Sunday Summons and the Stillness of Sycamore Street

Happy Sunday, sweet friends. I am sitting here at the kitchen table, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds of our little blue house, casting long, golden stripes across my robin-egg-blue journal. The house is finally quiet for the first time since the sun came up, and I can hear the gentle rhythmic ticking of the clock in the hall. It is that soft, transitional hour when the weekend starts to tuck itself in, and the week ahead begins to whisper its arrival. I hope your Sunday has been as restorative as mine, even in its messier moments.

The day started with the usual Sunday morning call from my mom, Diane. She called right as I was trying to negotiate with Noah about his velociraptor pajamas—he’s insisted on wearing them for thirty-six hours straight now. Mom always has a way of grounding me. We talked for forty minutes about everything and nothing: the weather back home, how Mark’s construction projects are moving along, and her latest knitting project. There is something about the voice of a mother that reminds you that you are still someone’s little girl, even when you’re busy being the glue that holds your own family together.

After I hung up, I felt a surge of that 'Sunday energy'—you know the one, ladies? The kind where you suddenly feel like you can organize your entire life in three hours. I headed out to the driveway for my scheduled run. With the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K looming in October, I’ve been trying to be so disciplined. Today was a four-mile effort, my longest stretch yet since I started this journey. The Sycamore Street pavement felt a little harder than usual, but by the time I hit the three-mile mark near the park, I found that rhythm where the breath matches the stride. It’s not just about staying in shape; it’s about proving to myself that I can finish what I start.

When I got back, sweating and red-faced, I found Joanne next door in her signature pink bathrobe. She was out there deadheading her petunias, looking as peaceful as a statue. She gave me a little wave and told me I looked like I was 'running toward something important.' I laughed and told her I was just running toward a shower, but her words stuck with me. We are all running toward something, aren't we? Whether it’s a fitness goal, a better version of ourselves, or just the end of a long laundry list, there is dignity in the movement.

The middle of the day was a whirlwind of wax and wicks. I had three new orders for 'Lucy's Little Light' come in over the weekend, so the kitchen became a makeshift laboratory. I’ve been experimenting with a new 'Autumn Harvest' scent—think crisp apples and a hint of cedarwood—and the house smells absolutely divine. It’s a slow financial growth, these candles, but every Etsy notification feels like a tiny victory for my self-worth. It’s something that is mine, separate from being a bookkeeper at Miller’s or a mom to two energetic kids.

Speaking of kids, Emma spent the afternoon sprawled on the living room rug. She wasn't doing her math homework, of course; instead, the margins of her worksheets were covered in elaborate drawings of horses with flowing manes. I should probably be stricter about the math, but seeing her so lost in her own creativity makes my heart ache in the best way. Noah joined her, though his 'art' mostly consisted of crashing his plastic Triceratops into her colored pencils. Biscuit, ever the patient soul, just lay between them, acting as a furry rug and a buffer for their sibling squabbles.

Mark came in a bit later than usual for a Sunday, having stopped by a site to check on some equipment for tomorrow morning. When he walked through the door, smelling like sawdust and the outdoors, he caught me mid-pour with the wax. He didn't say anything, just walked up behind me and gave my shoulders a squeeze. After nine years, he still knows exactly when I’m starting to feel the weight of the upcoming week. It’s in those quiet, unspoken moments of support that I feel the most desirable and seen. It isn't about grand gestures; it’s about a man who knows his wife needs a two-minute shoulder rub before the dinner rush starts.

We had an early dinner of leftovers, and I managed to sneak a few extra carrots onto Noah’s plate while he was distracted by a dinosaur documentary. Now, the dishes are soaking, and Mark has taken the kids out to the backyard to throw a ball for Biscuit. I can hear their laughter through the open window, and it’s the best soundtrack I could ask for. I’m feeling that tired-but-good ache in my legs from the four miles, a reminder that my body is capable of more than I give it credit for.

As I look at my reflection in the darkened kitchen window, I see a woman who is learning to love the process. I’m not at the finish line of the 5K yet, and 'Lucy's Little Light' isn't a global empire, but we are building something real here in this little blue house. We are growing in the small, steady increments of our daily lives, one candle pour and one mile at a time. It’s enough. More than enough, actually. It is a beautiful life, even when there are dinosaur pajamas involved.

I’m going to close this journal now and go join them in the yard for a few minutes before the bedtime routine begins. Tomorrow is Monday, and there will be tallies to count at Miller’s and more miles to run, but for right now, the sun is still up and my heart is full. I hope you all find a moment of stillness before your week begins. Remember that you are doing a great job, even when it feels like you’re just barely keeping the wax from spilling. I love you. — Lucy