, and the more I have to hide surprise when I find something I forgot I had hidden. Three, is I am tired of this. At some point, I may give up on the mysteries. I may just buy you a gift, and hand it to you, what ever day I get it, and instruct you to remember what it is for and when. I may just open up and tell you when you've blown it, whatever the ramifications. I may learn to live in the moment so much, that I will never plan for a future meal or treat again, and just let them eat all 8 boxes of pop tarts, the minute I walk in from the grocery store. But I haven't done it yet.

My children are affected by this. If you find they grow up to be spies and detectives, you will know where the blame lies. They should be pretty good at it though. Wheedling into mom's secrets for years should be good practice.