Parental Bears.

This a powerful yet humble reading that my father used to read to me when I was younger. I hope it finds seed in the good soil of your soul xx

On Children,
-The Prophet.

Written by Kahlil 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.

Happy Friday everyone xx

The second Sunday of May.

I guess if I had to sum up my Mum in one word it would be thoughtful. Mum was always the one who worked long hours running the family business with Dad, but never failed to have homemade biscuits in the cupboard, an immaculate house and a proper dinner on the table each night.

Mum wasn’t just Mum. She had other secret alter ego’s too: the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. She was the one who bought all our Xmas presents and would put the 50 cent pieces in our glasses of water from the Tooth Fairy.

Ever since I moved out of home I’ve received a package of flannelette pyjamas every winter and a package of marshmallow Easter eggs and a bunny for my boyfriend at the time.

She's the one who told me that being sensitive is a gift and that I could be whatever I wanted in life.

Mum's dream in life was to go to provincial Italy and her and Dad finally got to go last year. This is a photo of Mum pinching figs in Tuscany from some unsuspecting Italian's tree.

When I was young and innocent I would make a continental breakfast menu every Mothers Day and get her to tick the boxes according to which type of juice she would like or if she would prefer jam or vegemite on her toast. Of course she still has all of my little menu's stored away in her wardrobe somewhere. Her and Dad are in a campervan in South Australia somewhere at the moment drinking wine and sampling cheese, otherwise I would have made another menu, or at least taken her out for breakfast.

Happy Mother’s Day MummyBear. I love you xxxxxx.