Blueberries Biscuit And The Beauty Of The Five K Grind

It is just before 6:00 PM, and the little blue house is finally settling into that soft, late-afternoon hush. Mark just walked through the door about forty minutes ago, smelling like sun-baked gravel and wood, and he’s currently in the backyard giving Biscuit a much-needed brushing. I can hear Noah’s giggles from the porch; he’s wearing his favorite velociraptor pajamas even though it’s way too early for bed, insisting that dinosaurs need to stay camouflaged in the tall grass. It’s these moments, the mundane and the messy, that make me realize how full my cup actually is.

Today started much earlier than the sun. My alarm chirped at 5:00 AM, and for a second, I really wanted to pull the duvet over my head and ignore the world. But I thought about that Harvest 5K in October and the way I want to feel when I cross that finish line—strong, capable, and truly in my own skin. So, I laced up my sneakers and headed out onto Sycamore Street while the mist was still hanging low over the lawns. I managed three and a half miles today, ladies, and I didn’t even have to stop to catch my breath on the hill near Joanne’s place.

Speaking of Joanne, she was already out in her pink bathrobe, deadheading her petunias even at that hour. She waved a gloved hand at me as I puffed past, shouting something about how my pace looked 'snappy.' It made me smile through the sweat. There is something so grounding about neighbors who have seen you at your best and your absolute worst, and still think you’re doing just fine. I came back home feeling like I had claimed a little piece of the day just for myself before the roles of 'Mom' and 'Bookkeeper' took over.

Mark was just heading out the door at 5:30 AM when I finished my cool-down stretch on the porch. He stopped, sweaty hug and all, and told me he can really see the difference the training is making. It wasn't just about the physical shift, though that’s nice too, but he said I look 'lighter' in my spirit. It’s funny how self-worth is tied to these small disciplines. When I show up for myself on the pavement, I show up better for him, too. It makes me feel desirable not just as a wife, but as a woman who has her own goals and the grit to follow them.

After the morning rush, I spent a few hours in the kitchen working on a new scent for Lucy’s Little Light. I’m experimenting with a 'Blueberry Harvest' blend to coincide with the race in October. The whole house smells like a summer pie now. I actually had two new orders come in on Etsy this afternoon while I was folding laundry, which felt like a tiny victory for my savings jar. It’s not a fortune yet, but watching that little side hustle grow—dollar by dollar—gives me a sense of financial agency that I didn’t have a few years ago.

Between the candle pours, I had to stop and help Emma with some summer bridge work. She was supposed to be doing subtraction, but I found her math worksheet covered in elaborate drawings of horses with flowing manes and what looked like very tiny saddles. She inherited my wandering mind, I think. We had a long talk about how even artists need to know how to count their supplies. She eventually finished the page, though I suspect some of the 'horses' did the math for her. She’s at such a magical, transitionary age.

I took a quick trip down to the bakery later to drop off a fresh candle for Megan. The Sweet Magnolia was packed, as usual, and the smell of her cinnamon rolls almost derailed my healthy eating streak for the day. We caught up for five minutes behind the counter while she wiped flour off her apron. We’re still on for pickleball this Saturday, though she warned me she’s been practicing her serve. I told her to bring it on; those three-mile runs are giving me more stamina than I realized I had.

Tomorrow is a Tuesday, which means I’ll be back at Miller’s Hardware for my shift. I actually find myself looking forward to it—the smell of sawdust, the clicking of the calculator, and the way Mr. Miller always asks about the kids. There’s a comfort in the repetition of a local job, a way of being woven into the fabric of Cedar Falls that feels safe and steady. It’s not a corporate ladder, but it’s a sturdy step-stool, and for this stage of my life, it’s exactly where I need to be.

I’m sitting here now, writing in the robin-egg-blue journal Megan gave me, reflecting on how far I’ve come since that letter I wrote to my twenty-five-year-old self. Back then, I thought happiness was a destination I’d eventually reach and then just stay there. Now I know it’s more like training for a race—you have to keep showing up, even on the days your legs feel heavy and the humidity is stifling. The growth happens in the quiet, unglamorous moments when nobody is watching.

Mark is calling me from the kitchen now; he’s started the grill and I think he’s looking for the tongs I tucked away in the wrong drawer. It’s time to put the screens away and be present for the evening chaos. I hope you all found a moment of strength today, whether it was a run in the fog or just choosing to be kind to yourselves when things got messy. We are all works in progress, and that is a beautiful thing to be.

Take a deep breath and remember that you are doing better than you think you are. I’m going to go help my dinosaur-son find his 'prey' (which is actually just his stuffed triceratops) and enjoy a quiet dinner with my foreman. The sun is just starting to dip, and the light in the kitchen is perfect. I love you. — Lucy