I don’t multi-task very well. If I’m working, I enjoy being part of a team, but I don’t like too much banter while I’m focussing on the job in hand.
At home, I’ve tried doing more than one thing at once, but it often results in burnt vegetables, a light left on upstairs or a tap left running downstairs. I love playing games, but not while I’m chopping up onions and the like.
One day when I was busy in the kitchen, multi-tasking badly, my daughter entered and asked me to choose a colour.
I assumed she must have found her dad’s paint brochure, as each shade had a posh emulsion name.
“Mummy, choose between, Magenta, Sunshine, Coral or Mint Mist.”
“Er…Coral.”
“Now pick a number out of 6, 10, 14 or 20.”
With each hand using a pincer grip, she was holding a piece of paper that had been folded into a square shape. There was a gap at the four corners where forefingers and thumbs slotted into. Once inside the gap, it looked like the digits were wearing a conical shaped hat that was able to stretch in different directions. This construction is commonly known as a ‘Paper Chatterbox’ or an ‘Origami Fortune Teller’.
I picked Number 6. She lifted up a flap on her chatterbox where the 6 was and read out an instruction to hop on one leg. As I obeyed, the pot I was holding slushed pasta and sweetcorn all around the sides and the contents became rather mushy.
The game continued with Sarah insisting that I perform various tasks and with me half-heartedly playing along while trying to distract her into leaving the kitchen.
After what seemed like the longest 3 minutes in history, I had been made to snort like a pig, squawk like an eagle and do a silly dance. Enough was enough. I didn’t want to play anymore. It was 4:15 pm and the wet washing still hadn’t made it to the line. The bin needed emptying and I had a sink full of dirty dishes.
Sarah was still in the school uniform I had asked her to take off an hour ago and I was in no mood for repetitive action games.
She continued flicking her paper creation back and forth.
“Okay, choose from, 1, 7, 22 or 300.”
“Ah!” I mused gleefully. “I’ll choose the largest number so that it will take her some time. Three hundred.”
She counted in hundreds and was done in seconds.
“Okay…laugh like a marmoset.”
“What? Right okay, I can’t do this anymore Sarah, I’m busy. Let’s play this later. No, I’m not going to try just one cackle, go and play while I finish off in here.”
She hung her head and left the room. I hung my head too. A fatherly voice spoke deep into my spirit. What was most important at that time? Is getting the dinner finished more imperative than playing with my cherished daughter? Couldn’t I just put my spoon down for 5 minutes?
What is 5 minutes of your life when your child wants to have a quick bit of fun with you?
It hit me hard. I thought to myself that there will be a day all too soon when Sarah will not want to see me do impressions of an animal, not even in private. That day, we all know, creeps up on us and comes far quicker than we imagine.
I thought about the first day she was born and how that seemed like only yesterday. I pondered on the fact that she was now more than half my height. Then I looked into the living room and imagined a place so quiet, where no innocent child resides. No doll clothes strewn about the floor and no rainbow loom-band bracelets stuck in between the settee cushions.
I remembered that first kiss. A cheek so soft and eyelashes so long. Cherry red lips and a tiny chest moving up and down. That moment was so precious. How many more embraces will I have?
I threw my spoon into the washing-up water and as the soap suds splashed around the draining board, I rushed into her personal space. Then, I opened my mouth so wide that my top lip curled under, revealing my gums. Closing my eyes tightly I let out the loudest, craziest, “Ee, ee, ee, ee, ee!” that anyone has ever heard.
