The scene is always the same. She sits down with her bowl of cereal, I might be eating eggs, a bread-roll, a salad — it really makes no difference. She usually has a cup of juice or some tea to go with her breakfast; I try to make sure it’s placed as far from me as possible.
Fortunately, today she doesn’t spill her drink (she almost destroyed my laptop once and has splashed on my trousers many times). She’s happy, eating her cereal and splattering less than usual (although milk droplets wobble on her chin). I offer her a tissue and ask her what she plans to do today. She changes the subject, telling me instead what she and her sister did yesterday. I follow most of what she’s telling me, but lose the thread here and there when the conversation turns to babble.
She leans over and pilfers a piece of what I’m eating — without asking. I smile and say nothing.
She never asks me about my day, what’s happening in my life, how things are going. She offers little information about her own activities or even her feelings. She has yet to tell me what her dreams are.
I have now finished eating and get up, ready to start my day. She ignores me, scoops a cornflake from the table into her mouth.
We haven’t discussed anything meaningful and seem to live in completely different worlds. Yet, I have loved every moment of our time together. I wish this little time capsule of pure love would last forever.
I have just eaten breakfast with my two-year-old.
“Avinu Malkeinu, Avinu Atah”, the Rosh Hashanah liturgy reminds us that G-d is our father. We may look like a sloppy two-year-old when we perform his instructions, and our prayers probably sound incoherent. But, He loves us all the same and cherishes every moment that we spend with Him.