Thursday Tools and the Total of a Year’s Growth

Hello, friends. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table, the late afternoon sun slanting through the window of our little blue house, casting a long shadow over my robin-egg-blue journal. The house is blissfully quiet for just a moment; Noah is finally nap-trapped on the sofa in his dinosaur pajamas—the velociraptor ones he refuses to take off—and Emma is out back in the grass, sketching what I suspect is a horse with very long eyelashes on the back of her summer bridge math packet. Mark won’t be through the door for another twenty minutes, and Biscuit is sprawled across my feet like a heavy, golden rug. I’m taking a deep breath and just letting the silence sit with me.

Today was one of those Tuesdays that reminds me how much of our lives are built in the small, repetitive motions. I spent my shift from eleven to three at Miller’s Hardware, surrounded by that comforting, heavy scent of cedar sawdust and motor oil. Mr. Miller had me reconciling the accounts for the new shipment of plumbing fixtures, and as I tucked my hair behind my ear and focused on the ledgers, I felt a familiar surge of quiet pride. It wasn’t that long ago that numbers felt like a foreign language to me, or that I felt I had to ask permission for every penny I spent on a new fragrance oil for my candles. Today, seeing the growth in the hardware store’s books felt like seeing a reflection of the growth in my own confidence.

There is something so grounding about earning your own way, even in part-time increments. As I walked out at three, the heat was shimmering off the pavement of Sycamore Street, and I felt that itch in my legs to move. I didn't want to go home just yet. I drove back, laced up my sneakers, and pushed myself through a solid three-mile run before the kids needed me. I’m training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October, and every time I hit that two-mile marker near the park, my lungs burning just a little, I realize I’m not just running toward a finish line. I’m running away from the version of myself that thought she wasn’t strong enough to keep up.

I saw Joanne while I was cooling down. She was out there in her signature pink bathrobe, looking regal even while deadheading her petunias. She waved a trowel at me and told me my stride looked 'purposeful.' It’s funny how a single word from a neighbor can make you stand a little taller. For a long time, I think I walked through the world trying to be invisible, or at least trying to be exactly what everyone else needed me to be. But lately, when I look in the mirror after a run, sweaty and red-faced, I don’t just see a mom or a bookkeeper. I see a woman who belongs to herself, and that makes me feel more desirable and alive than any fancy outfit ever could.

Speaking of feeling alive, I had a text from Megan just as I was getting home. She’s getting ready for the weekend rush at Sweet Magnolia, but she took a second to tell me she’s been burning one of my 'Sea Salt and Cedar' candles in the bakery’s back office. She said it makes her feel like she’s on a vacation instead of elbow-deep in flour. Those words are like fuel for Lucy’s Little Light. I’ve started a separate savings account for my Etsy earnings, and watching that balance slowly tick upward—ten dollars here, twenty there—feels like building a bridge toward a future where I don’t have to worry about the unexpected. It’s about more than the money; it’s about the proof of my own labor.

Mark and I are coming up on nine years of marriage soon, and I’ve been thinking a lot about the 'us' we were back then versus the 'us' we are now. He’ll be home at 5:20pm sharp, likely smelling of drywall dust and hard work, and I can’t wait to just lean into him for a second. We’re in the thick of it—the years of construction projects and dinosaur pajamas and 5:30am alarms—but there is a richness in it that I didn’t know how to appreciate in my twenties. We are building something together, but we are also allowing each other the space to be individuals. He supports my 5K goals, even if he thinks I’m a little crazy for running in the Iowa humidity, and I support the long hours he puts in as a foreman.

I think sometimes we women feel like we have to choose between being the glue that holds the family together and being the fire that burns for our own dreams. What I’m learning, day by day, is that I can be both. I can tally the accounts at the hardware store and still be the one who knows exactly where the green crayon is. I can be a wife who loves her husband deeply and still be a woman who needs an hour of silence and a pair of running shoes to feel whole. It isn't a betrayal of my family to want things for myself—it is actually the thing that makes me a better version of 'Mom' and 'Lucy.'

My mom, Diane, is supposed to call on Sunday, and I’m already looking forward to telling her about my mileage this week. She’s forty minutes away, but sometimes it feels like she’s right there in the kitchen with me. I want her to know that her daughter is doing more than just 'getting by.' I want her to see that I’m thriving. I’m starting to realize that self-worth isn’t something you find once and keep forever; it’s something you have to cultivate, like Joanne’s petunias, day after day, through the mundane and the magnificent alike.

It’s almost six o’clock now. I can hear the rumble of Mark’s truck turning the corner onto Sycamore Street, and Biscuit has already perked up her ears and started pacing by the door. The quiet moment is ending, and the evening rush of dinner, baths, and dinosaur stories is about to begin. But I’m going into it with a full heart and a clear head. We are all works in progress, ladies, and that is a beautiful thing to be. Take a moment for yourselves tonight, even if it’s just five minutes with a journal or a glass of water. You are worth the effort you put into everyone else.

I love you. — Lucy