Saturday Steps and the Sweetness of a Simple Shift

Hello, friends. I am sitting here at my little kitchen table, the sun just starting to dip low enough to cast long, golden shadows across the linoleum, and for the first time today, my feet are finally still. It is Saturday evening, and if you had told the version of me from five years ago that I would be this tired and this happy at 5:45 PM, I probably would have laughed. Back then, I thought happiness was a destination you reached; now I know it is more like the rhythm of a long run—sometimes your lungs burn, but you keep moving because the air feels so good when you finally catch it.

Today started early, as Saturdays usually do. Mark was already out the door for a weekend overtime shift at the site—he’s been working such long hours lately as a foreman, but he still managed to kiss my forehead at 5:30 AM without waking me fully. By the time I actually rolled out of bed, I had my pickleball gear ready. Saturday morning pickleball with Megan is my therapy. We played three games today, and let me tell you, Megan is getting dangerously good at those cross-court dinks. We laughed so hard I think I got more of an ab workout from the giggling than the actual sport.

After the games, we stopped by Sweet Magnolia. The smell of her fresh cinnamon rolls is enough to make a woman forget all about her 5K training goals, but I stuck to a black coffee. We talked about the Etsy shop, 'Lucy’s Little Light.' I told her I’m finally seeing a bit of a financial cushion forming from the candle sales. It isn’t a fortune yet, but it’s enough to cover the kids’ gymnastics and soccer fees this month without touching the main household budget. There is such a quiet, steady power in knowing you can contribute to your family’s security with something you created with your own two hands.

Speaking of training, I hit a personal milestone this afternoon. After I got home and settled Emma and Noah with their lunch, I laced up my sneakers for a three-mile run. The Cedar Falls Harvest 5K is looming in October, and I’ve been worried about my pace. But today, the air was just crisp enough that I didn't feel like I was melting. I shaved twenty seconds off my mile time. It wasn't just about the clock, though. It was about that feeling of my legs being strong and capable. For a long time, I looked in the mirror and only saw 'Mom' or 'Bookkeeper.' Today, I saw an athlete. That shift in self-worth is worth more than any medal.

When I got back, the house was a whirlwind of energy. Noah was running through the hallway in his velociraptor pajamas, making 'rawr' sounds that sent Biscuit into a tailspin of excited barking. Emma was tucked away at the dining table, supposed to be finishing a weekend math packet, but when I peeked over her shoulder, the margins were filled with intricate sketches of horses. She has such a gift for drawing. I know I should tell her to focus on the numbers, but how can I stifle that kind of beauty? I just kissed the top of her head and told her the horses looked like they could gallop right off the page.

Joanne, my neighbor, popped over while I was cooling down on the porch. She was still in that iconic pink bathrobe, though she’d clearly been busy deadheading her petunias. She handed me a small basket of late-summer tomatoes and told me I looked 'radiant' after my run. It’s funny how a simple compliment from a retired teacher can make you feel like you’re twenty-one again. It reminded me that we are seen, even when we think we’re just blending into the background of our own lives.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the garage, which serves as my candle studio. I poured a new batch of 'Autumn Harvest' scents—cinnamon, clove, and a hint of apple. The process of melting the wax and carefully adding the oils is so meditative. It’s the perfect counterpoint to the sawdust-heavy air at Miller’s Hardware where I spend my Tuesdays and Thursdays. While Mr. Miller’s shop represents the grit and the 'doing,' my candles represent the 'being.' I think we all need that balance in our lives.

Mark just pulled into the driveway a few minutes ago. I can hear him outside greeting Biscuit, his voice low and tired but warm. I know he’s exhausted from the construction site, and I want to make sure this evening is a soft place for him to land. I’ve realized lately that keeping the spark alive in a nine-year marriage isn't always about grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s just about having a cold drink ready and a listening ear when he walks through that door at 5:20 PM. It’s about being the person he wants to come home to.

Tonight, we’re keeping it simple. I’ve got those tomatoes from Joanne for a salad, and I’m going to let the kids stay up just a little past their bedtime to watch a movie. I’m feeling a deep sense of gratitude for this little blue house on Sycamore Street. My bank account is growing slowly, my body is getting stronger, and my heart is full. I hope you all found a moment of peace today, ladies. Remember that your worth isn't measured by how much you get done, but by the love you put into the doing.

I’m going to close this laptop now and go greet my husband. I can hear Noah trying to convince him that dinosaurs actually liked construction equipment. Life is loud, and life is messy, but oh, it is so very good. Keep running your own race, at your own pace. I’ll be right here doing the same, one mile and one candle at a time.

I love you. — Lucy