I recently bought Daisy a big jar of kiddie vitamins. They're gummy and yummy and animal-shaped, and with 150 of them in the jar, it'll take a while for her to get through them all.
On Sunday morning she grabbed one and examined it carefully.
Daisy: Momma! Look at my vitamin! It's a cute wittle elephant!
Hank: That's very cute.
Daisy: Look at the cute wittle elephant, Dada!
Me: Let me see *holding out my hand*
Daisy cautiously handed it over, and just as she started to say, "But don't eat it!", I popped the little bastard into my mouth.
Daisy: YOU ATE IT!!
Me: Oh, my bad. Do you want it back?
Daisy: No!! That.... That....
And she burst into tears.
I stared at her for a moment, filled with a combination of remorse and an inability to comprehend that my daughter had developed an emotional attachment to 1 of 150 gummy vitamins. Then I mentally reviewed my checklist of actions to take when a loved one cries, and I awkwardly hugged her and apologized for eating her cute wittle elephant.
She wiped her little tears away and eventually found it in her heart to forgive me.
Later that night we went to go see her school play. The older students were encouraged to create their own characters, and write up short biographies with their characters' backstories. I reviewed these stories, noting, with rolled eyes, that many of the characters came from dysfunctional families, most of which centered around mean fathers.
"Look at that!" I barked, "All these kids are complaining about their mean ol' dads!"
Hank shot me a look. "Huh. Now why in the world would kids think their dads are mean?"