Friday Flour and the Fortitude of Five Miles

Hello, friends. The house is finally quiet for a moment, bathed in that soft, golden afternoon light that filters through the sycamore trees outside. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, the smell of lavender and soy wax still clinging to my hair from this morning’s candle pouring, and I am just taking a deep breath. It is 5:15 PM, which means Mark will be pulling his truck into the driveway in about five minutes, and the evening whirlwind will truly begin. But right now, it’s just us.

Today was one of those Fridays that felt like a bridge. You know the feeling, ladies? That space between the hard work of the week and the rest of the weekend. Since I wasn’t at Miller’s today, I dedicated my morning to 'Lucy’s Little Light.' I had six orders for the 'Cedar Falls Sunset' scent, and seeing those little jars lined up on the counter made me feel such a quiet sense of pride. It’s not a fortune, but it’s mine. It’s a small financial victory that says I am building something of my own, one wick at a time.

After I finished the candles, I met Megan at Sweet Magnolia. The shop was busy, smelling of cinnamon and fresh yeast, but she slipped me a broken almond croissant and a cup of coffee while we chatted. She told me I looked 'tighter'—her word, not mine—in my running gear. We talked about our pickleball match tomorrow, and I realized how much those Saturday mornings have become an anchor for my self-worth. It’s not just about the game; it’s about having a friend who sees you, not just as a mom or a wife, but as Lucy.

Speaking of running, I hit a major milestone this afternoon. With the Harvest 5K looming in October, I decided to push myself. The mist from Monday is gone, replaced by a crisp, clear Iowa sky. I laced up my shoes and set out, intending to do three miles, but I felt a rhythm I haven't felt before. My legs felt strong, not heavy. My lungs felt open. I didn't stop until my watch buzzed at five miles. Five miles, friends! That is the longest I have run since before Noah was born.

When I got back, I was sweaty and red-faced, but I felt beautiful. It’s a strange thing, isn't it? I spent so many years thinking desirability was about a specific dress size or a perfect hairstyle from Dani’s chair. But today, standing in my kitchen with salt on my skin, I felt desirable because I felt capable. I felt like a woman who could take on the world, or at least take on a long stretch of Sycamore Street without breaking her stride.

Noah was waiting for me at the door in his velociraptor pajamas—he refuses to take them off even when it's eighty degrees out—and he insisted on showing me his 'dinosaur nest' made of sofa cushions. Emma was right there with him, though she was more interested in showing me her math worksheet. She’d drawn a series of very detailed horses in the margins of her long division problems. I should probably tell her to focus on the numbers, but I just hugged her. There is so much magic in her little creative heart.

Biscuit, of course, thought my return from a run was a signal for a wrestling match. He’s currently napping at my feet, his golden fur dusting my leggings, exhausted from nothing more than barking at a squirrel and existing. I love this dog, even if he is the reason I have to vacuum three times a week. He reminds me that sometimes, just being present and happy to see your people is enough of a contribution for one day.

I caught a glimpse of Joanne through the window earlier. She was in her signature pink bathrobe, looking particularly determined as she deadheaded her petunias. She waved at me with her garden shears, and I wondered if she knows how much I admire her steady, quiet life. There is a dignity in the way she tends to her world. It makes me want to be more intentional with my own, whether I’m balancing the books at the hardware store or just making sure Mark has a hot meal when he gets home.

Mark should be home any second now. I can hear the distant rumble of his truck. He’s had a long week at the construction sites, and I know he’s tired. I want to be that soft place for him to land. Nine years of marriage has taught me that love isn't always about the grand gestures; it's about the way he looks at me when he walks through that door, sawdust in his hair, and the way I feel when I tell him about my five-mile run and he smiles like I just won the Boston Marathon.

I’m planning to call Mom on Sunday, as usual. She’ll want to hear every detail about the kids and probably give me some unsolicited advice about the garden, but I find myself looking forward to it. There’s a comfort in the continuity of these relationships. We are all just trying to grow, aren't we? Whether it's adding another mile to a run or another candle to a shipment, we are moving forward.

Tonight, we’re keeping it simple. Pasta, maybe a movie with the kids if they can stay awake, and an early bedtime for me so I’m fresh for pickleball tomorrow. I am learning that my worth isn't tied to how much I can do, but to the spirit in which I do it. I am strong, I am loved, and I am exactly where I need to be in this little blue house.

I hope you all find a small victory to celebrate tonight, whether it’s a five-mile run or just getting the laundry folded. You are worth the effort, ladies. Always remember that. I’m going to go start the water for the pasta now. Mark is pulling in.

I love you. — Lucy