I can recognize the look of guilt on the face of any man, woman, child or … hamster.

I came downstairs to get a drink in the middle of the night and our little nocturnal houseguest -Tootsie, the class hamster, who was with us for a weekend -was caught red-handed. Or maybe I should say green-handed. He was gnawing away on the faux grass that sits in planters on the breakfast bar where we thought Tootsie was safely taking shelter for the past few days. As soon as I made eye contact with the beady-eyed rodent he immediately froze and then dropped his strand of plastic sod. Before he could try to win me over with his repentant sad face, I pulled his cage away from the ceramic pot and showed him whose turf he was playing on.

Move over Nancy Drew–you’ve got nothing on me. I’m such an expert at sniffing out my children’s lies that they sit in awe as I unfold the real truth before their grade-school eyes. Once my daughter asked me repeatedly how on earth I found out I knew about her misdeeds on the playground. I jokingly replied that I used special laundry soap so I could wash tiny little cameras into her clothing so I could always keep my eyes and ears on her all day long. I knew she actually believed my wild tale when I saw her eyes open wider than her mouth that sat agape.

I’m convinced my great sleuthing skills don’t come from the hours of “Perry Mason” and “Columbo” I watched as a young child on the couch with my grandmother. Rather, I’m sure they are genetic. I’ve actually had the tables turned on me and had my children catch me in a sticky situation or two.

For example, after one especially plentiful Halloween when my daughters were just toddlers, I was chowing away on their candy stash when I heard my oldest daughter tromping up the stairs. I hurriedly and cleverly ditched the chocolate wrappers and found something else to occupy myself, but it was to no avail. She came in and stopped dead in her tracks. She began sniffing loudly around the room. She sniffed and sniffed and moved closer and closer in my direction and said, “Mom, were you eating my Halloween candy? I smell chocolate on your breath.” Just like that, I was nabbed by my then three-year-old.

Who needs “CSI” when you’ve got a daughter with a nose for chocolate? I’m certain this uncanny ability to detect fibs is in the gene pool.

Question: What white lie have your children caught you telling?