Tuesday Tools and the Forty-Five Mile Flourish

Hello, friends. It is just before 6:00 pm here in the little blue house on Sycamore Street, and I am finally sitting down with my robin-egg-blue journal and a very large glass of water. The house is relatively quiet for a moment; Noah is currently preoccupied with his velociraptors in the living room, and Emma is busy 'grading' her own math worksheets with a glitter pen at the kitchen table. Mark isn't home from the site yet, but I can already hear the wind picking up outside. It’s been one of those Tuesdays that feels like a long, steady climb, but the view from the top—even if that view is just my messy kitchen—is worth it.

My day started early, as it always does. I watched Mark head out at 5:30 am in the pre-dawn chill. It’s funny how, after nine years of marriage, the sound of his truck pulling out of the driveway has become a sort of morning bell for me. It reminds me that we’re both out here doing the work—him building the town and me building this life, one candle and one ledger entry at a time. Lately, I’ve been focusing more on how we see each other in the gaps between the busyness. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror before he left, and instead of picking at my tired eyes, I just smoothed my hair and felt... capable. That’s a kind of desirability I’m learning to treasure, the kind that comes from strength and reliability.

Tuesday is one of my days at Miller’s Hardware, and today the shop was buzzing. Mr. Miller had a shipment of winterizing supplies come in, and the smell of fresh sawdust was even stronger than usual. I spent four hours tucked away in the back office, balancing the books and making sure the inventory matched the numbers. There is something so grounding about bookkeeping. In a world that feels so unpredictable, having the numbers add up at the end of the shift gives me a sense of financial control that I never used to have. It’s slow growth, sure, but every penny tracked is a victory for our family’s future.

On my way home, I saw Joanne in her yard. Even though it was starting to drizzle, she was out there in that iconic pink bathrobe, meticulously deadheading her petunias. She waved a gloved hand at me, and I couldn't help but smile. Joanne represents a kind of consistency I admire. She doesn't care if the neighbors see her in her robe; she cares about her garden. It made me think about my own 'garden'—this body I’m training and this little candle business I’m growing. Sometimes you have to do the work when the weather isn't perfect.

Speaking of weather, the rain didn't stop me from hitting the trail this afternoon. I’ll admit, when I got home from Miller's and saw the grey sky, I wanted to curl up on the couch with Biscuit. But the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K is just around the corner in October, and I had a goal to meet. I laced up my sneakers, kissed the kids, and headed out. The air was crisp, and the rain was just a light mist that kept me cool as I pushed through the neighborhood.

I am so proud to tell you all that I hit the forty-five mile mark today. Since I started tracking my total training distance, reaching forty-five feels like a massive milestone. When I first started this journey, I wasn't sure if I could even run a mile without stopping. Now, my legs feel powerful. There is a specific kind of self-worth that comes from keeping a promise to yourself, especially when it’s cold and wet outside. I wasn't running for a trophy or for anyone else; I was running because I told Lucy I would.

After my run, I spent an hour in the kitchen working on a new batch for 'Lucy's Little Light.' I’m experimenting with a 'Harvest Hearth' scent—notes of cedar and clove—hoping it will be a hit on Etsy as the season turns. The house smells like a cozy dream right now, which is a nice contrast to the damp running gear currently hanging in the laundry room. It’s these small pivots, from bookkeeper to runner to candle-maker, that make me feel like I’m finally finding my rhythm.

I’m also keeping an eye on the budget for our upcoming anniversary. Nine years! It feels like just yesterday Mark and I were moving into this blue house. We’ve grown so much since then. We aren't the same kids we were, but I think I like these versions of us better. We’re a little more tired, but a lot more solid. I’m planning a small surprise, something sweet and simple, because if this year has taught me anything, it’s that the small moments are the ones that carry the most weight.

I have a call with Mom—Diane—on Sunday to catch up, but I might ring her tonight just to tell her about the forty-five mile achievement. She’s only forty minutes away, but sometimes it feels like she’s my biggest cheerleader from afar. It’s important to share these little wins with the people who saw us before we knew how to win them. It keeps us humble and reminds us where we came from.

Tonight’s dinner is just simple pasta, nothing fancy, because I want to spend the rest of the evening relaxing with Mark when he gets through the door. I can hear Biscuit barking at a squirrel in the yard, which means it’s time for me to close this journal and get back to the beautiful chaos of the evening routine. I hope you all found a small victory today, whether it was at work, on a trail, or just in the quiet of your own heart.

Remember that you are stronger than the excuses you make for yourself. Every mile, every candle, and every balanced ledger is a brick in the house you are building for your soul. Keep going, keep growing, and don't forget to look in the mirror and see the strength that’s staring back at you. I’ll be back here tomorrow to share more of the journey with you.

I love you. — Lucy