Friday Flour and the Finances of the Heart

Hello, friends. I am sitting here at our small kitchen table, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden rectangles across the linoleum, and for the first time in what feels like a week, the house is completely still. Mark just pulled the truck into the gravel driveway—I heard the familiar rumble through the screen door—and the kids are currently out back with Biscuit, trying to see if they can find 'dinosaur fossils' in the flower beds. I have exactly ten minutes before the evening rush of dinner and bath time begins, and I wanted to spend them here with you.

Today was one of those slow, 'in-between' Fridays. Since I don’t work at Miller’s Hardware on Fridays, I usually dedicate the morning to 'Lucy’s Little Light.' I spent three hours pouring a new batch of 'Cedar Morning' candles. There is something so meditative about the scent of hot wax and wood-smoke oils filling the kitchen. As I lined up the jars, I found myself thinking about our finances. We’ve been so careful lately, tucking away little bits of my bookkeeping pay and my Etsy earnings into the '9th Anniversary' fund. It isn’t much, but looking at that growing number makes me feel a sense of agency I didn't have a few years ago. It’s a quiet kind of self-worth, knowing I’m contributing to the extra joy in our lives.

After the wax was set, I headed over to Sweet Magnolia. Megan was in the back, her apron covered in flour, venting about a lopsided wedding cake order while she handed me a double espresso. We talked about our pickleball match coming up tomorrow morning. I have to tell you, ladies, my legs were feeling the burn from yesterday’s training run. I’m up to four miles now for my 5K training, and while my lungs are finally catching up, my thighs are still staging a bit of a protest. Megan just laughed and told me that the soreness is just 'strength taking its sweet time to show up.'

On my way home, I saw Joanne in her yard. She was in that signature pink bathrobe, even though it was nearly noon, fussing over her petunias with such focus. She waved me down to tell me that Noah’s 'velociraptor screeching' from the porch yesterday was the most entertainment she’d had all week. It’s funny how the things that sometimes make us feel like we’re failing as parents—the noise, the mess, the chaos—are often the things that bring a smile to someone else’s face. It reminded me to take a breath and not take the 'perfect mother' image so seriously.

I decided to use the empty afternoon to work on my journal. Megan gave me this robin-egg-blue book a while back, and I’ve been filling it with my thoughts on what it means to be a wife and a woman in your thirties. Sometimes, when Mark leaves at 5:30 in the morning and comes home covered in dust and exhaustion at 5:20 in the evening, I worry that we are just two ships passing in the night. I worry if I’m still the girl he fell for nine years ago, or if I’ve just become the person who manages the grocery list and the laundry schedules.

But then, I looked at the math worksheet Emma brought home today. She had drawn a tiny, beautiful horse in the margin of her long division problems. It was a reminder that even in the middle of the 'work,' beauty is always trying to grow. My marriage is a bit like that worksheet. The logistics and the bills are the math, but the quiet glances we share over the kids' heads or the way he always makes sure my car has gas are the sketches in the margins. It’s about being seen in the mundane, and realizing that being a 'homemaker' is really about making a home for each other's souls.

I took a detour on my final mile of today's walk to pass by the salon. I could see Dani through the window, busy with a client, and I reminded myself I need to book an appointment before the Harvest 5K in October. I want to feel like 'Lucy' when I cross that finish line, not just 'Mom.' There is such a delicate balance between giving everything to your family and keeping a little piece of yourself tucked away just for you. Every mile I run and every candle I wick is a way of saying, 'I am still here, and I am still growing.'

The sun is dipping lower now. I can hear Noah shouting that he found a 'T-Rex tooth' (which I’m almost certain is just a jagged piece of limestone Joanne threw over the fence), and the dog is barking in agreement. Mark is walking through the door any second, and I can smell the sawdust clinging to his flannel shirt from across the room. It’s time to close the laptop and start the evening. We’re having simple pasta tonight, but we’ll eat it together, and that is more than enough.

I hope you find a moment of stillness today, friends. I hope you look in the mirror and see not just the tired eyes, but the woman who is holding it all together with grace and grit. You are doing so much better than you think you are. Keep moving, keep breathing, and don't forget to draw something beautiful in the margins of your to-do list.

The house is loud again, and my heart is full. I love you. — Lucy