Saturday Steps and the Sweet Scent of Sycamore

Hello, friends. It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon here in our little blue house, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of iced tea, watching the sunlight dance across the linoleum. Mark took Emma and Noah over to the park to burn off some of that endless energy—Noah was insistently wearing his velociraptor pajamas over his shorts, and at this point, I’ve learned that some battles just aren’t worth fighting if it means getting out the door before noon.

My morning started early with Megan over at the community courts for our usual Saturday morning pickleball. Ladies, I have to tell you, there is something so incredibly life-affirming about the sound of that plastic ball hitting the paddle. We aren’t professionals by any stretch, but the sweat felt good. Megan was telling me about a new sourdough starter she’s working on at the bakery, and I was telling her about my 5K progress. I managed to log three miles yesterday without stopping, which feels like a monumental win as October inches closer on the calendar.

After the game, I stopped by Sweet Magnolia to pick up a loaf of rosemary bread. Being around Megan always reminds me of why we need those anchors in our lives—the people who see us when we’re winded and red-faced and love us anyway. On my way back to Sycamore Street, I waved to Joanne. She was in her usual pink bathrobe, looking absolutely intent on her petunias. She called out that my lawn looked 'decent,' which from a retired teacher, I’m taking as a gold-star compliment.

Once I got home, the house was mine for a few hours. I spent the early afternoon in the kitchen working on a new batch of 'Lucy’s Little Light' candles. I’m experimenting with a cedar and vanilla scent that reminds me of Mark’s work—that clean, woody smell of sawdust at Miller’s Hardware mixed with something a little softer. I have four orders to ship out on Monday, and seeing those little jars lined up on the counter gives me such a sense of quiet pride. It’s not a fortune yet, but it’s mine. It’s a small financial victory that belongs entirely to my own hands.

There’s a specific kind of self-worth that comes from creating something from scratch. Whether it’s a hand-poured candle or a faster mile time, it’s about proving to myself that I’m still growing. Sometimes, in the middle of being a wife and a mom and a bookkeeper, I forget that Lucy is her own person, too. But today, looking at my reflection in the hallway mirror after my shower—messy hair, no makeup, just me—I felt a rare sense of peace with the woman looking back. I feel strong, and I feel capable.

Mark should be home any minute. He’s been working such long days lately at the construction site, leaving before the sun is even up at 5:30. I know he’s tired, but he always makes an effort to see me when he walks through that door. Not just 'see' me as the person who made dinner, but really see me. We’re coming up on nine years of marriage this fall, and I still find myself wanting to look nice for him, not out of obligation, but because he makes me feel desirable in the most mundane moments.

I’m planning to surprise him tonight with a nice dinner once the kids are settled. I’ve been tracking our grocery budget closely this month, and I managed to save enough on the essentials to get a couple of nice steaks. It’s a small way to celebrate the fact that we’re still here, still choosing each other every single day in the middle of the chaos of dinosaurs and horse drawings.

Biscuit is currently curled up at my feet, snoring softly. He’s exhausted from trying to keep up with Noah in the backyard earlier. It’s these moments of stillness that I treasure the most. My robin-egg-blue journal is sitting here next to my tea, and I think I’ll take a few minutes to write down some goals for the coming week. I want to hit twelve miles total for my 5K training by next Saturday, and I need to balance the books for Mr. Miller on Tuesday.

Life in Cedar Falls is rarely fast-paced, and that’s exactly how I like it. We’re building something here, one day at a time, one small victory at a time. I hope you’re finding your own victories today, friends. Whether it’s a walk around the block, a clean kitchen, or just a moment to breathe, remember that you are doing enough. You are enough.

The sun is starting to dip lower, and I can hear the rumble of the truck in the driveway. It’s almost 6:00, and my heart always does a little flutter when I hear him pull in. Time to go start the grill and transition back into the beautiful mayhem of the evening. Take care of yourselves tonight. I love you. — Lucy