I feel very negligent about the blog.
I have started about a billion (ok, slight exaggeration) posts in my head, but this last week has kicked my booty. My hubby had shoulder surgery and is currently going through a very painful recovery. I had a (good) meeting with J-man's preschool, and also toured another private school for the future (which I really, really liked). J-man was sick early in the week, and I caught his cold late in the week. Oh, and the regular chaos is also in play.
Consider my booty kicked.
So, once I have my life straightened out (or at least a little less curvy), I promise to come up with some insightful stuff.
In the meantime, I wanted to share with you a poem I stumbled upon this week that really hit a chord with me. I will probably talk about it later, but in the meantime, here it is for your pleasure. Discuss.
by Kahil Gibran
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.