During my recent visit with Bubby, I discovered something we have in common: We both like to hide. Well, I used to like to hide. As a kid. (Although I do hide my head in the sand on several issues, I admit, but that's not really the same thing.)

Bubby loves to scramble under his crib, hidden by the bedskirt, especially when it's time to change his diaper. He scurries into his hiding spot, waits a few moments, then pulls up the bedskirt to surprise anyone wandering around the room saying, "Where's Bubby?" He gets a kick out of being found.

I, on the other hand, never wanted to be found. I hid because I really wanted to be alone. Granted, I was much older than Bubby and playing a game of "Where's Lisa?" would have been a bit absurd at the age of 11 so even if that were my intention in hiding, I doubt my mom or siblings would have participated in the fun. No, I just hid for the heck of it, hoping no one would find me.

Except my friend Norma. Together we'd tuck ourselves up into ridiculous contortions and hang out beneath the lower shelf in the linen closet. With knees up to our ears (did I mention we were ELEVEN?) and little room for anything more than transferring one saltine at a time from the package we'd stolen from the kitchen into our mouths, we'd spend hours hidden in the dark, sharing secrets and shusshing (and stifling giggles) when we heard anyone nearby who may snatch open the closet and try to wrangle us from our hideout.

Another favorite hiding spot at that age, one I didn't share with Norma, was a spot in the living room that actually wasn't hidden from view at all. (Now that I think of it, maybe I was a bit wacko.) I'd "hide" at the end of the cabinet stereo, scrunched into the corner and staring up at the ceiling, imagining THAT was where we lived. In my head, the room was flipped, and I plotted out how the furniture would fit around all the architectural details of the ceiling, if that were the floor. The table'd go here, the couch there. But only I would live in the new place -- no siblings, no parents, no friends. In my head I'd sing  "In my own little corner, in my own little chair...", pretending to be as blissful in my solitude as Lesley Anne Warren -- aka Cinderella -- was in hers (a reference the younger readers likely won't get!). Off in my own little world, oblivious to anyone around me, I felt hidden.

(I'm pretty sure there's some psychological reason for imagining my upside down world making sense ... maybe having something to do with my real world feeling upside down most of the time anyway. Not going to analyze that one at this point.)

This is embarassing to admit, but I continued hiding as a teen, especially when my mom made me so angry I wanted to just run away ... but I was too big of a chicken to walk out the door. So I'd hide under my bed for hours (literally!) hoping I'd hear Mom pacing the floor, searching for me and crying out how sorry she was for being such a mean mom. Didn't happen. I'm pretty sure she knew where I was all along. Eventually I'd shimmy out from underneath the bed, climb on top of it and under the covers.

I don't hide anymore -- except for, like I said, the hiding my head in the sand. But that's more of a self-preservation technique, I believe, than silly child's play.

I don't recall my daughters ever hiding from me, in play as a toddler or in retaliation for me laying down the law and not giving them their way as a teen. So, Balloon Boy not withstanding, is hiding a common thing for kids to do? I'm not sure. 

But I like that Bubby and I share the penchant for sneaking away. And I really like that he so enjoys it when I find him!