Many years ago, my family lived in the Washington, DC area. We often went to visit the Smithsonian Institution museums which line the National Mall between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument.

I would usually pick my daughter — at the time of this story, four years old — from preschool and deliver her to my wife’s office. I would then go to my second job. This one afternoon, however, I got finished extra early, so I picked up my daughter and we went to the Air & Space Museum, which is one of my daughter’s favorites.

We spent a good hour in there during a very busy summer day. After we’d seen our fill, I told her we needed to get going to mommy’s office. As we were walking out, she walked to the right side of a display that was in the middle of the hallway, and I went on the left.  

However, at the other end — maybe 12 feet — she didn’t meet up with me. Panicked, I quickly ran around the right side, then to the left. I couldn’t see her. I started calling her name, but my voice was easily drowned out by the crowd present. I quickly found a security guard, and he called in a missing child. We kept looking around until he got a call that a young girl matching my daughter’s description had been found. We went to the security desk, and there was my daughter. Since there was nothing sinister about her disappearance, I didn’t file a report, and I also didn’t bother to tell my wife.

Twelve years later, my wife and daughter flew back to DC to visit old friends for my daughter’s 16th birthday. One day, they decided to go to the museums. When they went to the Air & Space Museum, they walked by where I’d lost her years before. That’s when my daughter told my wife, “I remember this spot. This is where I hid from Daddy when he wanted to leave, but I didn’t.”

So, the ugly truth came out: she had deliberately hidden from me; it hadn’t been an honest misplacement. And who got in trouble for not telling my wife about the incident? Not the little girl who hid from Daddy, but the husband who thought, “No harm, no foul.”

(My husband and I are hanging out in the kitchen, and my five-year-old son is playing in the living room two rooms away.)

Husband: “I haven’t gotten laid in forever.”

Son: *shouting from living room* “Well, maybe if you were better at it, Daddy!”

(I am in the shower while my husband is in the bathroom with our almost-two-year-old. They’re both naked since I am about to hop out and then it will be their turn. Our daughter is brushing her teeth and I am encouraging her. She responds to my instructions with excitement, and apparently, very literally.)

Me: “That’s great. You brush up and down, left and right, at the front and the back, at the top and at the bottom…”

(I looked over and she started brushing her bottom.)

(The entire extended family has gathered for Thanksgiving dinner. Among them is a married couple who have been on the ketogenic diet for going on three years. They brought their approximately 18-month-old baby with them, and everyone is thrilled to see the newest family member. He’s cuddled and passed from aunt to grandma to uncle to cousin all afternoon. This, inevitably, results in people trying to slip him snacks.)

Grandma: *holding the baby* “You’re just precious. Yes, yes, you are. Here. Try this.”

(She breaks off a tiny pinch of her plain sugar cookie and offers it to the kid. He takes a nibble and then claps his hands excitedly. At that moment, the baby’s father enters the room. He storms over and rips his son away from his mother-in-law.)

Father: “We do not feed our child sugar! That stuff is poison!”

(He takes the child away in a huff, leaving the grandma to look absolutely mortified in front of everyone else. About an hour later, he’s cooled down and returns with the child in one arm and a small glass of Jack Daniels in the other. Conversations continue while the father bounces the baby on his knee.)

Father: “He looks so happy. I know what will make him so happy!”

(He gives his son a sip of his Jack Daniels. The child makes a completely disgusted face while his father bawls laughing. The room goes silent. His wife, the child’s mother, is glaring at him.)

Mother: “Can I talk with you… a moment… in the kitchen?”

(Her face was completely red and her hands were shaking. I don’t know what happened next, since the mother was so angry she was beyond yelling and the entire conversation was done in enraged quiet. But the rest of the day, she did not let anyone else hold her child, and he didn’t stay in the same room as them.)

(My three-year-old constantly bounces from one thing to another, mentally and physically, so she sometimes mixes up the names of who she’s talking about. She knows exactly who she means and it’s pretty obvious who she’s talking about, but it just doesn’t come out right. Also, sometimes she randomly calls us by our first names every now and then. She has just spent a week with my parents and we are packing up to go home when my dad/her grandpa goes outside for a smoke.)

Daughter: *looking up and noticing him leave the room* “I want to go with Daddy!”

Husband: “I’m right here; I’m not going anywhere! “

Daughter: *in a condescending tone as she trots past him* “I’m not talking about you, Rob! I want to go with Grandma!”