I signed the reading diary while standing up and felt guilty about the way I did it

Dear Delyara, It took three seconds. Name, initials, date. My son handed it to me while I was reaching for a pan, and instead of saying wait a minute and doing it properly, I scribbled the signature at the counter with one hand while still half-thinking about dinner. He didn’t care. He took it and walked off. I cared. Because I could feel the quality of my own life in that tiny moment. Everything done at speed, half-present, function over attention, another necessary thing ticked off while my real self lagged somewhere behind the tasks. It wasn’t a moral failure. It still made me sad. I don’t want every act of care to feel rushed at the edges. And too often lately, it does.