When our oldest daughter entered the Adirondacks Hamlets to Huts shop, Joe Dadey greeted her as he does everyone. Their conversation went something like this …

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah, my parents gave me a fleece-lined headband for Christmas, and now I want to get some for my friends,” she answered. “Oh yeah, and a neck gaiter.” (A little side note here — if you exercise outdoors in cooler temperatures, the headgear and buffs at Hamlets to Huts are the best).

“And who are your parents?” Joe asked.

So, she told him, certain that between her father being local and the youngest of nine, both her parents being teachers and her mother writing a column for the paper, some connection would be made. She was right.

“Oh, the Peers, they come in a lot. I read your mother’s column …”

I am reasonably sure Chloe made a face and delivered an eye roll at that comment.

Joe picked up on her grimace. “Of course, she tells many stories about you and your family.”

“Yeah, whenever I hang up the phone I wonder if I’m going to be the topic of the next column,” Chloe answered. “In school, we would always be embarrassed when our parents would tell stories about us to their classes. This is worse; there is a bigger audience.”

Joe commiserated as Chloe shopped, even going as far as to suggest he has had a similar experience with another local columnist.

When Chloe came home, the full report was served with a side of implied guilt.

My defense? Because for years my world centered around my family, it’s only natural that I should write about them.

My silent thought? I have no regrets because, just like every kid, she embarrassed me a few times herself. Let’s face it, I love Chloe dearly and am frequently in awe of all she accomplishes, but her persistent drive and imagination created legendarily awkward situations, the most memorable was when she was a preschooler.

In late summer of 2001, I was about eight months pregnant with our second child. It had been hot, really hot, and I was uncomfortable, really uncomfortable. Not only was my belly swollen, but my feet and hands were swollen as well. Rings, including my wedding band, were out of the question and only Birkenstocks could be tolerated. But still, chores needed to be completed, and the family needed to eat, so on this hot afternoon, I stood in line at the A&P with Chloe by my side.

A sweet little old lady stood ahead of us in line. She turned to Chloe and said, “It looks like you will be a big sister soon.”

Shyly, Chloe nodded. I listened but stayed out of the conversation. Other adults in line were listening too.

“Are you excited?” the lady continued.

Chloe shrugged.

“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

At this point, Chloe took a deep breath and announced. “I have 10 brothers and sisters, but they live in Saratoga and Mommy isn’t allowed to see them anymore!”

My silence was shattered as I registered the horrified expressions around me. “Chloe, what –“

But my interjection was cut off by the lady’s “Hmph” and disparaging look at my ringless hand. I looked around. Suddenly no one would meet my eye.

Why even try explaining that my 4-year-old had a very active imagination? Would anyone even believe me? Not allowed to see my own kids? They obviously now thought I was some monster. Looking down at Chloe, she was oblivious. In fact, she was smiling, imagining how great it would be to have a big family. I had no option but to slink to the checkout, letting everyone in earshot think the worst of me.

Shakespeare may have said, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” But the way I see it, “All of my family is a sitcom and luckily, they make great column fodder.”

And as for guilt for publicly sharing their finest moments? Not a problem. I highly recommend that every parent writes a column … It’s great revenge.