Sunday Syrup and the Rhythm of Repair

Hello, friends. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, the sun just starting to dip low enough to hit that robin-egg-blue journal Megan gave me, casting a long shadow over the empty syrup bottles and the sticky remains of our family breakfast. Mark is finally home—he worked a rare Sunday morning to finish a foundation pour before the heat wave hits—and he’s currently slumped on the sofa with Biscuit's head resting on his knee. The house is quiet for the first time since 6:00 AM, and I wanted to take a moment to breathe with you all.

This morning was all about pancakes and prehistoric negotiations. Noah was insistent that his Tyrannosaurus should have a seat at the table, while Emma was busily sketching a new stable for her dream horse on the back of an old receipt from Miller’s Hardware. Watching them, I realized how much of my life is spent in this beautiful, chaotic middle ground. There’s something so steadying about the routine of a Sunday, even when it feels like I’m just moving from one pile of laundry to the next.

I took my scheduled Sunday call with Mom while the kids were playing in the backyard. She’s already planning what she’s going to wear to the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October, which made me laugh because I’m the one who has to actually run it. She’s always been my biggest cheerleader, even when I feel like I'm moving at a snail's pace. We talked about the candles for a bit, too. I told her I had a breakthrough with the 'Cedar and Sage' scent for Lucy's Little Light this weekend, and she reminded me that growth, whether it’s a business or a fitness goal, is rarely a straight line.

Speaking of the 5K, I managed to get four miles in late yesterday after my pickleball game with Megan. My legs are definitely feeling it today, a dull ache that reminds me I’m reclaiming parts of myself that I let sleep for a long time. There is a specific kind of self-worth that comes from physical exhaustion—the kind you choose for yourself. It’s not the tired you feel after a long shift at the shop or cleaning up Noah’s dinosaur dioramas; it’s the tired that says, 'I did this for me.'

Joanne caught me as I was coming back from my run, standing in her pink bathrobe among her petunias. She waved a pair of gardening shears at me and told me I looked 'determined.' It’s funny how our neighbors see the versions of us we don’t always recognize in the mirror. I spent so many years worrying if I looked tired or 'mom-ish,' but lately, staring at my reflection in the hallway mirror, I’m starting to see the strength in the lines around my eyes instead of just the fatigue.

Tonight, after the kids were finally settled, I noticed a small crack in one of the wooden chairs we’ve had since our first anniversary. Mark saw me looking at it and grabbed his tool kit. Watching him work—his hands calloused from the construction site, yet so precise when he brings them home—always does something to my heart. We’ve been married nine years now, and sometimes the most romantic thing he can do isn't buying flowers, but fixing the things that are broken so I don't have to worry about them.

We sat there for a minute, just the two of us, while the wood glue dried. I realized that a marriage, much like my training or my little candle side hustle, requires a lot of 'tending to the cracks.' You can’t just ignore the wear and tear and expect the structure to hold. You have to be willing to get your hands a little dirty, to apply the glue, and to wait for it to set. It’s the slow work that makes the foundation strong enough for the long haul.

I’ve also been thinking about our finances as we look toward the fall. The Etsy shop is finally starting to see a steady trickle of orders that cover more than just the supplies. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine. Being able to contribute to our 'future house fund' with money I earned from my own creativity gives me a sense of agency I didn't know I was missing. It’s not just about the dollars; it’s about the proof that I can build something from nothing.

As I look at the clock, it’s almost 6:00 PM, and I need to start thinking about school lunches for tomorrow. The Sunday Scaries used to hit me hard, but today they feel more like a gentle nudge to stay organized. I feel desirable not because I’m perfect, but because I’m present. I’m leaning into the woman I am becoming—a woman who runs, who pours, who counts, and who loves fiercely. Through every sore muscle and every spilled drop of wax, I’m finding her.

I hope you all had a moment of peace today, ladies. Whether it was a quiet cup of coffee before the house woke up or a long walk under the Iowa sky, I hope you felt your own light burning bright. We are all works in progress, and that is exactly where the beauty lies. I’m going to go join Mark on the porch for a few minutes before the sun fully disappears behind the sycamores.

Take care of yourselves. I love you. — Lucy