Monday Milestones and the Magic of a Messy Kitchen

Hello, friends. The sun is just starting to dip behind the old oak tree in Joanne’s yard, and I’m sitting here at the kitchen island with a cup of chamomile tea before the evening rush truly begins. Mark walked through the door about forty minutes ago, dusty from the site but smiling, and he’s currently out back tossing a ball for Biscuit. It’s those quiet, transitional moments of a Monday that always make me feel the most grounded.

Today felt like one of those days where the house was breathing with us. You know the ones, ladies? Where the laundry pile is a little too high and the sink is full of breakfast bowls, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like evidence of a life being fully lived. Emma spent her morning before school at the table, meticulously drawing manes on horses across the back of her social studies worksheet. I didn’t even have the heart to tell her she might need that space for notes; her creativity is just too precious to stifle.

Noah, on the other hand, was in full 'dino-mode.' He insists that his velociraptor pajamas make him run faster to the bus stop, and honestly, watching those little tail-printed legs sprint down Sycamore Street is enough to make any Monday morning blues disappear. It’s in these small, mundane scenes that I find my greatest sense of self-worth. I’m not just a bookkeeper or a candle-maker; I’m the heart of this little blue house, and that is a weight I am finally learning to carry with pride rather than pressure.

After the house emptied out, I laced up my sneakers. Following yesterday’s four-mile clarity, I decided to push myself a bit further today. I hit five miles this morning, weaving through the neighborhoods and feeling the crispness of the September air. Training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October has become about so much more than a race. It’s about the way my lungs feel strong and the way my legs don't protest as much as they used to. I feel desirable, not just to Mark, but to myself—strong, capable, and alive.

I took a detour past Sweet Magnolia on my way home, just to wave at Megan through the window. She was covered in flour and looked like she was in the middle of a massive order, but she gave me that thumbs-up we always share. Seeing her chase her dreams with that bakery always inspires me to keep pushing with 'Lucy’s Little Light.' Speaking of which, I spent my afternoon in the basement workspace, pouring a new batch of 'Autumn Orchard' scents. The smell of spiced apple is still clinging to my hair, and I love it.

I’ve been looking at the Etsy dashboard more frequently lately, and the growth is slow, but it is steady. Much like my bookkeeping at Miller’s, I’ve learned that financial peace isn’t about a sudden windfall; it’s about the discipline of the daily tally. We are nine years into this marriage, and Mark and I are finally at a place where we talk about our goals with excitement rather than anxiety. It’s a beautiful thing to grow up alongside the person you love.

Joanne was out deadheading her petunias when I got back from my run. She was in that iconic pink bathrobe, looking as regal as a retired teacher can at ten in the morning. She shouted over that my stride is looking 'rhythmic,' which I’ll take as the highest compliment. It’s funny how the people in our orbit see our progress even when we think we’re just putting one foot in front of the other.

I have a few more candle labels to print before I start dinner—Mark requested meatloaf tonight, a classic for a Monday. I’m leaning into the routine this week. There is a specific kind of magic in knowing exactly where you belong and who you are working for. I hope you all found a moment today to recognize your own strength, whether it was in a five-mile run or just in getting the kids out the door with matching socks.

The house is starting to fill with the sound of Noah’s toy dinosaurs clashing in the living room, which is my cue to put the journal away and start the evening shift. I feel balanced, I feel grateful, and I am so glad I get to share this journey with you all. Remember that your small victories are still victories.

I love you. — Lucy