Sunday Strolls and the Serenity of Seven

It is just before six o'clock, and the house has finally settled into that peculiar Sunday evening hum. Mark is currently in the living room with Noah, who is wearing his favorite velociraptor pajamas and insisting that his plastic Triceratops join him for 'pre-bedtime snack time.' The smell of the roast chicken we had for early dinner is still lingering in the air, mixing with the faint, sweet scent of the 'Lavender Harvest' candles I poured yesterday. It feels like the whole house is taking a collective breath before the Monday morning rush begins again.

Today felt like one of those days where the world slows down just enough for you to catch your own reflection in the glass and actually recognize the woman looking back. I started my morning the way I usually do on Sundays, with a long, rambling phone call from my mom, Diane. She called right around 9:00 AM, just as Biscuit was begging for his morning walk. We talked for forty minutes about everything and nothing—the petunias Joanne is still fussing over next door, the latest news from the hardware store, and how Emma has started drawing elaborate horse stables on the back of her subtraction worksheets.

Mom always has a way of reminding me that I am doing a good job, even when I feel like I'm just tread-paddling through the week. We talked a bit about my Etsy shop, 'Lucy's Little Light.' I told her about the uptick in orders this week, and how satisfying it feels to see that little notification on my phone. It’s not just about the extra money—though every bit helps with the kids' activities—it’s about the fact that something I created with my own two hands is sitting on someone else’s mantle tonight. There is a profound sense of self-worth in that, a realization that I am more than just the keeper of the schedules and the packer of lunches.

After we hung up, I laced up my sneakers. Friends, I have to tell you, I was feeling a bit apprehensive. Following my six-mile run yesterday after pickleball with Megan, my legs felt heavy, like they were made of the very sawdust I sweep up at Miller’s on Tuesdays. But the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K is only a few weeks away in October, and I knew I needed to push through the mental fog. I stepped out onto Sycamore Street, the air crisp and smelling of turning leaves, and I just started moving.

I hit seven miles today. Seven. I remember back in June when three miles felt like a mountain I wasn't sure I could climb. But today, as I passed the bakery and saw the 'Closed' sign in Megan's window, I felt a rhythmic strength in my stride that I haven't felt in years. It’s not just about staying in shape or fitting into those jeans in the back of the closet anymore. It’s about the discipline of showing up for myself. When I run, I’m not 'Mom' or 'the bookkeeper' or 'Mark’s wife.' I am just Lucy, and I am strong.

When I got back, sweaty and glowing, Mark was out in the yard helping Emma with her bike. He looked up, and the way he smiled at me—that slow, appreciative look he’s given me for nine years now—made my heart do a little flip. Sometimes, in the middle of the construction projects and the long days he spends as a foreman, it’s easy to fall into a routine where we forget to really 'see' each other. But today, standing there in my leggings with my hair frizzy from the humidity, I felt beautiful. I felt desirable. Not because I looked perfect, but because I felt powerful in my own skin.

We spent the afternoon doing the mundane things that make a life. I folded three baskets of laundry while watching a documentary about the Cretaceous period with Noah (his dinosaur knowledge is truly becoming terrifying). I checked my robin-egg-blue journal and realized I’ve stayed under budget this week, even with the extra supplies I had to buy for the candle shop. Those small financial victories feel like building blocks for our future, little pieces of security we are stacking up one by one.

I even took a moment to walk over to the fence and chat with Joanne. She was in her signature pink bathrobe, even though it was two in the afternoon, carefully deadheading her petunias. She taught me a trick about pinching the stems that I’ll have to try on my own porch pots next spring. There is something so grounding about the wisdom of women who have seen more seasons than I have. She reminded me that everything has its time to bloom and its time to rest.

Now, as the sun dips lower and the shadows stretch across the blue siding of our home, I am getting ready to close this journal and head upstairs. Mark will be home by 5:20 tomorrow as usual, and the cycle will begin again. But tonight, I am going to bed knowing I ran further than I thought I could, loved better than I expected to, and held onto a piece of myself that is growing stronger every single day.

I hope you all had a Sunday that filled your cups, ladies. Remember that the small choices you make for your own health and happiness are never wasted. They are the seeds of the woman you are becoming. I am so glad we are on this journey together, one mile and one candle at a time. It’s nearly six, and I hear Emma calling for help with her bedtime story. Duty calls, but my heart is full.

I love you. — Lucy