I have a favorite saying that I like to use at home.  It can be said in that compassionate mom tone, or it can be said with a bit of self-congratulation, and every now and then, it can be said threateningly.

And I got to say it last night at 4 a.m., “Mama knows.  Mama always knows.”

At approximately 4 a.m., Lukus and I awoke to a strange sound Eisley was making in her room.  Lukus jumped up, looked at her from the doorway and saw that she was fast asleep, and came back to bed.  This was an unsatisfactory investigation to me.

I got up, went into the girl’s room, didn’t see, hear or smell anything unusual.  But I went over to Eisley anyway, and though she was sound asleep on her tummy and breathing normally, I risked waking a sleeping baby, and rolled her over.

She was laying in a pool of her own vomit – and lots of it.

Lukus got up to help me clean things up, and we put her back to bed only to have her go through the routine twice more before settling down for the rest of the night.  Lukus was surprised that it hadn’t smelled at all, and made a comment about my impressive intuitive skills.

To which I proudly replied while crawling back into bed, “Mama knows.  Mama always knows.”

When I was a kid, I was consistently amazed by how my mom always seemed to know everything that concerned me.  She knew what every physical ailment needed, whether upset stomach, fever or a sprained ankle.  I never once went to the doctor with the exception of when I broke my arm.

She knew that I was faking being asleep to avoid getting a spanking for acting up at church when I was four.  Despite my vigilant efforts to pretend to be asleep as they carried me to the car, laid me down in the backseat, and carried me inside, as she put me to bed, she looked right in my face at my stubbornly closed eyes, grinned and said, “I know you’re playing possum.  Goodnight.”

Sometimes at night, I would hear my mom in the living room, sitting on the floor by our couch, praying.  I never really knew what she was praying about, but I did know that if God was waking her up in the middle of the night to pray, then it wasn’t too far of a long-shot to think He might tell her that my teacher did give me homework that night, or that I had watched a rated-R movie at a friend’s house during a sleep-over.  But regardless of how she knew, Mom knew.  Mom always knew.

And somehow, she even knew the time when my best friend Rachel and I tried to run away when we were twelve.  My parents and I had driven the 1,500 mile trek from California to Texas a dozen times, and I was pretty sure Rach and I could make it on our bikes.  We were going to cut all our hair off so we’d look like boys so people wouldn’t mess with us.  We had $48 in cash, and even better, a couple pieces of gold jewelry that we could trade for tacos for the journey.  Man, we were stupid.

But we were careful to not let anything slip to our parents.  So when midnight on Saturday night came, I got up, got dressed in my “boy clothes” (I really did look like a boy when I was twelve), grabbed my stash of food, pocket knives, can opener, cigarette lighter and of course the gold jewelry, and made my way downstairs.  I made it out the front door.  I got into the apartment complex’s storage room and unlocked my bike.  I headed over to the complex’s laundry room where I’d meet up with Rachel.  I waited.

And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Fortunately, I’d had the sense to leave the front door unlocked in case of Plan B.  Rachel never showed up, so I simply returned to bed.  The next day, there was a cop in our living room lecturing me and Rachel on the dangers of running away from home.  He simply smiled as we adamantly denied our plans of running away.  But I got the message loud and clear:  Mom knew.  Mom always knew.

Now that I’m a mom, I’m not as awestruck by my mom’s sixth sense as I used to be.  After all, kids really aren’t that complicated.  Their faces are pretty easy to read, their actions predictable, their intentions obvious.  I’d almost be inclined to simply call it “wisdom” than call it “a gift”, except that moms always seem to know other things too, like when a doctor’s diagnosis is wrong, or when that 8th jump off the diving board just doesn’t feel right, or when a child doesn’t appear to be sick, but they’re lying in their own vomit.

And thankfully, my mom knew when I was ready to stay home alone the first time.  I was eight and she needed to run some errands.  She felt like I was ready that day.  That day, as she was driving, she was hit by a car on the passenger side.  My mom was injured, but had I been in the passenger seat like I normally would have been, I would have been crushed.  Somehow, she knew I should stay home.  So yeah, I guess it is a gift.

My hope is that my kids will grow up thinking what I thought when I was a kid.  Not so that they are awestricken by my uncanny insight, but because as parents, we represent the heavenly Father to our children.  If thinking that “Mama will find out,” stops them from making a bad choice (like it did for me), that’s great.  But what it really did for me was help me to see how aware and how invested God is in me.  He knows my thoughts of running away.  He knows when I’m playing possum.  He knows when I’m lying in my own vomit.  And better than the best of moms, He knows how to make it alright – because Father knows.  Father always knows.