Well, after a week where we were all sick (again) and our water heater leaked (but was replaced,) I feel like it's been ages since I posted though it's only been two weeks. Whew. The next time I say I want to move---unless it's to a house---someone please slap me. Or send me away to a nice padded room somewhere....:-P
Tonight my hubby and the wee one and I went out to a local Italian restaurant whereupon our daughter---who is a whopping three years old and three feet tall---informed us that she was too short. I don't know where she's getting this (though it might be just her noticing comparisons; her dad is 6'2 and I'm not precisely short either), but I wonder if she's starting to make the connection between the things the "big kids" can do and the things that she can't yet.
The thing is, she is growing (and how) into someone who's neither her dad nor I, but herself. I looked at her tonight and was reminded of a poem Khalil Gibran wrote years ago about children in The Prophet:
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.
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