Midweek Mending and the Melody of the Midday Mile

Hello, friends. I’m writing to you from the little blue house on Sycamore Street, where the afternoon sun is currently hitting the kitchen table at just the right angle to highlight every crumb Noah missed at lunch. There is something about a Wednesday that always feels like standing at the peak of a very small, very familiar mountain. The frantic energy of Monday and Tuesday has ebbed, but the weekend still feels like a distant glimmer on the horizon. Today, however, I am choosing to revel in the 'middle.'

It was one of those mornings where the house felt unusually quiet after Mark headed out at 5:30. Since it’s a Wednesday, I didn't have to head into Miller’s Hardware to balance the books for Mr. Miller. While I love the smell of sawdust and the steady rhythm of the shop, I cherished the extra time this morning. I spent it in the kitchen with my robin-egg-blue journal, the one Megan gave me, just listening to the soft snores coming from Biscuit at my feet. It’s in these early moments that I remind myself that my worth isn’t tied to how many items I cross off a list, but in how present I am for the life I’ve built.

After the kids were up and breakfast was conquered—Emma managed to get syrup on her horse-print pajamas, which is impressive even for her—I decided it was time to tackle my training. The Cedar Falls Harvest 5K is creeping closer on the calendar, and I’ve been feeling the pressure. Today’s goal was a steady four miles. The air was surprisingly crisp for August, a little gift from the Iowa weather gods, and I hit the pavement with a sense of purpose that I haven't felt in weeks.

I ran past Joanne’s house and caught a glimpse of her in that signature pink bathrobe, though she wasn't deadheading her petunias today. She gave me a little wave from the porch, and I felt a surge of gratitude for this neighborhood. By the time I hit the three-mile mark, my lungs were burning, but my mind was clear. I find that when I’m running, I stop being 'Mom' or 'the bookkeeper' or even 'the candle lady.' I’m just Lucy, a woman moving through the world under her own power. It makes me feel strong, and dare I say, desirable, in a way that has nothing to do with anyone else’s gaze.

When I got back, I spent a few hours in my workshop area. 'Lucy’s Little Light' has been busier than usual lately, and I had three orders for my 'Autumn Hearth' scent to pour. There is something so meditative about the process—measuring the wax, watching it melt, and carefully adding the fragrance oils. As I lined up the jars, I thought about our finances. The candle side hustle started as a way to pay for my running shoes, but it’s slowly turning into a little nest egg for our 10th anniversary trip next year. Nine years with Mark has taught me that love is a long-distance race, not a sprint, and I want to celebrate that milestone properly.

The mundane event of the day, though, happened right around 2:00 PM. Noah’s favorite dinosaur—a plastic triceratops with a missing horn—finally lost a leg. The heartbreak was immediate and loud. We had a 'surgery' on the kitchen counter with a tube of superglue and a lot of patience. As I held the plastic limb in place, Noah watched me with such intense focus, his little velociraptor pajamas slightly dusty from the floor. It reminded me that so much of my life right now is about mending. Mending toys, mending moods, and sometimes mending my own tired spirit.

We successfully saved the triceratops, and the pride on Noah’s face was worth the sticky residue on my fingers. It made me think about the growth we’ve experienced in this house. A few years ago, a broken toy might have sent me into a tailspin of feeling overwhelmed. Now, I see it for what it is: a small moment to be a hero in a four-year-old’s eyes. These are the victories that don't make it into the history books, but they fill the pages of my heart.

Mark will be home in about twenty minutes, and I can hear Biscuit already pacing by the front door in anticipation. I’ve got a chicken cooling on the counter and the house smells like vanilla and cedarwood from a test candle I burned earlier. I feel a sense of peace tonight, ladies. The 5K training is on track, the kids are safe, and the small business I built from scratch is glowing just as brightly as the wicks I trim.

I hope you’re finding your own middle-of-the-week magic, whatever that looks like for you. Maybe it’s a run, maybe it’s a successfully glued toy, or maybe it’s just the quiet realization that you are enough exactly as you are. I’m going to put this journal away now and get ready for the evening rush. Tomorrow is a Thursday, which means back to the hardware store and the sawdust, but for now, the little blue house is still.

I love you. — Lucy