Sunday Socks and the Slower Side of Seven

Hello, friends. The sun is just starting to dip low enough to cast long, honey-colored shadows across the little blue house on Sycamore Street. It’s that quiet, heavy hour of a Sunday afternoon where the laundry is mostly folded, the kids are occupied with their own small worlds, and the air smells faintly of the vanilla and sandalwood candles I was pouring earlier. I’m sitting here with my feet up, my robin-egg-blue journal on my lap, feeling that good, tired ache that only comes from a week well-lived.

This morning started with the familiar buzz of the phone on the nightstand—my mom, Diane, checking in from forty minutes away like she does every Sunday. We talked for nearly an hour about her garden and the upcoming Cedar Falls Harvest 5K. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader, even when I was just a girl running laps around the backyard. Today, she reminded me that I’ve always had a 'steady heart,' and ladies, I think I really needed to hear that. Sometimes we get so caught up in the pace of life that we forget the value of just staying the course.

After we hung up, I looked at my running shoes by the door. After yesterday’s six-mile milestone with Megan at the court, my legs were definitely feeling the effort. Instead of pushing for another high-mileage day, I decided to take a 'recovery walk' with Biscuit. We did a slow loop around the neighborhood, stopping so he could sniff every single blade of grass. I saw Joanne out in her usual pink bathrobe, though she had finally traded the deadheading for a light sweater as the Iowa air turned crisp. We waved, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

Walking slow gave me time to really think about where I am right now. We’re coming up on nine years of marriage, and I find myself looking at Mark differently these days. When he came home Friday, smelling of cedar and hard work, I realized that our love isn't just in the big anniversaries, but in the way he makes sure the porch light is on when I come back from a late run. It makes me feel seen, and more than that, it makes me feel desirable in a way that has nothing to do with being 'perfect' and everything to do with being known.

Emma joined me in the kitchen when I got back, her math worksheets scattered across the table. Instead of numbers, the margins were filled with elaborate sketches of horses with flowing manes. I could have corrected her, told her to focus on the subtraction, but I just kissed the top of her head. There is so much pressure on these kids—and on us—to always be producing something measurable. Watching her draw made me realize that my Etsy shop, 'Lucy's Little Light,' started the same way. It wasn't about the extra grocery money at first; it was about proving I could create something from nothing.

Speaking of the shop, I spent two hours this afternoon organizing my supplies. Financial growth is a slow climb, much like my 5K training. Sometimes it feels like I'm just moving wax from one container to another, but then I look at the spreadsheet and see the steady tick upward. It’s empowering to know that I am contributing to our future, one hand-poured jar at a time. It’s not just about the dollars; it’s about the self-worth that comes from building a bridge toward our goals.

Noah spent the afternoon in his velociraptor pajamas, staged in a full-scale prehistoric war with his plastic dinosaurs in the living room. Seeing him so unselfconsciously happy reminds me why I’m working so hard to stay in shape. I want to be the mom who can chase him through the park without getting winded. I want to be the woman who feels strong in her own skin, not just for my husband or my kids, but for the girl who wrote that letter to herself all those months ago.

Mark is out back now, checking the seals on the windows before the real chill sets in. He works so hard, and I’m so grateful he’s home early enough today for us to have a proper dinner together. We’re having a simple roast, something that can simmer while I finish this post and maybe steal ten minutes of quiet before the evening rush of baths and bedtime stories begins. The house feels full—not just of people, but of a quiet, steady kind of light.

I hope you all had a moment today to breathe and recognize your own progress, no matter how small it might seem. Whether you ran six miles or just managed to get the dishes done, you are doing enough. You are enough. I’m going to go help Mark with the heavy lifting now, and then I think I’ll treat myself to a long soak with some of Megan’s lavender bath salts from the bakery.

Tomorrow is Monday, and the cycle starts again. I’ll be back at Miller’s on Tuesday, surrounded by the scent of sawdust and the familiar rhythm of the books, but for tonight, I am just Lucy. A woman in a blue house, loved and growing. Keep showing up for yourselves, ladies. It’s the best gift you can give the world.

I love you. — Lucy