Monday Milestones and the Magic of Eight

Hello, friends. I hope your Monday started with a little more grace than mine did. The morning was a bit of a whirlwind in the blue house. Mark was out the door by 5:30 as usual, his heavy boots clumping down the hallway while I was still dreaming of quiet meadows. By the time 7:00 rolled around, I was elbow-deep in a cereal catastrophe. Noah decided his velociraptor pajamas were too 'scratchy' for breakfast, and Emma was desperately trying to draw a saddle on a horse in her math workbook instead of finishing her subtraction. It is these little moments where I have to choose to breathe and remember that these are the years I will one day miss.

Once the kids were off to school and preschool, the house fell into that heavy, beautiful silence that only a mother can truly appreciate. I spent the morning in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of 'Cedar Sunset' and 'Vanilla Bean.' I had six orders for Lucy's Little Light come in over the weekend, and getting those wicks trimmed and the labels centered feels like such a tangible victory. There is something about watching the wax harden that helps me feel like I’m solidifying my own path, too. It isn't just a side hustle anymore; it’s a little piece of my identity that I’ve built from scratch.

But the real highlight of today happened on the pavement. If you’ve been following along, you know I’ve been steadily increasing my mileage for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October. Yesterday was seven miles of slow, steady strolling, but today I felt a fire in my lungs that I haven't felt in years. I laced up my sneakers, waved to Joanne—who was, predictably, in her pink bathrobe deadheading her petunias—and just ran. I didn't stop at the three-mile mark near the bakery, and I didn't slow down when I hit the five-mile loop by the park.

Ladies, I hit eight miles today. Eight. I remember back in June when I was struggling to find the discipline to just go to bed on time, and now my body is capable of carrying me across town and back without breaking. There is a profound sense of self-worth that comes from realizing your body is an ally, not an enemy. For so long, I looked in the mirror and only saw the soft spots and the tired eyes. Today, as I wiped the sweat from my forehead, I saw a woman who is strong, capable, and worthy of the space she takes up in this world.

It isn't just about the fitness, though that is a lovely perk. It’s about the mental shift. When I’m out there on Sycamore Street, feeling the rhythm of my feet, I think about the slow and steady growth of my life. I think about my nine years with Mark. When he comes home at 5:20 tonight, smelling like the construction site, I want to greet him not just as a tired roommate, but as a woman who feels desirable and confident. I’ve realized that feeling attractive isn't about him—it’s about how I carry myself when I walk through the door.

I took a quick detour past Sweet Magnolia on my way back, just to catch a glimpse of Megan through the window. She was dusting flour off her apron, looking just as busy as ever. We have our pickleball match this Saturday, and I’m secretly hoping all this running gives me the edge I need to finally beat her at the kitchen line. She’s been such a rock for me, especially when she gifted me that robin-egg-blue journal. Writing these thoughts down makes them real, and sharing them with you makes them permanent.

I also had a quick chat with Mom on the phone while I was cooling down. Diane is already planning what she’s going to wear to cheer me on at the 5K, which is sweet, though she did remind me three times to 'wear the good socks so you don't get blisters.' It’s funny how you can be thirty-four years old with two kids and a mortgage, and your mother still worries about your socks. But I’ll take the love wherever I can get it. It’s all part of the fabric that keeps us together.

Financially, things are looking up too. Between my bookkeeping shifts at Miller's—I can still smell the sawdust on my favorite sweater from last Thursday—and the Etsy shop, I’ve been able to tuck away a little extra for our anniversary dinner next month. It feels good to contribute, to feel that weight of personal growth not just in my muscles, but in our bank account. It’s a small victory, but those are the ones that build a life.

Now, the sun is starting to dip low over the neighbors' roofs, and Biscuit is nudging my hand with his cold nose, wondering why I’m staring at a screen instead of filling his bowl. Mark will be home in just a few minutes, and the chaos of dinner, baths, and dinosaur stories will begin all over again. But I’m entering the evening feeling full. Not just tired-full, but heart-full.

To all the ladies out there who are trying to find their stride: keep going. Whether you are running eight miles or just managed to get the dishes done before noon, you are doing enough. You are building something beautiful, one small choice at a time. I am learning to love the woman I am becoming, and I hope you are, too. It’s a journey, not a race—even if I am training for one.

The kitchen timer just went off, which means the chicken is ready and the peaceful part of my afternoon is officially over. I need to go help Noah find his 'raptor claws' before Mark walks through the door. I want to be present for every loud, messy second of it.

I love you. — Lucy