Monday Milestones and the Thirty-Seven Mile Mark

Hello, friends. The house is finally quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft, rhythmic snoring of Biscuit at my feet. Mark just got home a few minutes ago, and he is currently in the backyard helping Noah hunt for 'prehistoric fossils' near the oak tree. I can see them through the kitchen window—my husband still in his work boots, leaning over to inspect a common pebble with the gravity of a world-class archaeologist. It’s these little moments that remind me why the long days are worth it.

Today felt like the true start of the final push toward the Harvest 5K. After I dropped Emma off at school—she was clutching a new drawing of a palomino horse she’d finished late last night—I laced up my sneakers and hit the trail. There is a specific crispness in the Iowa air this time of year that makes your lungs feel brand new. I managed to push through another stretch, bringing my training total to a cumulative thirty-seven miles. My legs are feeling the weight of it, but my heart feels lighter than it has in months.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about self-worth and how easily we tie it to our productivity. For a long time, I felt like I was 'just' a bookkeeper or 'just' a mom, as if those roles weren't enough to fill a soul. But as I watched the miles tick up on my watch today, I realized that my worth isn't in the finish line or the number of candle orders I ship out. It’s in the showing up. It’s in the discipline of the daily grind, whether that’s balancing the ledgers for Mr. Miller or choosing to run when the bed feels extra warm.

Speaking of candles, 'Lucy’s Little Light' has been keeping me busier than usual. I spent a good portion of the afternoon in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of spiced apple and cedarwood. I had three new orders from the Etsy shop this morning, and there is something so deeply satisfying about pouring the wax and centering the wicks. It’s a small financial victory, sure, but it’s also a creative one. It’s mine. It’s a piece of myself that I’m sending out into the world, one glass jar at a time.

I had a brief chat over the fence with Joanne earlier. She was in that familiar pink bathrobe, looking a bit disgruntled at her petunias, which are finally starting to surrender to the autumn chill. She told me I looked 'leaner and meaner' in my running gear, which made me laugh. I don't know about meaner, but I do feel stronger. When Mark hugged me this evening, he held on just a second longer than usual and told me I looked radiant. It’s funny how taking care of your own body changes the way you project yourself to the person you love.

Staying in shape at thirty-four is a different beast than it was at twenty-four. Back then, it was about how I looked in a pair of jeans. Now, it’s about having the energy to keep up with Noah’s velociraptor impressions and Emma’s endless questions about equestrian care. It’s about feeling desirable not because I fit a certain mold, but because I am capable and present. The 5K is just a race, but the training has become a metaphor for my life: one foot in front of the other, even when the trail gets steep.

I haven't called Megan yet today, but I’m looking forward to our pickleball game this coming Saturday. She texted me a photo of a new cinnamon roll she’s testing at the bakery, and I told her I’d need to run an extra two miles just to justify the tasting session I’m planning to have. Having a friend like her, who sees the messy middle of my life and still thinks I’m doing great, is a gift I don't take for granted.

Money has been a frequent topic of conversation between Mark and me lately. With his long hours at the construction site and my part-time shifts at Miller’s, we are slowly seeing our savings grow. We aren't rich by any stretch, but the 'Little Light' earnings are finally starting to cover the kids' extracurriculars. There is a quiet, steady power in that kind of growth. It isn't a windfall; it’s a harvest. It’s the result of planting seeds months ago and tending to them every single day.

As I look at my robin-egg-blue journal sitting on the counter, I’m reminded of the letter I wrote to my younger self. She would be proud of this version of Lucy. She would be proud of the little blue house on Sycamore Street and the way we’ve turned it into a home. Most of all, I think she’d be proud that I haven't given up on having things that are just for me—like this blog, my candles, and the thirty-seven miles currently logged in my legs.

The sun is starting to dip low over the neighbors' rooftops, and I need to start thinking about dinner. Noah is already asking for 'dino-nuggets,' which feels appropriate given his current attire. I’m going to put my phone away and spend the rest of the evening being present with my family. Tomorrow is a Tuesday, which means a shift at Miller’s and the familiar scent of sawdust, but for now, I am content right here in my kitchen.

Take care of yourselves tonight, ladies. Remember that the small victories are often the ones that matter the most. Whether you walked a mile or just managed to get the laundry folded, you are doing enough. You are enough. I’ll check in with you all tomorrow evening after I see what Mr. Miller has in store for me at the shop.

I love you. — Lucy