Dinosaurs And The Delicate Balance Of Wax

The afternoon sun is stretching across the kitchen floor in long, amber slats, and for a moment, the little blue house on Sycamore Street feels perfectly still. It’s that rare, golden window of time between the morning rush and the evening chaos. Noah is currently sprawled on the rug, deeply Truetv-involved in a high-stakes negotiation between a plastic Brachiosaurus and a T-Rex. He’s still in those velociraptor pajamas he refuses to take off, his little voice making those low rumbles that only a four-year-old can master. Watching him, I’m reminded of how quickly these quiet phases of childhood pass, even when the days feel long.

Today wasn't a Miller’s Hardware day, which usually means I can catch my breath, but my 'Lucy’s Little Light' Etsy shop had a sudden surge of orders this morning. I spent a good three hours in the kitchen, measuring out soy wax and stirring in my signature lavender and cedarwood oils. There is something so meditative about the process—watching the solid flakes turn into a clear, shimmering liquid. It’s a lot like our own growth, isn't it? Sometimes we have to go through a bit of heat to become something that can truly shine and provide light for others.

While the candles were setting on the counter, I managed to lace up my sneakers for a two-mile run. My training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October is getting more serious now. I won't lie to you, ladies—my legs felt like lead for the first half-mile. I caught a glimpse of myself in Joanne’s front window as I jogged past, and for a split second, I didn't see the woman I used to be. I saw someone strong, someone capable, someone who chooses to show up for herself even when the humidity in Iowa feels like a heavy blanket. Joanne was out there in her pink bathrobe, of course, deadheading her petunias, and she gave me a little wave that felt like a localized standing ovation.

Living in this body, especially as I’ve moved into my thirties, has been a journey of reconciliation. For so long, I viewed exercise as a punishment for what I ate. Now, as I track my mileage in my robin-egg-blue journal, it feels more like an investment in my own worth. I want to be able to keep up with Emma when she’s galloping around pretending to be a show jumper, and I want to feel vibrant when Mark walks through that door at 5:20. Speaking of Mark, he’s been working such grueling shifts at the construction site lately. I try to make sure that when he comes home, he finds a version of me that isn't just a tired roommate, but a partner who still feels like home to him.

It’s not always easy to feel 'desirable' when you have flour on your forehead or the scent of sawdust clinging to your hair from the hardware store, but I’m learning that desirability is rooted in how we carry ourselves. There is a specific kind of beauty in a woman who knows her value. Whether I’m reconciling the books for Mr. Miller or pouring wax into mason jars, I am building something that belongs to me. That financial independence, however small it might seem right now, adds a layer of confidence that no skincare routine can replicate.

Megan stopped by briefly after she closed up Sweet Magnolia to drop off a few 'reject' lemon bars that didn't look perfect enough for her display case. We sat on the back porch for ten minutes, just breathing. She’s my rock in this town. We talked about our pickleball match coming up this Saturday—I’m determined to actually win a set this time. She told me I looked 'raced-day ready,' and even though I know she’s biased, I chose to believe her. We need those friends who see the finish line for us before we can see it for ourselves.

Emma will be home from her friend’s house soon, likely with more math worksheets decorated with horse sketches instead of solved equations. I’ll have to sit with her at the table and gently steer her back to the numbers. It’s all a balance, isn't it? The bookkeeping, the candles, the mothering, the marriage. Some days the wax spills, and some days the dinosaurs take over the living room, but the little blue house holds it all with such grace.

Biscuit is nudging my hand now, his golden tail thumping against the cabinet. He knows it’s almost time for the big homecoming. Mark should be pulling into the driveway in about twenty minutes, and I want to have the table cleared of candle supplies before he gets here. I want to greet him with a smile that says I’m glad he’s home, not just because I need help with the kids, but because I’ve missed his company. It’s those intentional moments that keep our nine years of marriage feeling fresh despite the routine.

I hope you found a moment for yourself today, friends. Whether it was a five-minute walk, a chapter in a book, or just a quiet cup of coffee before the world woke up, I hope you remembered that you are worthy of your own care. We are all works in progress, pouring ourselves into the molds of our lives and waiting to see how we set. I’m heading off to start the evening whistle. I love you. — Lucy