Are We There Yet?
They're just like sharks smelling victim's blood
LORI CLINCH
Although I am not exactly a woman of means, I do enjoy some of the finer things in life. I like namebrand mouthwash, classy bathroom tissue and the fresh scent of high-quality dryer sheets.

Sadly enough, my children share my passion for top-notch stuff. They nab my shampoo, sniff out my conditioners and I'll be danged if I can keep my whitening strips in my secret hiding place.

I think that I should state for the record that I am not a selfish person. It's just that children aren't responsible when it comes to quality products. They've been known to use body soap in excess and are famous for leaving the cap off the toothpaste.

I've adjusted for the most part. I hide my tweezers and keep my shampoos stashed behind the cleaning supplies. Yet, try though I may, I am unable to keep my office supplies all to myself.

I'd be generous with my name-brand highlighters and award-winning sticky notes, if my ungrateful children didn't take them to school and trade up for an extra slice of pizza in the lunchroom.

The worst part is that I have raised kids who have a sixth sense about these things. By and large, they can tell that I have acquired good stuff the second I walk in the door. Perhaps I have a look of guilt about me. Could be they sense my inner smile, but more than likely they can see through the sacks.

Take last week, for instance, when they had gel pens on sale at a local store. I looked at the package of six and debated for some time. Gel pens are nice. They glide along the paper and certainly are a crowd pleaser when it comes to doing taxes. But could I justify their expense AND keep them from the children?

Inquiring minds wanted to know.

Realizing that I hadn't purchased anything special for myself since a bag of corn nuts the day before, I put the pens in the cart, made my purchase and drove home with a smile.

Once inside the door, I knew that there was a good chance that the children would be able to read my face. I felt in my gut that they would swoop down upon me, divide my gel pens up among themselves and leave me to complete my taxes with a pencil stub.

Not willing to take any chances, I put my back against the wall and held my breath. I anxiously looked around the corner before I dropped to my knees and lay prostrate behind the couch. I slinked through the great room like a cat and crept down the hallway. I was peering around every corner as cautiously as a detective on the prowl.

I tiptoed into the office, opened the bottom drawer on the desk and hid the package under some address labels and old receipts.

Later, long after my return home and sneaky entrance, I sat down to do the taxes. Although I'm not much for the dull drudgery and long hours that are required in the home office, the thought of a nice writing utensil certainly put a pleasant spin on things.

No sooner had I started in on the paperwork than a child walked up from behind. "Mom?" he asked, and I could have sworn I heard a touch of accusation in his voice.

"Yes," I answered, as I dropped the pen into my lap and leaned forward to cover it up.

"I don't suppose you would happen to have any good pens now would you?" I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was looking around suspiciously. I think he was even sniffing. He was like a character from a science fiction movie that could pick up signals and look in drawers without so much as twitching an eye. "Perhaps you have a gel pen, mother," he inquired, "the kind that glides across the paper?"

"Uh, gel pens?" I asked as I moved my face closer to the adding machine. "Why we haven't had such luxury items around here since the early '90s. That's about the same time you were born, isn't it?"

He didn't say a word. Rather, he just stood there "sensing" the room.

Doing my best to put up a good front, I pretended not to be ruffled and resumed calculating. I was hoping against all hope he'd simply give up and go away when he suddenly leapt for the drawer and shouted out, "Score! Look at what I found hidden in your bottom drawer under your paperwork and clutter!Wow! Now I can write in style and trade up for great stuff in the lunch room!"

I wonder if he'll bring home an extra slice of pizza for me.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.