London - As wedding anniversary dinners go, it was pleasant and predictable.
A table at our local restaurant so the baby-sitter wasn’t kept up too late on a week night, a meal of steak, chips and a glass of red wine.
Opposite us we noticed a couple sitting in silence for the duration of their dinner. Mr Candy and I, by contrast, still had much to discuss 15 years after we tied the knot, which makes me happy.
What more could you ask for in a husband? Surely it’s all you need.
Earlier, when we left the house, I’d had to explain where we were going ten times to Mabel, who’s four.
Her princess-like demands require the presence of both parents almost every minute of every day (this is “fourth baby syndrome” - they are clingy and formidable little bossypants), so she isn’t keen on us having an evening out.
When I told her about our low-key, crystal wedding anniversary celebration, she exclaimed: “But he isn’t a husband, he is a dad!” And for 13 of our 15-year marriage he has, indeed, been a dad. In fact, he has been a father for much longer than he has been just a boyfriend or husband, given we have known each other for 20 years.
So much is made of motherhood now that having children is almost a religion. Parenting has become a cult-like experience with constant discussion and debate on how to do it perfectly, the assumption being that children are the centre of our universe.
I don’t think this is how it should be, but all this worshipping and nurturing of the little ones can turn moms into a domestic deity, while along the way it is easy to forget dads or husbands and how most of them potter through the painful surprise that is fatherhood with quiet dignity. When I became pregnant with our first child, I read every book there was on being a mom. I blindly followed the doctrine, believing this was the most important thing that would ever happen to me.
And, of course, it is extraordinarily important - but it is just one of the things that matter in life, not the only thing.
I talked about my impending motherhood endlessly and mentally tested every scenario of childbirth and child-rearing. I was a total babybore.
Mr Candy, on the other hand, read nothing. Not for him nights of endless paternal research. He had no idea what a Babygro was or how it buttoned up.
One minute he was a husband and then, at 8.32am on Sunday, August 25, 2002, he was a dad.
And that is what I am most impressed by: for at that moment, everything and nothing changed for the man I married.
Nowadays, when I look around our chaotic house on a school morning and see him quietly pouring the milk on Mabel’s Weetabix or supplying our eldest with endless cups of tea, I know, for sure, that I am lucky to have chosen this patient man, one of today’s do-it-all dads, who just gets on with it in his own, straightforward way. He means everything to me.
We have survived the sleep-free, early years and I can’t think of a stronger person than him to have at my side to tackle the terror of the teenage years to come.
Sometimes at family tea we play the ‘apocalypse game’. If the world were to end and you could pick a team to rebuild a new world with people you know, who would you need?
Mabel always says “a unicorn” first, but then all four of them chant “Dad” immediately.
“He can build stuff,” my nine-year-old son says.
“He is good at maths and he knows about computers,” the eldest explains.
“He can play the guitar,” 11-year-old Gracie adds (I notice they are all subconsciously picking the things they do with Dad).
“He can ride a bike,” Mabel contributes.
There is a pause while I try to hide my disappointment that I wasn’t anyone’s first choice.
“But we have to pick Mom as well,” my son says. “Because Dad can’t do it without Mom.”
Daily Mail
LORRAINE CANDY is editor-in-chief of Elle magazine.