Before she fell asleep, she was holding her ear. She got up at 05:30, before the rooster crowed. We put in drops and suck out drool every 15-20 minutes. And so, always something small but that’s how it goes. 
You just have to NOT get annoyed and find a way to still have a good time. 
Our Artist 
She’s not going to kindergarten today. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because an ear infection has decided to keep her home. Before she finally drifted off to sleep last night, she held her tiny hand to her ear, her face scrunched up with discomfort. Even in her dreams, she seemed to seek relief. But despite the pain, she remains our artist, our little creator, always finding beauty in the everyday.
At exactly 05:30, before even the rooster could announce the new day, she was up. Her big, tired eyes blinked in the dim morning light, her small body shifting restlessly under the weight of the discomfort. We were up too, gently placing drops in her ear, soothing her forehead with soft strokes, and doing our best to ease her pain. Every 15 to 20 minutes, we sucked out drool, wiped her lips, adjusted her pillows, and whispered reassuring words.
And so, the day began—early and unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. Because this is life, isn’t it? A collection of small, unpredictable moments. A series of adjustments. A balancing act between frustration and grace. The trick is to not get annoyed, but instead, to find a way to turn these moments into something special.
So, that’s exactly what we did.
Finding Magic in the Ordinary
She may not be feeling her best, but her spirit is still bright. As she nestles in a pile of pillows, wrapped in the warmth of home, her fingers reach for a crayon. One stroke, then another. The world around her may be blurry with discomfort, but her imagination is as clear as ever.
With each slow movement of her hand, her paper transforms. She doesn’t let the ache in her ear stop her from creating. A swirly pink sun appears, even though it’s still early morning. A smiling cat, a little wobbly but full of charm, takes form under her careful touch. A butterfly flutters in blue, as if to remind us that even on days when we don’t feel our best, there is beauty to be found.
She looks up at me, eyes filled with determination. “I’m still an artist today.”
“Yes, you are, my love,” I reply, kissing her warm forehead. “Always.”
The Little Things That Make a Day
The morning stretches on, and we settle into a rhythm. There are warm cups of chamomile tea, careful spoonfuls of honey, and cozy moments wrapped up in a soft, favorite blanket. We tell stories—sometimes real, sometimes invented on the spot. In one tale, a little fox loses her way in the woods but finds it again by following the sound of her own heartbeat. In another, a tiny star falls from the sky and lands in a child’s hands, where it learns to shine even brighter than before.
We giggle in between sips of tea, between moments of rest and drowsiness. The pain comes and goes, but it doesn’t steal the entire day.
When she’s awake enough, we set up a tiny “art studio” on the bed. A sketchbook, a small box of colored pencils, and a few stickers. She doodles slowly, deliberately. Each drawing, no matter how simple, is a victory over discomfort.
“I’ll make something beautiful,” she says.
“You already are,” I tell her.
The Art of Making the Best of It
By afternoon, the ear drops have done their magic, and the pain starts to soften. Not completely, but just enough for her to smile a little more. She asks for music, something gentle. We play soft melodies that wrap around us like a hug. She sways her hands in the air, drawing invisible patterns, lost in the rhythm.
We bring out her favorite book, and though her energy is low, she still turns the pages with the same wonder she always has. Her little fingers trace the illustrations, pausing now and then to admire the colors, the characters, the small worlds inside the book.
These are the moments that remind me: childhood is resilient. Even when sickness knocks, even when plans are disrupted, even when things are less than perfect, a child finds a way to embrace the day.
The Day’s Closing Notes
As the sun begins to set, she rests her head on my lap, fingers loosely wrapped around a half-colored picture. Her breathing slows, her body finally finding the rest it needs. The house is quiet now, except for the occasional whisper of the wind outside and the rhythmic ticking of the clock.
I sit beside her, watching her sleep. Today didn’t go as planned. Kindergarten will have to wait. But we found our own way through the day, making space for small joys, tiny victories, and gentle moments of love.
And that, in the end, is what truly matters.
She is our artist—sick or well, tired or full of energy. She creates, she imagines, she finds magic in the little things. And we, in turn, learn from her.
Because in life, there will always be something—an illness, a delay, an unexpected change. But we always have a choice. We can let frustration take over, or we can choose to find the beauty in it, just like she does.
Tomorrow will be a new day, and soon, her ear infection will be a distant memory. But today, today was its own kind of masterpiece.
And that is enough.
We were completely thrilled with the organization – over 800 participants ran at night at the Petrovaradin Fortress. Obstacles, training areas, 
wife wedding 