My daughter jumped up and down in delight. “It went pop! It went pop!” The energy in our house went into overdrive as she jumped into the kitchen and gestured with her arms to be lifted so she could see the toast poking out of the toaster.
I put the toast onto a plate, the colour of which she had to choose earlier, which, after careful deliberation, was pink. After spreading a gigantic knifeful of Nuttalex, a generous sprinkling of hundreds-and-thousands was added. Then it was cut into triangles, and the plate was served.
Bon appetite!
Fairy bread brings back memories of my own childhood. The delight of a simple meal and the wonder that hundreds-and-thousands bring. It truly was a magical treat. Fairy bread often made an appearance at the birthday parties we went to, and there was always excitement in the air.
I remember a lot of the parties. How we dressed up as soldiers to play fantasy adventures in a friend’s wooden fort and playhouse. The streamers and celebrations, people running everywhere.
I loved it.
I remember the delight between my sister and me as we energetically ran to the table to devour our latest serving on a summer day.
This is a stage of fatherhood I have been looking forward to and dreaming about, to have my son or daughter engaged in the food creation process. To laugh with them as we baked up a storm, or eagerly decorated a magical creation we had made.
Looking back, I had many dreams and ideas about what fatherhood would be like. Hopes and desires on how my children would be, should I be lucky enough to have any.
Just like her parents, she is stoked when we make fairy bread. I’ll enjoy these moments for as long as they last.
Yes, they won’t last forever. So I have to be present and attentive to these moments. It’s easy for me, after a while, to start to put my attention elsewhere. Whilst I have gotten better at avoiding the lure of the phone, there is always something else. Should I put some of the dishes away now, whilst there is a free moment? Can I clean something? It feels justified at the time because I’ve spent a few minutes watching my daughter’s delight as she stuffs the fairy bread into her mouth.
I’m learning that these things can wait. Dishes can be put away later. Cleaning can happen once we have finished our current activity.
There will be a time where my daughter no longer eats fairy bread. After all, how many of us adults eat fairy bread? Yet we all fondly recall the days.
One day, I’ll go to make it, and she’ll push the plate back at me and say, “no thanks, dad.”
Part of why I want to potter around at times is this feeling that I constantly have to do more. To shoulder as much as I can carry. To step up more and be more. Be more active in the community than I currently am. See my friends and family more. Grow a business. Continue to be on the body corporate committee because we live in a complex and should contirbute.
This, I now believe, has been an unhelpful way to look at things.
Fatherhood is an important role. So is that of a husband at this time of life. It should take up the majority of my time. Therefore, there is no other option but to reduce other things if I don’t want to be overwhelmed. The percentage of my time has to be 100%, not more. Which is where I was headed in my attempt to do more, shoulder more, achieve more. It would have resulted in a reduction of my time and attention as a dad.
Thinking more about the roles I inhabit, and how they change over time, has been an interesting exercise. I say I want to be a great father. That means being there for the ordinary moments in life. Frequently. If I’m thinkingn about my total time, that is where it needs to be. And my attention as well. If I’m overloaded at work and with other commitments, it doesn’t matter if I’m present but my thoughts are distracted and I’m not paying attention to what is there.
The best thing I can do, is take a step back, and devote myself to the role of father to a toddler and being a supportive husband. Then it’s doing what needs to be done at work, seeing family and friends, keeping myself fit with workouts where I can. Being a part of the Brisbane Stoics. That’s it.
And I’m content with that.
But back to the fairy bread. Eyes wide with delight, my daughter finishes her treat, making sure to suck her fingers and get all of the Nuttalex and hundres-and-thousands.
“More,” she asks after a while. She laughs with delight as we get the bread out and wants to be picked up and stay with me as we watch the toaster, waiting for the pop to come.
She jumps up and down in my arms when it happens.
Then we make the next piece, cut it into triangles, and sit down to eat some more. She takes a bite, puts it down, and runs to get her plush animals to seat them around us so they can join in too.
Soon the tea set is out and we are having a tea party with all of our friends.
These are the moments that matter.
These special moments intertwined with daily life. But we have to be attentive and present to experiernce them. They won’t last forever.
One day, we’ll look back at these memories with fondess, glad that we were able to experience them.
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