Tuesday Tools and the Tenacity of the Tiny Tasks

Good evening, friends. I am sitting here at the kitchen table, the late afternoon sun stretching across the linoleum, and the house is finally quiet for just a moment. Mark is due home in about twenty minutes—construction is moving fast on that new site across town, so his 5:20 arrival has been like clockwork lately—and the kids are currently in the backyard 'excavating' for fossils. I can see Noah through the window in his velociraptor pajamas, which he insisted on wearing even though it’s eighty degrees, and Emma is patiently documenting his 'finds' on the back of a math worksheet. It’s a beautiful, messy life, isn't it?

Today was a Tuesday, which meant my shift at Miller’s Hardware. I walked in at 11:00 to that familiar, comforting scent of fresh-cut pine and sawdust. Mr. Miller was in the back wrestling with a delivery of power tools, and I got straight to work on the books. There is something so grounding about numbers. They don't have moods, and they don't change their minds; they just tell the truth. As I was balancing the inventory sheets, I found myself thinking about our own family finances. We’ve been so careful lately, tucking away what I earn from the shop and my 'Lucy’s Little Light' candle sales into our anniversary fund. We’re coming up on nine years of marriage this October, and I really want to surprise Mark with something special—something that says I see how hard he works for us.

While I was filing, Joanne from next door actually popped into the shop. She wasn’t in her usual pink bathrobe, of course, but she still looked like she’d just stepped out of her garden. She was looking for some specific twine for her petunias. We chatted for a few minutes near the paint aisle, and she mentioned how she sees me out there running every other morning. She told me, 'Lucy, you look like you’re getting stronger every time you pass my porch.' Ladies, I cannot tell you how much I needed to hear that. Sometimes when I’m out there at 6:00 AM, my legs feeling like lead and my lungs burning, I feel anything but strong. I just feel tired.

I’m currently up to three and a half miles for my long runs as I train for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K. It’s not a marathon, I know, but for me, it’s everything. It’s about proving to myself that I can still set a goal and reach it, even at thirty-four, even with two kids and a dog and a house that always needs vacuuming. Since Biscuit usually tags along for the first mile, he’s been getting fit too, though he’s much more interested in the squirrels on Sycamore Street than his personal best time.

After work, I stopped by Sweet Magnolia to see Megan. The bakery was busy, but she slid me a lemon bar and we talked for five minutes while she wiped down the counters. We’re still on for pickleball this Saturday, and I’m hoping my backhand is a little more reliable this week. Megan has this way of looking at me and knowing exactly what’s on my mind. I told her I was feeling a bit 'homely' lately—just that mid-summer slump where you feel like you're more of a chauffeur and a snack-preparer than a woman. She just laughed and reminded me that the work I do in this blue house is the foundation for everything else.

It’s funny how we struggle with self-worth when the laundry piles up or the bank account doesn't grow as fast as we’d like. But then I think about Mark coming through that door. He always looks at me like I’m the best thing he’s seen all day, even when I have a smudge of graphite on my cheek from Miller’s ledgers. That feeling of being desirable, of being a partner and a friend to him, it doesn't come from a perfect outfit. It comes from the nine years of shared history we’ve built, one Tuesday at a time.

Before I sign off to start the chicken for dinner, I spent an hour this afternoon pouring a new batch of 'Cedar Sunset' candles for an Etsy order. The wax was the perfect temperature, and the scent filled the kitchen. It reminded me that growth is often slow and requires a lot of patience. You have to wait for the wax to set. You have to wait for the miles to add up. You have to wait for the kids to grow into the people they are meant to be.

To those of you who feel like you’re just treading water today: I see you. Whether you’re balancing books at a hardware store or just trying to get the dinosaur pajamas into the wash, you are doing enough. You are enough. The tiny tasks are what make the big life possible. I’m going to go help Noah identify a 'T-Rex tooth' (which I’m pretty sure is just a jagged pebble) and then get ready for Mark to walk through the door. I hope your evening is filled with a little bit of peace and a lot of love.

I love you. — Lucy