Saturday Strides And The Sweetness Of Sycamore Street

Hello, friends. I’m writing to you from my kitchen table, the late afternoon sun spilling across my robin-egg-blue journal and a half-empty glass of iced tea. The house is finally quiet for a moment. Mark just took Noah outside to play 'dinosaur rescue' in the backyard—which mostly involves Biscuit chasing Noah while he screams in his velociraptor pajamas—and Emma is sprawled out on the living room rug, meticulously coloring a horse’s mane purple on the back of an old invoice from Miller’s Hardware. These are the minutes I try to bottle up.

Today was one of those Saturdays that felt like a deep breath. I started the morning early, laced up my running shoes, and hit the pavement before the Iowa humidity could really settle in. I managed to clock three and a half miles today. It wasn’t fast, and my lungs were definitely feeling the burn by the time I turned onto Sycamore Street, but I did it. Every time my feet hit the ground, I find myself thinking about the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October. It used to feel like a distant, slightly terrifying goal, but now it feels like a promise I’m keeping to myself.

After my run, I met Megan at the park for our usual pickleball match. Ladies, if you haven’t found a hobby that makes you laugh until your sides ache, please go find one. I’m not particularly graceful on the court, and Megan is much faster than I am, but there is something so healing about moving your body just for the joy of it. We spent half the time playing and the other half talking about her new recipe for lemon lavender scones. She’s my rock, and having that hour to just be Lucy—not 'Mom' or 'the bookkeeper'—is vital for my soul.

When I got home, Joanne was out in her yard, looking as iconic as ever in that bright pink bathrobe. She called out a compliment about my 'post-run glow,' and though I felt more like a sweaty mess, I chose to believe her. We stood by the fence for a few minutes while she deadheaded her petunias. She told me that the secret to a long life is consistent pruning—getting rid of the dead weight so the new blooms have room to breathe. I think there’s a lesson in there for all of us, don't you?

Speaking of new blooms, I spent a good chunk of the afternoon in my 'candle corner.' I had seven orders from Etsy to fulfill today. Pouring the soy wax for my 'Sycamore Sunset' scent is becoming a form of meditation for me. It’s hard to believe that what started as a little side hustle is actually helping us tuck away a bit of extra money for our ninth anniversary trip. Seeing that Etsy balance grow, even by twenty dollars at a time, gives me a sense of financial agency I didn't know I was missing. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine.

There’s something about being productive in your own home that makes you feel differently about yourself. As I was labeling the jars, Mark came in to grab a glass of water. He stopped, put his hand on my shoulder, and just watched me work for a second. He told me he was proud of how hard I’ve been working on everything lately. In the rush of daily life—the hardware store shifts, the laundry, the 5:30 am wake-up calls—it’s easy to feel like a revolving door of tasks. But in that moment, I felt seen. I felt desirable, not just as a partner, but as a woman who is building something.

I’ve spent a lot of my thirties worrying if I’m 'doing enough.' Am I a good enough mother? Am I staying in shape? Is my bookkeeping at Miller's accurate enough? But today, as I watched the wax harden in the jars, I realized that growth isn't always a giant leap. Sometimes, it's just the steady accumulation of small, honest efforts. It's the three miles run, the one candle poured, and the one Saturday morning spent laughing with a friend. These are the threads that make up a life well-lived.

Consistency is a quiet power. It doesn't demand an audience or a round of applause. It just requires you to show up, even when you're tired, even when the sawdust smell from the hardware store is still clinging to your hair. We are all works in progress, and there is so much beauty in the middle of the journey. You don't have to be at the finish line to be worthy of celebration.

Tonight, we’re keeping it simple. Mark is grilling, and I promised Emma we could look at horse books before bed. Mom called earlier to check in, and I’m looking forward to a longer chat with her tomorrow. I think I’ll treat myself to a long soak in the tub once the kids are down, maybe use one of my own bath bombs if I can find a spare one in the cupboard.

I want you to remember that your small victories count. Whether you made it to the gym, finished a project, or just kept the kids fed and happy today, you are doing incredible work. Take a moment to look in the mirror and be kind to the woman looking back at you. She’s doing her best, and her best is more than enough.

The clock is nearing six, and I can hear Noah roaring from the hallway, so it’s time to close this journal and re-enter the beautiful chaos. Thank you for being here with me, for listening to my ramblings, and for being part of this community. We’re all in this together, one Sycamore Street step at a time.

I love you. — Lucy