Today was the day to head back home. A little escape to the sea always feels like the best therapy for me. This morning, by half past six, I was already awake, ready to see the day begin. I walked quietly to the coast just to watch the sun rise, and it was worth every step. The light felt like a wash of watercolor over the world, much like the subtle yellows and greens I'd later use in my own hurried sketches.
The drawing I made of my kids walking away, hand-in-hand and their, dad playing with the last born at the sea shore, their figures captured in a tangle of cross-hatched lines feels like the perfect snapshot of this tired, beautiful weekend. It speaks to the constant forward motion of parenting, even when you're physically exhausted.
Since a week I have been using a sibionic sensor to keep an eye on my glucose. Taking care of my kids is already a full-time job, but lately, I felt something was off with my body. So I am trying to walk away my peaks, although to be honest, the hypos are the ones that bother me the most. That constant awareness, that fine line between energy and collapse, felt like the restless, scribbled energy of the pen in my hand.
But today wasn't just about managing numbers. Oh, and I did something brave today. I stole my son’s phone for a while so we could have some real time together. He survived without it, and I must say I enjoyed the quiet. It forced us to connect, much like the quiet intensity of pushing a pencil onto paper. It was a small act of connection against the digital static.
In the end, I still reached 9,000 steps, even while pushing the wheelchair. Not bad for a day that started with a sunrise that healed and ended with a tired but happy me.
It's a reminder that every day is a combination of fragile beauty a sunrise, a child's hand and fierce effort managing health, pushing that chair, stealing that phone. These are the moments, messy and real, that deserve to be sketched.
