Sunday Calls And The Scent Of Citrus

The house is finally quiet for a moment, friends. Mark has taken Emma and Noah out to the backyard to run off some energy with Biscuit, and I can hear the distant thud of a soccer ball hitting the fence and the frantic, happy yaps of a golden retriever who thinks he’s a professional athlete. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table with my robin-egg-blue journal, the one Megan gave me, feeling that particular Sunday afternoon peace that only comes after the laundry is folded and the week ahead feels manageable.

My mom, Diane, called right on schedule this afternoon. We talked for nearly forty minutes while I scrubbed some stubborn wax out of my candle pouring pitchers. She’s doing well, though she’s already worrying about what she’s going to wear to our ninth anniversary dinner later this summer—as if she’s the one being celebrated! It’s funny how she still treats me like I’m nineteen sometimes, reminding me to hydrate for my 5K training. I told her I hit three and a half miles yesterday after pickleball, and she sounded so proud I could almost hear her smiling through the phone.

Training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K has become about so much more than just crossing a finish line in October. It’s about that thirty minutes where I am just Lucy—not Mom, not Mrs. Bennett, not the bookkeeper at Miller’s. I’m finding that my self-worth is tied less to the number on the scale and more to the way my legs feel strong when I push up the incline on Main Street. I want to feel capable, and I want to look at Mark when he gets home from a long day on the construction site and feel like the woman he fell in love with nearly a decade ago is still right here, vibrant and full of life.

Speaking of life, the kitchen smells like a citrus grove right now. I spent a good portion of the afternoon working on a new batch for Lucy’s Little Light. I’m experimenting with a 'Sunday Morning' scent—grapefruit, bergamot, and a tiny hint of basil. It’s light and hopeful, exactly how I want my home to feel. Etsy has been quiet this week, but I had two orders from folks over in Waterloo this morning, and those small financial victories really do add up. It’s my ‘slow growth’ fund, and seeing that balance tick up makes me feel like I’m building something uniquely mine.

Noah wandered in halfway through my pouring session, still in his dinosaur pajamas even though it was nearly noon. He was very insistent that his T-Rex was hungry for candles, so we had to have a very serious talk about what is and isn't 'dino food.' He is so much like Mark—determined and focused, even when he’s just playing. It’s a lot to keep up with, and some days I feel more like a referee than a mother, but watching him grow makes every chaotic moment worth it.

Emma has been tucked away in the nook by the window, her tongue poked out in concentration as she deconstructs her math worksheets. She isn't doing the problems, of course; she’s turning the margins into a sprawling horse ranch. I should probably encourage her to focus on the subtraction, but there’s something so beautiful about her imagination that I hate to interrupt it. Those little horses have better lives than most people I know.

I caught a glimpse of Joanne across the way earlier. She was out in her pink bathrobe, even though it was midday, meticulously deadheading her petunias. She waved her garden shears at me with a grin. She’s the one who taught me that a garden—and a life—only stays beautiful if you’re willing to snip off the dead ends. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. What am I holding onto that isn't blooming anymore? Sometimes it’s a bad habit, sometimes it’s a negative thought about my body, and sometimes it’s just the clutter in the junk drawer.

I’m trying to be better about those 'dead ends.' I’m learning that choosing myself, whether that’s through a morning run or just taking ten minutes to write to you all, isn't selfish. It’s how I stay whole for everyone else. When Mark walks through that door tonight, I want to be present, not just exhausted. I want us to talk about his day and my dreams for the shop, rather than just the grocery list and the mortgage.

The sun is starting to dip lower, casting long, golden shadows across the linoleum. Mark will be coming in soon to start the grill, and then it’s the usual Sunday evening whirlwind of baths, pajamas, and finding Noah’s favorite velociraptor socks. But for now, it’s just me, the scent of citrus, and the sound of my own breath. We are making progress, ladies. One mile and one candle at a time. I hope your Sunday has been as kind to you as mine has been to me.

I love you. — Lucy