Sunday Sauce and the Serenity of the Sycamore Breeze

Hello, friends. The sun is just starting to dip low enough to catch the dust motes dancing in my kitchen window, and the house is finally quiet. Mark is out back with Biscuit, throwing the ball until that old retriever’s tail stops wagging, and the kids are momentarily occupied with a prehistoric battle on the living room rug. Noah is, as usual, in his velociraptor pajamas, providing the sound effects, while Emma is trying to convince him that dinosaurs and horses could have been friends. It is a sweet, chaotic symphony that usually defines our Sundays.

Today started with the usual long-distance catch-up. Mom called right on schedule at 10:00 am from her place forty minutes away. We talked about the garden, the heat, and how Emma’s math worksheets are looking more like art portfolios these days. Mom always has a way of grounding me, reminding me that even when the house feels small or the budget feels tight, there is a wealth in the four walls of this little blue house on Sycamore Street. She reminded me to keep my head up about the 5K, too. I think she’s more excited for October than I am.

Speaking of the Harvest 5K, I actually hit a milestone this afternoon. After our call, I laced up my sneakers and hit the pavement. I managed to clock four miles today without stopping once. After yesterday’s pickleball session with Megan, I wasn't sure my legs had it in them, but the cool breeze coming off the creek really helped. There is something about the rhythm of your own breathing that makes you realize you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. When I first started this training, I felt like an imposter in athletic wear. Today, I just felt like Lucy.

I came back to the house sweaty and tired, but the good kind of tired. While the kids were napping, I retreated to my little corner of the basement to check on my 'Lucy’s Little Light' inventory. I have six new orders for the Lavender & Driftwood scent, which always seems to be a favorite this time of year. Pouring the wax is my version of meditation. Watching the liquid turn solid is a gentle reminder that personal growth doesn't happen in a flash; it’s a slow, steady cooling process. It’s small financial victories like these that make me feel like I’m building something real.

Joanne was out in her yard when I went to take the trash out later. She was in that signature pink bathrobe, looking fierce as ever while she deadheaded her petunias. She waved a pair of gardening shears at me and told me I looked 'resolute.' I’m not sure if she meant my running form or the way I’m handling two toddlers, but I’ll take the compliment either way. She has that retired teacher way of making you feel like you just passed a very important test you didn't know you were taking.

Mark came home from his long week at the site, and though he’s exhausted, he always makes a point to notice the little things. He commented on the new batch of candles smelling like 'peace,' which is the highest praise he can give. Nine years into this marriage, and he still manages to make me feel desirable even when I’m covered in soy wax and sweat. It’s not about the grand gestures; it’s the way he rests his hand on the small of my back while I’m stirring the marinara sauce for dinner.

We talk a lot here about self-worth, and today it felt tied to the mundane. It’s easy to feel invisible when you’re a bookkeeper at a hardware store or a mom who spends half her day picking up toy raptors. But as I sat on the porch for ten minutes of quiet, I realized that my worth isn't found in how fast I run or how many candles I sell. It’s in the consistency. It’s in the showing up, day after day, for the people I love and for the woman I am becoming in the process.

Tonight, we’re having a simple dinner before the school and work week starts all over again. Mark will be out the door at 5:30 am, and I’ll be back to the routine. But for right now, the sauce is simmering, the kids are happy, and my robin-egg-blue journal is full of today’s small wins. I hope you all found a moment of stillness today, too. Whether it was a phone call with a loved one or just a quiet cup of coffee, I hope you felt seen.

I need to go help Emma find her favorite horse book before bedtime, and Noah is starting to sound suspiciously like he’s trying to climb the bookshelf. The evening rush is about to begin, but my heart feels full and my legs feel strong. We are all works in progress, ladies, and that is a beautiful thing to be. Keep running your own race, at your own pace.

I love you. — Lucy