Midweek Melts and the Mid-Mile Miles

Hello, friends. It’s a quiet Wednesday afternoon here on Sycamore Street, and the house is finally still for a brief window. Mark is still out at the site—he’s had a long week already with the new development project—and the kids are occupied with their own little worlds. Emma is currently sprawled on the living room rug, meticulously adding glitter to a drawing of a mare and foal, while Noah is 'excavating' the couch cushions for his plastic velociraptors. Even Biscuit has retreated to a sunny patch on the kitchen linoleum for his third nap of the day.

Today felt like one of those bridge days. You know the ones, ladies? It’s the day between my shifts at Miller’s Hardware, that middle-of-the-week hump where you realize you’ve survived Monday and Tuesday, but the weekend still feels like a distant shore. I spent my morning in the garage, which has become my little sanctuary for 'Lucy’s Little Light.' I poured a dozen new soy candles today—Sweet Magnolia scent, a little tribute to Megan—and the smell of vanilla and florals is still clinging to my hair and apron.

There is something so deeply grounding about working with your hands. Whether it’s Mr. Miller showing me how to inventory the galvanized nails or me stirring hot wax, it reminds me that we are capable of creating order out of chaos. It’s a small financial victory every time an Etsy notification pings, but more than the money, it’s the sense of self-worth that comes from building something of my own. For so many years, I was just 'Mom' or 'Mark’s wife,' and while I love those titles more than life itself, Lucy deserves a seat at the table too.

Speaking of seats, I barely sat down until noon because I had to get my training run in. After my two-mile jog yesterday, I felt a little stiff, but I pushed through today. I managed two and a half miles this afternoon, winding past Joanne’s house. She was out there in that iconic pink bathrobe, despite it being 10:00 AM, deadheading her petunias with the precision of a surgeon. She gave me a little wave with her shears, and I felt that surge of community that makes Cedar Falls feel like home.

The Cedar Falls Harvest 5K is looming in October, and every time my sneakers hit the pavement, I feel a little more like the athlete I never thought I could be. I’m not fast—believe me, the neighborhood squirrels probably have a better pace—but I am consistent. That consistency is where the real magic happens. It’s not just about the weight I might lose or the muscle I’m toning; it’s about the promise I keep to myself every single day.

I’ve been thinking a lot about desirability lately, especially as Mark and I approach our ninth anniversary. When he comes home at 5:20 pm, covered in the dust of the construction site and smelling like cedar and hard work, he still looks at me in a way that makes my heart skip. But the real shift has been how I look at myself in the mirror after a run. I’m sweaty, my face is red, and my hair is a disaster, but I feel powerful. I think we often wait for someone else to tell us we’re beautiful before we believe it, but there’s a different kind of beauty in strength.

I had a brief chat with Megan on the phone while I was labeling the candles. She’s gearing up for the weekend rush at the bakery, and we’re still on for pickleball this Saturday. She’s my sounding board for everything—from parenting woes to my 5K anxieties. We talked a bit about the future and how fast the kids are growing. Emma’s math worksheets are becoming more drawing than numbers these days, and I’m trying to balance being the 'responsible' mom with the mom who wants to encourage her art.

I also caught up with Mom today. Diane called to remind me about Sunday dinner, and she could hear the fatigue in my voice. She told me to take a bath and 'breathe in the quiet.' It’s funny how mothers always know, even when you’re thirty-four and running your own household. She’s only 40 minutes away, but sometimes it feels like she’s right there in the kitchen with me, handing me a glass of water.

As I look at the clock, it’s nearly time to start dinner. Mark will be through that door in less than an hour, and the 'Monday monsters' have officially been replaced by the 'Wednesday wiggles.' The house will be loud again soon, filled with the sounds of dinosaur roars and talk of horse stables. But for now, I’m sitting here with my robin-egg-blue journal, feeling grateful for the sawdust, the soy wax, and the miles.

I want you to remember today, friends, that your worth isn’t measured by how much you checked off your to-do list. It’s measured by the grace you show yourself when the list stays long. We are all works in progress, pouring our own light into the world one day at a time. I’m going to go start the pasta and maybe sneak one more moment of peace before the evening rush begins.

I love you. — Lucy