Tuesday Tallies and the Seventeen Mile Stretch

Hello, friends. I am sitting here in the quiet of my little blue house on Sycamore Street, watching the afternoon sun dip just low enough to hit the petunias in Joanne’s garden across the way. She’s out there now, her signature pink bathrobe fluttering slightly as she works, and I can’t help but smile. There is such a rhythmic, steady beauty in the way she tends to things, and I think that’s what I’ve been craving for myself lately—that sense of quiet, intentional persistence.

Today was a Miller’s Hardware day, which always means the comforting, grounding scent of sawdust following me home in the fibers of my sweater. Mr. Miller was in a particularly chatty mood today as I worked through the quarterly ledgers. We talked about the rising cost of lumber and the way the town changes when the leaves start to turn. I love my hours there; there is something so satisfying about making the numbers balance, about seeing the literal receipts of a hard day's work. It makes my little side hustle with Lucy’s Little Light feel more professional, too, as if every column I tally for the shop teaches me how to be a better steward of my own small candle business.

After I clocked out at three, I headed straight for the trail. Ladies, I have to tell you, my legs felt heavy at first. I think the weight of the week was sitting right in my calves. But then I thought about the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K next month, and I thought about the woman I was just a year ago, and I kept going. I hit seventeen miles today. Seventeen! I know it’s far beyond the 3.1 miles I actually need for the race, but there is a specific kind of self-worth that comes from pushing past your own perceived limits. It’s not just about staying in shape; it’s about proving to myself that I am capable of enduring.

When I got back, Biscuit was waiting at the door with that frantic, full-body wag that only a golden retriever can manage. He doesn't care if I’m sweaty or if my hair is a mess from the wind; he just sees me. It’s a good reminder for those days when I feel a bit invisible in the shuffle of laundry and ledger sheets. We all need to feel seen, don't we? To feel like the work we do—both the seen and the unseen—actually matters to someone.

Speaking of being seen, Mark got home just a few minutes ago. He’s already in the backyard with Noah, who is currently ‘hunting’ for herbivores in his velociraptor pajamas. Mark looks tired—the construction site is demanding this time of year as they try to close up projects before the first frost—but he still found the energy to scoop Emma up for a hug the moment he walked in. Seeing him as a father makes me fall in love with him all over again, but in a deeper, more weathered way. Our ninth anniversary is approaching, and I find myself reflecting on how our love has shifted from that early, flashy spark into something more like a slow-burning wick—steady, warm, and reliable.

I took a moment to check on my latest batch of 'Autumn Orchard' candles cooling on the counter before I started dinner. The Etsy shop has been surprisingly busy this week, and seeing those orders come in feels like a tiny victory for my independence. It’s not a fortune yet, but it’s mine. It’s a little pocket of growth that I built from scratch, one hand-poured jar at a time. Every dollar saved for the kids' college fund or a rainy day feels like a step toward a version of myself that is more secure and more grounded.

Emma came into the kitchen while I was stirring the pasta sauce, clutching a math worksheet that was almost entirely covered in sketches of horses. She has her father’s focus and my tendency to daydream, which is a dangerous combination for long-division. We sat together for a few minutes, and I told her that even the fastest horse has to learn how to count its strides. She giggled, but she finished the problems. It’s these small, mundane moments of motherhood that fill my cup, even when the day feels long.

I’m looking forward to Saturday. Megan mentioned at the bakery today that the pickleball courts might be crowded, but we’re determined to get our match in. Having a best friend who pushes you to stay active while also letting you vent about the price of eggs is a gift I don't take for granted. We’ve been through so many seasons together, and having her in my corner as I train for this 5K has made all the difference.

Tonight, once the kids are tucked in and the house is finally still, I’m going to spend some time with my robin-egg-blue journal. I want to write down how it felt to hit that seventeenth mile—the way the air felt thinner and my heart felt stronger. I want to remember that I am more than just the sum of my chores or the balance in a bank account. I am a woman who is growing, learning, and finally starting to believe in her own strength.

It’s almost six o’clock, and I can hear the chaotic, happy sounds of the dinner table being set. It’s time for me to put the phone away and be present with my family. I hope you all found a small victory today, whether it was a long run, a finished project, or just a quiet moment of peace in a loud world. You are worth the effort you put into yourselves, never forget that.

I love you. — Lucy