See the orange lanterns in this picture? That's the bar at the coffeeshop nearest our house. It offers caffeinated beverages, interesting people, and a speedy wireless, making it one of my favorite places on earth. For a part-time WAHM who doesn't much like to WAH, it's an oasis. An oasis with lattes and pastries, which beats the kind with water and dates any day.

Baby A was ready for preschool early, so we stopped by this coffeeshop to share a toasted English muffin with cream cheese and drinks—milk for her, a double latte for me—before parting ways for the morning. She stayed in her seat for a while, but soon wandered a few steps away to the barstools, hooked her foot into one, and started pulling herself up to the seat.

I was close enough to catch her in case of a wholesale backwards tip-over. But she's climbed up many times before, so I just sat, watching. You know when your kid first tells you, "Go stand over there and watch! I can do the monkey bars all by myself!" And you have to swallow hard and let her, even though you're not sure how well things will go once those little hands weaken and lose their grip? It was one of those moments. (And there are so many, aren't there? Please, SOMEONE, comment to say "Just wait until she asks for the car keys!")

Seated in the chair next to the one she was scaling was the father of an eight-year-old girl. He's quiet, a transplant from San Francisco who rides a skateboard. We first spoke with when our daughters played together the one morning it snowed last winter. They were so sweet to indulge a toddler who was starstruck that a "big girl" would teach her to make snowballs.

To his left on another barstool was the father of a three-year-old girl who is just a few weeks younger than Baby A. He's a part-time barista at this place and full-time high school band drum line consultant. He's also a great artist and a master of fine arts, to boot, whose works are hanging in the shop's gallery right now.

And walking behind Baby A at that moment, on his way to the sugar and cream counter, was a third dad. He and his girlfriend or ex-wife, I'm not sure which, share custody of a gorgeous two-year-old with black curls to her shoulders. He was alone this morning.

So A. hoisted the top half of her body onto the chair, her feet pedaling briefly in the air as she worked her knees up to the seat. The barstool made a tiny screech. And at that moment each of those three dads threw out an arm to guard her. Three hands were suddenly in the air at her back, just in case.

The scene lasted two seconds, but the picture of it will stay in my mind for a long time. She was fine, of course, my surefooted little climber, and I had to fight the impulse to apologize to those guys, or thank them, or something needless like that. They were just doing what came naturally, and that's what was so awesome. They turned back to their coffees, Baby A sat down properly, and that was that.

To me it's all proof that it really does take a village to raise a child. Or, as our friends who own another local coffeeshop like to say, it takes a coffeeshop to raise a child.