|unconvincing on so many levels|
I don’t remember it but I can picture it in my minds eye. When I was little, probably not much old than Fifi’s two and a half years, I went through a phase of only eating toast and Marmite and refusing to go to sleep unless my Dad was lying on the bed with me. I don’t remember how old I was when I realised he wasn’t omnipotent or indestructible, it was certainly before I found out he had cancer but it didn’t make that revelation any less shocking.
I suppose it’s the lot of a working dad to not be the main disciplinarian and to boot when we go out at the weekends it seems like I’m taking us somewhere cool because I like to do the driving. This means I tend to get shouted at and sent to the naughty step by the kids a lot less than Wifey does. I’m profoundly sorry for this most of the time, other times when I see Fifi trying to get cross with me, bottom lip quivering, I can’t help but laugh.
Of a week day I only see the kids for about an hour in the evening (excluding the endless trips upstairs to answer the calls of “Daaaaaaaaaaad”) and I usually only see Fifi in the morning as the boy tends to sleep pretty late.
It’s too easy to come home either wrapped up in the day or with your mind on things that need to be done before you go to bed but I constantly have to remind myself that these are the few precious years that my kids will think I’m all powerful and feel safe and protected by me if I give them the opportunity to.
Still, it doesn’t stop me getting indigestion when I’ve got to play Lion King or Superheroes after just eating sausage and mash…