It's the stories we tell our kids when they are young that come back to haunt us, like the time I told my oldest daughter I had eyes in the back of my head.
In first grade, she gathered a group of her friends in the elementary school cafeteria and told them I was going to read the clock with the eyes in the back of my head. Like a group of tipsy adults watching a party trick, they all huddled around me waiting for me to perform.
I closed my eyes as though I am concentrating very hard on trying to read the clock with the eyes in the back of my head. I un-crack them just enough to get a glimpse of my BlackBerry sitting on the bench beside my left thigh. I just pray the BlackBerry is in sync with the cafeteria clock.
"OK, here I go. It's 12:45. Is that right? Am I close?" I say humbly looking up at the kids assembled around me. My daughter is holding a spicy chicken bite in limbo in her right hand like she is frozen by my miracle performance.
"I told you she had them," she says turning her face to her friends with her best touché grin.
Apparently, one time I must have also told my youngest daughter a story about my magic powers, that mothers have magic kisses, and this, in turn, in her little mind, morphed into me having all sorts magic powers.
"Turn me into a horse," she says one day with a dead-serious look on her face.
"Sweetie, I know I told you I have magic powers, but that's mostly for healing your boo-boos. I'm not sure I can do the horse thing," I say hesitantly.
"Sure you can, Mommy. Just try," and, with that, she closes her eyes tightly and waits. After a few seconds she opens them and looks down at her body with obvious disappointment. "I'm still a girl," she says sadly.
"Sweetie, I'm sorry. I'm just not magic enough," I say trying to think of something to counteract her disappointment.
"OK, Mommy," she says cutting me off. "It's alright. That's a hard one. Let's try something else. How about you read my mind?"