Saturday Serves and the Sweet Scent of Six Miles

Hello, friends. I am sitting here at the kitchen table, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden fingers across my robin-egg-blue journal. The house is temporarily quiet, a rare Saturday miracle. Mark took Noah and Emma out to the backyard to help him clear some brush—or, more accurately, to let Noah roar at the sticks in his velociraptor pajamas while Emma 'rescues' imaginary horses from the woodpile. Biscuit is curled up at my feet, snoring softly, smelling faintly of the outdoors and wet grass. It is these moments, when the chaos lulls just before dinner, that I feel most like myself.

Today was one of those days that felt both productive and soul-restoring. It started early, before the rest of the house was even stirring. I met Megan at the park for our usual Saturday morning pickleball match. There is something so grounding about the rhythm of the game, the sharp 'pop' of the ball, and the easy laughter between us. Megan was telling me about a new cinnamon swirl recipe she’s testing at Sweet Magnolia, and honestly, just talking about it made me crave a pastry. But we played hard, and for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel winded. I felt strong, capable, and fast.

After pickleball, I came home and laced up my running shoes for my scheduled long run. Ladies, I have to tell you, I hit a milestone today. I finished six miles. When I started training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K back in the summer, I wasn't sure I could even manage three without stopping. But as I turned the corner past Joanne’s house—seeing her in that familiar pink bathrobe, meticulously deadheading her petunias—I felt a surge of pure adrenaline. She gave me a little wave with her shears, and I realized I wasn't just running to finish a race; I was running because I finally believe my body is worth the effort.

It’s a strange thing, isn't it? As wives and mothers, we often treat our bodies like tools—things to carry groceries, to rock babies, to scrub floors. We forget that they are also vessels for our own joy. Coming home and seeing my reflection in the hallway mirror, sweaty and red-faced but glowing, I felt desirable in a way that has nothing to do with makeup or fancy clothes. I felt powerful. I want to hold onto that feeling, to tuck it away for those Tuesdays at Miller’s Hardware when the smell of sawdust feels heavy and the bookkeeping feels endless.

Speaking of Miller’s, I took a little of my extra earnings from last month’s Etsy sales and finally ordered those premium soy waxes I’ve been eyeing for 'Lucy's Little Light.' It’s a small financial victory, but it feels significant. Building this little candle business from my kitchen counter has taught me so much about patience and worth. I’m not just a bookkeeper or a mom; I’m a creator. Each jar I pour is a reminder that I have something unique to offer the world, even if it’s just a scent that makes someone’s living room feel a little bit warmer.

Mark came in earlier and caught me mid-stretch in the living room. He didn't say much—he’s never been a man of many words after a long week on the construction site—but he stopped, squeezed my shoulder, and told me he was proud of how hard I’ve been working. We’ve been married nine years, and sometimes I think we communicate better through those small gestures than we ever did with long speeches. That simple touch made me feel seen. It made me feel like the girl he married, not just the woman who manages the calendar and the grocery lists.

I’ve spent the last hour prepping a few 'Autumn Orchard' candles for a batch I need to ship out Monday. The scent of crisp apple and clove is currently competing with the aroma of the slow-cooker roast I started this morning. It’s a good blend. It smells like home. It smells like progress. I’m learning that growth doesn't always look like a massive leap; sometimes it looks like showing up for a six-mile run when you’d rather stay in bed, or choosing to believe in your own business even when the orders are slow to come in.

Tonight, we’re keeping it simple. Mark is going to grill some corn to go with the roast, and I think I might let Emma help me whip up a quick dessert—she’s been asking to use the 'fancy' whisks. Then, it’ll be baths, dinosaur pajamas, and maybe a few chapters of a horse story before bed. I’m looking forward to the rest. My legs are heavy, but my heart is light, and that is a trade I will make every single time.

I hope you all found a moment of strength today, too. Whether it was a long walk, a quiet cup of coffee, or just the grace to forgive yourself for a messy kitchen, I hope you know how much you matter. We are all building something beautiful, one small, steady brick at a time. I’m so glad we get to do this together, sharing these slices of life in our little corners of the world.

The sun is dipping below the neighbors' roofline now, and I can hear Noah’s 'velociraptor roar' getting closer to the back door, which means my quiet time is officially over. It’s time to start the evening rush, but I’m doing it with a full tank. I feel ready for whatever next week brings, from the hardware store ledgers to the Sunday call with my mom tomorrow morning. I’ll be sure to tell Diane all about the six miles; she’ll probably tell me to be careful, but I know she’s secretly proud too.

Take care of yourselves, ladies. Drink your water, wear the shoes that make you feel fast, and don't forget to look in the mirror and smile at the woman looking back at you. She’s doing a great job, and she deserves to hear it. I’ll check back in with you all soon. I love you. — Lucy