All that comes with it

cartoon from http://www.nataliedee.com/ 

Someone in my office was talking about a recent visit from their boyfriend’s nieces. She described them as being incapable of letting a second go by where they weren’t receiving the undivided attention of a grown up. Whether it was doing a jigsaw or dressing up they insisted that an adult bear witness. These kids were six, but her recount of their behaviour rang true with a recent worry I’ve been having about my parenting style.

I’m a pretty full on Dad. On days when I’m not working I like to spend as much time as humanly possible with my daughter. Generally this involves an outing of some sort; to the community farm, play gym, swimming, or whatever; but we also bake or paint or read books at home. My point is that I very rarely leave her to her own devices for any prolonged length of time. Periodically throughout the day I’ll log on to the net, check my emails, read the headlines, and obsessively see if I’ve had any new comments since the last five minutes I checked. I might even go upstairs for a little bit or leave the front door open so Amy can wander in and out as she pleases. But as a rule we spend most of our time together.

My question is: can too much of a good thing be a bad thing? I’m not fishing for compliments here, I know I’m a relatively good Dad, and I know I’m lucky to spend so much time with my daughter. But should I be giving her more space to play on her own without me sticking my nose in? Is nearly three too young for her to be encouraged to make her own entertainment? Should I be leaving her to her own devices more often?

I imagine that she doesn’t receive constant attention at nursery; they work on a ratio of one adult to three children there and so there must be some rationing going on. And on days when Kerry has her, or even the odd occasion when we are both off work together, I’m sure that the balance is about right. I’m not worried for her development or anything drastic like that, I’m just a little concerned that in my desire to spend time with her I may be squashing her ability to spend time on her own.

Kerry and I have never really had an our song; At my most beautiful by R.E.M. is probably the closest we come. Amy on the other hand has a number of songs with which she will be forever linked in our minds. Since her birth we’ve sung to her, frequently adapting a few words here and there in order to make her the focus of the lyrics.

This evening we were listening and dancing to the Stevie Wonder album Songs in the key of life. When a particularly well known track came on she suddenly stopped dancing and proclaimed ‘Listen Mummy, the man is singing “Aren’t I lovely!” ‘.

In many respects I’m a very responsible person. I keep to the speed limit, try to shop ethically, and very rarely pull a sickie at work. In other ways, however, I am a raging torrent of heady irresponsibility. I’m forever leaving the margarine out rather than put it back in the fridge, I’ve been known to forget to feed the dog on occasion, and I really don’t brush my teeth as often as I should. However, perhaps the most financially damaging of all my irresponsible traits is my inability to return library books on time.

In my life I have amassed incredibly large fines in the public libraries of at least three major UK cities. Fines, I must add, that remain unpaid to this day. Furthermore this antisocial behaviour has caused two separate universities to threaten to withhold qualifications from me, insisting that I paid them for overdue books before they would even consider granting my degrees. I have even potentially caused a bomb scares by dumping carrier bags full of overdue books in the middle of the reference section, all because I was too much of a coward to face the rather stern woman at the returns desk.

Not only have I racked up fines on my own library cards, I’ve also tarnished the records of friends and relations. My friend Neil regularly reminds me that I owe him money for a fine he incurred because I didn’t return a book I borrowed on his card when we were 18. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a photo fit of my face behind every library counter in the country, emblazoned with warnings of kissing their timely returns targets goodbye should I even be allowed to cross their threshold

Strangely enough the career of librarian has always appealed to me. When I used to collect comics I revelled in the task of categorising, organising, and cataloguing them, using a wide variety of complex systems which changed almost weekly. In fact in a parallel universe somewhere I probably am a librarian; I once was corresponding with the head of the local television station’s archive department about a potential opening for me. In the end I decided to go for my nurse training instead, but you never know what might have been.

There are many wonderful things about being married to Kerry. She is patient, understanding, and brings me diet coke from the shop on her way back from work. One of the many things I value about her is the organisational influence she has on my life. It is this influence that has allowed me to venture through the doors of a library once more without the feeling of impending financial ruin. She does strange and wonderful things like: remember when a book is due back and ring up the library to renew them! Breathtaking.

Because of this steadying impact she has I am now able to regularly take Amy to the library. It saves a fortune in books and stops our brains turning to mush as we read the same bedtime stories to her over and over again. She hasn’t quite grasped the fact that when we return books she no longer owns them yet; and I’ve had a couple of discussions with her recently about the benefit of choosing new books over the ones we’ve just taken back. But overall our visits are a positive experience.

I can now say, with hand on my heart, that I’m a reformed man. I am no longer a library outlaw, and it’s all due to the love of a good woman. I’ve just got to hope that the library doesn’t dust off that photo fit under the counter and realise that I’ve no longer got a beard.