It’s Monday morning, and I find myself thinking back on a weekend filled with everyday life — on everything that happened between Friday and Sunday. One of those weekends that look ordinary on the surface, but somehow end up holding tenderness, worry, laughter, and small adventures.
Read this post in Swedish ->En helg fylld av vardag
Some weekends just shape themselves. They unfold without plans, without strategy, yet they leave traces behind.
This one was exactly that: messy, warm, ordinary — and still quietly meaningful.
A sick cat, IKEA boxes, the egg round, calendar chaos, and a book project that slowly started moving again.
It’s strange how much life can fit into just two days.
The Cat’s Illness – and the Hardest Decision Slowly Taking Shape
Here I sit again. Early morning. Coffee ready, milk frothed, the beans freshly ground.
The cat meows — two small, fragile sounds — but gives up quickly. He’s starting to understand that he can’t go outside, no matter how much he wants to.
He’s better now. Eating okay.
But my husband and I have made a decision:
we can’t be selfish anymore.
He’s been hospitalized twice in the past six months for the same thing. Something is wrong, and we can’t pretend anymore.
If he gets sick again… then it’s time.
Time to let him go.
It hurts to think about.
But letting him suffer for weeks would hurt him more.
Friday and Saturday – Joys, Warmth, and a Cake That Tasted Like a Hug
Friday was celebration day. Good food, and even better cake. Meringue, chocolate, whipped cream, raspberries — our daughter baked as if she were baking a hug.
Yesterday, my husband and I went to town.
The Christmas ham is bought.
The meatballs ready to be rolled.
The New Year’s tenderloin waiting in the fridge.
Even the Christmas soda is cooling in the sauna.
Little still lifes of December, suddenly taking shape.
I even bought two big packs of laundry detergent.
Adult points.
Saturday’s Moment – Two Boys in the Store and the Thoughts That Stayed
At the electronics store, I saw two boys — maybe twelve or thirteen — fiddling with something, clearly trying to hide what they were doing.
Just as I was about to pay, I saw them slip out.
I said,
“Unfortunately, they’re leaving the store now.”
I think about things like that often.
Not as a judge — more as someone who has seen what happens when the thrill becomes a rush a child starts chasing.
They need to be stopped early, before it grows roots.
A few weeks ago, something similar happened near our home. Those boys were chased out and ran so scared they probably won’t try again.
It left me strangely relieved.
Small Purchases That Make a Home Softer
At IKEA we bought candles and storage boxes.
The bench where the stereo stands is no longer a pile of everything — now the clutter rests quietly in boxes, and the room feels calmer.
Order gives breathing room.
I notice that more and more.
We also picked up two Christmas gifts for the kids across the road:
a stuffed animal for the little girl and a Rubik’s cube for the boy.
He feels like the kind of kid who might actually solve one.
We’ll drop them off on Christmas Eve.
Not for exchange — just so a child feels seen.
That is enough.
Sunday – The Egg Round, the Calendar Chaos, and Everything That Needs Fixing Twice
We did our little egg delivery — one tray for each child, as always. A quiet way of saying we’re here.
We also brought advent calendars, but of course something was wrong.
Chocolate in Hugo’s — and he can’t have milk.
So back home we went, emptied all the little doors, refilled them with Haribo, and drove back again.
It worked out.
It usually does, when you redo and do right.
The rest of the day was gift wrapping.
I thought I was done — but Christmas apparently has its own opinions.
Tape everywhere, wrapping paper always one centimeter too short, but still… beautiful.
The Book Project – The Winged Horse at Dusk and the Worry That Arrives When You Care
During the weekend I returned to my book project, The Winged Horse at Dusk.
It felt good to be back among the words, the feelings, the story that has lived with me for so long.
Now it will grow into a read-aloud book — with worksheets, questions, and small activities for children and adults to explore together.
A book to talk about.
A book that builds connection, curiosity, and safety.
But when I sent it to two friends for feedback…
that’s when it arrived.
The worry.
My whole body whispered:
“What if it’s bad?”
“What if I should be ashamed?”
“What if I’m not good enough?”
And I know why it comes.
It’s only because I care.
Sharing a story is sharing a piece of yourself — and vulnerability feels like danger, even when it isn’t.
So the story rests with them.
And I try to rest with myself.
Then a letter arrived from the woman who has believed in me for years — the one who saw me long before I ever saw myself.
Her words about the story softened something inside me.
Just a little, but enough.
Because the truth is:
if she had said the story wasn’t good enough, I would have believed her.
And I would have broken a little.
Her voice carries that much weight.
She never sugarcoats.
She tells the truth, out of respect.
And when she says something holds — it holds.
She once invited me into spaces where she would never risk her own name unless she truly trusted me.
She used my words in her lectures.
You don’t do that out of politeness.
So maybe…
maybe I can believe her now too.
Maybe the story is better than my fear tries to tell me.
The Dream – and the Little Girl Who Was Afraid of Bigger Shoes
When I think back on that dream — the man in the kitchen, the sudden fear — I wonder if it wasn’t about danger at all.
Maybe it was the little girl in me, startled by the fact that I now stood in bigger shoes than she ever dared wear.
Shoes that actually fit, even if they still felt unfamiliar.
Shoes that didn’t pinch.
And maybe she believed I was leaving her behind —
in the tight, uncomfortable shoes she had learned to survive in.
But I’m not going anywhere without her.
We walk together now.
She rests in my safety — not the other way around.
Maybe that’s why I have to keep going.
Not despite the worry, but because of it.
It’s the signal that this matters.
Between the Lines – My Voice (Reflection)
What looks like a weekend filled with everyday life on the surface carries something much deeper beneath it: responsibility, love, worry, joy, courage. ability to notice the small things — in the child, the cat, the story, and in myself — turns ordinary days into something that lands instead of passing by. Perhaps that is where life grows the most.
AHA – Between the Lines
It’s not everyday life that is small.
It’s we who sometimes forget how big the tiny moments really are.
And maybe that’s why this weekend felt different:
because I stood in bigger shoes than before —
and realized, for the first time,
that they fit.
Questions for the Reader
– Have you ever had a weekend that looked ordinary on the surface but stirred something inside you?
– When in your daily life do the small things matter the most?
– How do you handle worry when you’ve created something personal or meaningful?
– What gestures of care in your life remind you that you’re not alone?
– How do you find balance between letting go and holding on?
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Home page: https://malix.se/
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Yesterday has already settled into history, tomorrow waits somewhere ahead.
But right now — this is where life happens.
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