Not all women who have children are mothers. You can tell a true mother by the penetrating look in her eyes. A mother always knows everything about you. Absolutely everything.

I had such a mother.  I could hide nothing from her.  When I would walk into the house after pigging out on chocolate cake at the neighbor's, she would glance at me and say, ''How many times do I have to tell you not to eat between meals? No dessert for you tonight, young lady.''

I looked at her, dumbfounded: How could she see across the street and through the walls of my friend's house, while she was cleaning the bathroom floor?

''How did you know that?'' I asked, wiping crumbs from my chin.

''A mother always knows, sweetie'' she said. ''I can read your forehead. Hand me the Bon Ami, I see a fingerprint on the doorknob.

When I would race into the house from school, my eyes popping like a choked fish, my mother would simply point to the bathroom door. ''How did you know I had to go?'' I asked, as I galloped to the toilet with my legs twisted like a pretzel. 

My mother would shrug, ''I read it on your forehead.'' When I got a bit older, her forehead became truly remarkable. I could hide absolutely nothing from that woman's penetrating gaze. 

I would come home from a date, and my mother would scowl ominously. ''Do you know what time it is?'' she'd say. ''Men don't marry fast girls.''

''We were only holding hands, for God's sake.'' I lied, rubbing my chafed mouth.

''You can't fool me, Lynn Ruth.'' said my mother. ''I can read the whole vulgar story on your forehead. Put some lotion on your face, or you'll look like a raw tomato tomorrow.''

Her amazing knowledge of things she could not see sharpened the farther away I was from home. I arrived at college my freshman year, disoriented and lonesome for the very place I had denounced as a suffocating prison a few hours before. As I settled down on the dormitory bed for a good cry, my mother walked in the door.

''You forgot your pillow.'' she said and handed me the very one I had used the night before.

I had done my own packing and had to shut the door to my room when we left the house to drive to Ann Arbor. My mother was so nearsighted that she couldn't see products on the supermarket shelf without her glasses. How could she possibly make out the print on my forehead sixty miles away? Apparently, my mother could also hear the thoughts rattling around in my brain, for she then answered my unspoken question.

''A mother always knows and I have told you that multiple times, right?'' she said. ''I also brought you some brownies and Rosemary Clooney's latest record release.''