Tuesday Tools and the Timing of Three Miles

Hello, friends. I’m writing to you today from the kitchen table, the sun just beginning to dip low enough to hit the little stained-glass bird hanging in the window. It’s that quiet stretch of the afternoon where the house feels like it’s holding its breath. Mark just walked through the door about twenty minutes ago, smelling like wood shavings and the outdoors, and he’s currently in the backyard throwing a tennis ball for Biscuit. Watching them through the glass, I’m struck by how much I cherish these mundane bookends to our days.

Today was a Tuesday, which meant my shift at Miller’s Hardware. I walked in at 11:00 AM to that familiar, comforting scent of sawdust and motor oil. Mr. Miller was in a particularly chatty mood, showing me the new shipment of weather stripping and discussing the upcoming frost schedules. As I balanced the ledgers and organized the receipts, I found myself thinking about the quiet dignity of a job well done. There’s something so grounding about numbers that add up and shelves that are stocked with care. It’s not just a part-time job; it’s a reminder that every small piece of a community serves a purpose.

After I finished up at 3:00 PM, I felt that familiar itch in my legs. With the Harvest 5K looming in October, every mile counts now. I managed to squeeze in a three-mile run before the kids got home from school and daycare. Following my six-mile breakthrough on Saturday, today’s run felt different—shorter, yes, but more technical. My lungs felt clear in the crisp Iowa air, and my pace was steady. I find that when I’m running, I’m not just Lucy the mom or Lucy the bookkeeper; I’m just Lucy, a woman moving through the world under her own power.

That feeling of self-worth is something I’ve had to fight for. It’s easy to get lost in the laundry piles and the candle wax—speaking of which, I have six orders for 'Cinnamon Cider' waiting to be poured tonight! But when I’m out on the pavement, I remember that my body is a gift, not a project to be endlessly fixed. I’m staying in shape not to fit into a certain dress, but to feel the strength in my thighs when I lift Noah up for a hug. I want to feel desirable for Mark, of course, but more importantly, I want to feel capable for myself.

Speaking of Noah, he came home from daycare absolutely convinced he had found a 'fossil' in the sandbox. It was actually just a particularly jagged piece of gravel, but he’s currently guarding it on the coffee table while wearing his velociraptor pajamas. Emma, meanwhile, spent her afternoon at the kitchen island. She was supposed to be practicing her spelling words, but I noticed a very detailed drawing of a palomino horse in the margin of her worksheet. I didn't have the heart to scold her. There’s a certain magic in that seven-year-old imagination that I never want to stifle.

Joanne, my neighbor, popped over briefly while I was cooling down on the porch. She was still in her signature pink bathrobe, even at four in the afternoon, clutching a handful of spent petunias she’d just deadheaded. She wanted to know if I had any spare twine. We stood there for a moment, the retired teacher and the hardware store bookkeeper, just enjoying the silence of Sycamore Street. She told me I looked 'racy' in my running gear, which gave me a much-needed laugh. It’s funny how a small compliment from a neighbor can brighten your entire outlook.

I’ve been thinking a lot about our finances lately, too. The Etsy shop, 'Lucy's Little Light,' has been growing at such a slow, steady pace. It isn't going to buy us a new house, but the extra income is helping us pad the savings account for our tenth anniversary next year. Nine years with Mark has taught me that growth isn't always a vertical climb; sometimes it’s just widening the foundation. We are building something sturdy here in Cedar Falls, one candle and one construction contract at a time.

As I look at my robin-egg-blue journal, the gift Megan gave me, I realize how much I’ve changed since those entries back in June. I used to think that 'me time' was something I had to steal, but now I see it as a vital part of the rhythm. Whether it’s pickleball on Saturdays or these few minutes of writing before dinner, these moments allow me to show up better for my family. I’m learning to be kind to the woman I am today, not just the woman I hope to be tomorrow.

Tonight is a simple dinner—tacos, because it’s Tuesday and that’s a tradition the kids won't let us break. Mark is already washing up, and I can hear Emma telling him all about the horse she drew. The house is starting to smell like seasoned beef and home. It’s not a perfect life, but it’s ours, and there is so much beauty in the ‘ours.’ I’m going to put the phone down now and go help Noah find a 'nest' for his fossil.

I hope you all found a moment of peace today, ladies. Remember that the small victories—the three miles, the balanced ledger, the clean kitchen—they all add up to a life well-lived. Keep moving forward, even if it’s just one small step at a time. I’m so glad we’re on this journey together.

I love you. — Lucy