The Geometry Of A June Wednesday

Hello, friends. I hope you are having a gentle week. The house is relatively quiet right now, save for the low hum of the refrigerator and Biscuit’s rhythmic snoring from the kitchen rug. Mark isn't home yet—he’s finishing up a site pour today—and I’ve managed to get Emma and Noah settled with their Lego bins in the living room. There is something so restorative about these late afternoon hours when the Iowa sun starts to angle low over Sycamore Street, casting long, golden fingers through the window blinds.

Today was one of those days that felt both entirely mundane and deeply significant. Since it’s Wednesday, I didn’t have a shift at Miller’s Hardware, so I spent the morning tackling a project I’ve been avoiding: the hall closet. While I was digging through old coats, I found a box of math worksheets Emma had 'repurposed.' Instead of long division, every single margin was occupied by beautiful, elaborate sketches of horses. Some were galloping, some were grazing, but all of them had this incredible energy. It reminded me so much of that letter I wrote to my younger self earlier this week. We are always so much more than the tasks we are assigned.

After lunch, I finally laced up my sneakers for a three-mile run. I’m officially at the point in my Cedar Falls Harvest 5K training where the first mile doesn’t feel like a death march anymore. My lungs are finding their rhythm, and my legs feel stronger, more capable. I saw Joanne as I turned the corner by her house. She was out there in her signature pink bathrobe, even though it was nearly 2:00 PM, deadheading her petunias with the precision of a surgeon. She waved her shears at me and yelled, 'Keep those knees up, Lucy!' It made me laugh, and that burst of joy carried me through my final mile.

Running has become such a cornerstone of my self-worth lately. It isn't just about fitting into my jeans or staying in shape for Mark, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the way he looks at me when I’m glowing from a workout. It’s about the fact that I am showing up for myself. For so many years, I poured every ounce of my identity into being a mom or a wife or the bookkeeper for Mr. Miller. Now, when my feet hit the pavement, I am just Lucy. I am building a version of myself that can breathe deeply and run far.

Speaking of building, I spent a few hours in the garage once I cooled down, working on a new batch of 'Lucy’s Little Light' candles. I’m experimenting with a new scent—Cedar and Wild Honey. It reminds me of the way the shop smells at the hardware store, only softer, sweeter. I’ve had three new orders on Etsy since yesterday, and seeing those notifications pop up on my phone feels like a tiny victory flag. It’s not a fortune, but it’s mine. That financial independence, however small, is a seed I am carefully watering.

Noah came out to the garage while I was pouring the wax, wearing his favorite velociraptor pajamas even though it was midday. He stood there with his hands behind his back, watching me with such intensity. 'Mom, are you making fire juice?' he asked. I told him I was making light. He seemed satisfied with that answer and went back to his dinosaurs, but it struck me how much our kids are always watching the way we handle our own passions. I want him to know that his mother is a person who creates things, not just someone who cleans up after him.

Mark texted a little while ago to say he was heading out. He sounded tired, but his voice always softens when he tells me he can't wait to get home. We have our ninth anniversary coming up, and I find myself thinking more and more about the foundation we’ve built. Like the construction projects he manages, a marriage requires a lot of heavy lifting and sometimes a total renovation of the spirit. We’ve had our dusty moments, for sure, but the structure is sound. I’m planning to make his favorite pot roast tonight as a little mid-week surprise.

I took a quick trip to Sweet Magnolia this afternoon to drop off some candle samples for Megan. The bakery was busy, but she managed to sneak me a cracked sugar cookie from the cooling rack. We chatted for five minutes about our pickleball game this coming Saturday. I’m still a bit clumsy with the paddle, but the laughter we share on that court is better than any therapy. It’s important to have those spaces, ladies. Places where you can be messy and loud and completely yourself.

Before I close this out and start dinner, I took a moment to look at myself in the hallway mirror. I didn't look for the fine lines or the way my hair was frizzing from the humidity. I looked at my eyes and thanked them for seeing the beauty in a horse-drawn math sheet. I thanked my arms for pouring wax and my legs for the three miles. We are so hard on ourselves, aren't we? We focus on the cracks in the drywall instead of the warmth of the home. Tonight, I am choosing to see the warmth.

The kids are getting restless and Biscuit is nudging my hand for his evening walk. Mark will be through that door in twenty minutes, and the evening scramble will truly begin. But right now, in this quiet pocket of time before 6:00, I am grateful. I am growing, inch by inch, mile by mile, candle by candle. Thank you for being here with me, for listening to these small stories of a life in Cedar Falls. It means the world to know I’m not running this race alone.

I hope you find a small victory to celebrate tonight, even if it's just finding a missing sock or drinking a full glass of water. You are worthy of the space you take up. You are capable of more than you think. I’m going to go start the roast now and maybe steal one more quiet minute on the porch before the chaos resumes. Keep moving forward, keep seeking the light. I love you. — Lucy