5.29.2012
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.
— Kahlil Gibran
5.29.2012
5.28.2012
Bugs
5.12.2012
5.11.2012
5.9.2012
When I am working on a book or a story I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There is no one to disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and warm as you write. You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again.
— Ernest Hemingway
5.6.2012
3.23.2012
When you’re not around, I think about you, relating everything to some experience we had or something you were very proud of recently, like putting small toy cars as passengers in big toy cars, or putting on sunglasses. Last night we had a bath together and took turns sipping water from the bathtub faucet and spitting it into the soap dish. I toweled us off in front of the wall heater near the entrance of this apartment, then I held you up to inspect the peephole. You repeatedly opened the little iron door, asked two questions, then closed and latched the little iron door. It’s one of those things that I hope I remember to ask you in time, because you’re so close to English: what two questions were you asking through the peephole?
3.16.2012
Yesterday you saw your first ad on TV, at least that I’ve witnessed. It irritated you so much every time ‘Thomas & The Magic Railroad’ (starring Alec Baldwin as Mr. Conductor) went to break. You turned to me, repeating your made-up word for anything with moving pictures on it. “Ada? Ada? Ada!” Apparently you understand narrative.
Later that night you insisted on sleeping on the couch. You wanted a pillow and blanket, even. Everything was off in the living room. You’ve been stuffy for a couple of days, especially in bed. My theory is that you made an association with reclining on the chesterfield and comfortable breathing while we watched Alec Baldwin earlier. You’ve falled asleep on couches before, it makes sense.
3.5.2012
3.5.2012
2.26.2012
You said your first full sentence today. It came out of nowhere, and it was on a sort of esoteric topic. You said, about an electronic toy of yours: “I don’t want it off.”
2.15.2012
2.15.2012
2.14.2012
