Sorry son....yet again.

I kissed Luqman's forehead as I left the house this morning. He was still in bed. A pang of guilt again drenched my heart. This month, I have been home for less than a week - and a few of those days I arrived home when he was already in bed.
Last night we went to one of his friends' birthday party. When we stopped at the ToyR-Us to buy gifts for his friend, he too picked up one toy for himself and looked at me for approval.
Lil said "No" instantly. The first parent's responce stays. He knows that. LiL and I do not contradict each other openly in front of our children. He looked down, despondent and dejected. I did not have the heart to see his dissappointed look. LiL did not want to encourage him to be impulsive with buying toys. I was feeling guilty and want to make it up with material things.
As always, I do not undermine LiL's decision in front of my children. I nudged LiL to follow me to the other side of teh shelves and pleaded for her to allow Luqman to buy something. We compromised - he can buy a less costly toy.
He was smiling when LiL told him so and immediately placed the remote control thing back on the shelf and went looking for an alternative toy to buy. Finally he came back with a kind of battery added portable microphone cum loudspeaker. This morning, I saw that microphone thing tightly huddled in his embrace.

While waiting in the lounge I wrote this entry. I found this poem forwarded to me by one of my friends. I think it is relevant. This is not my original poem - but I could not remember the author to give appropriate credit to.

My Hands Were Busy

My hands were busy throughout the day

I didn't have much time to play

The little games you asked me to

I didn't have much time for you.

I'd watch TV, update my blogs,

I'd listen to radio and go for a jog,

But when you'd bring your picture book

And ask me please to share your fun,

I'd say: "A little later, son.

I'd tuck you in all safe at night"

And hear your prayers, turn out the light,

Then tiptoe softly to the door...

I wished I'd stayed a minute more.

For time is short, the years rush past...

A little boy grows up so fast.

No longer is he at your side,

His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,

There are no longer games to play,

No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear...

That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands, once busy, now are still.

The days are long and hard to fill.

I wish I could go back and do

The little things you asked me to.

- credit to the orginal author of this poem.