Today was a different kind of Sunday.
Not our usual rhythm,
not the familiar comfort of what we’ve come to expect.
Joel had Luca all day and night,
so I suggested we break tradition—
do something as a family unit,
just to see where the morning might take us.
We went to Le Friquet for cake and a drink.
The kids ate happily,
Tilly drifting off into her own world,
doing her own thing in that almost-all-too-grown-up way of hers.
For a while, it was just the four of us,
easy, simple, good.
Later, Tilly and I went off together—
the familiar parting, the drop-off at her dad’s.
I carried on with the usual errands,
while Joel and Luca slipped back into their own Sunday pattern,
heading to Joel’s parents.
Joel’s mum and dad kept Luca for an hour,
giving Joel and me our now almost ritual Sunday reset:
a swim, or something close.
The tide was high,
the water choppy—
so instead of swimming we bobbed and floated,
chatting, letting the sea do what it does best:
clear the air, clear our heads,
help us breathe before the new week begins.
Afterwards, we picked up Luca,
and Joel dropped me home—
with flowers,
with food for tea.
Little gestures that always say more than words.
And I’ll admit it—
I felt a flicker of disappointment,
missing our usual Sunday quiet together.
But I remind myself:
Luca loves this time with his dad.
He’ll have a good night.
And that softens the edges of the feeling.
A bit.