Wednesday Whiffs and the Weight of the Work

Hello, friends. I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, the late afternoon sun slanting across the linoleum, catching the dust motes that Biscuit is currently trying to snap at from his spot on the rug. The house is unusually quiet for a moment; Noah is finally down for his nap, curled up in those velociraptor pajamas he refuses to take off, and Emma is at a playdate down the street. It’s that brief, golden window of time before Mark walks through the door at 5:20, smelling like sawdust and fresh Iowa air, and the beautiful chaos of the evening begins.

Today felt like one of those 'middle' days. You know the ones, ladies? It’s not the frantic rush of my Tuesday shifts at Miller’s Hardware, where the scent of lumber always seems to cling to my hair, and it’s not the weekend social whirl of pickleball with Megan. It was just a Wednesday. A day for the quiet work that keeps a life running. I spent a good portion of the morning at my 'Lucy’s Little Light' station, pouring a fresh batch of 'Autumn Orchard' candles for a new Etsy order. There is something so grounding about the physical process—the heat of the wax, the precision of the wick, the way the scent of apples and cinnamon fills every corner of our little blue house.

It got me thinking about the small ways we invest in ourselves. Lately, I’ve been looking at my business not just as a side hustle for extra grocery money, but as a tangible piece of my own worth. It’s easy to feel like 'just' a mom or 'just' a bookkeeper, but when I see those jars lined up, ready to be shipped out to someone’s home, I feel a spark of that independent fire I used to worry I’d lost. It’s a slow financial growth, sure, but it’s mine. It’s a victory I carved out between laundry loads and school runs.

Speaking of runs, I laced up my sneakers around noon while Joanne was out in her yard. She was in that familiar pink bathrobe, meticulously deadheading her petunias and offered a little wave as I jogged past. I managed four miles today. My legs felt a bit heavy after yesterday’s push, but I kept my eyes on the horizon, thinking about that Harvest 5K in October. Every mile is a promise I’m keeping to myself. It isn’t just about staying in shape or fitting into that dress for my and Mark’s nine-year anniversary next week; it’s about proving to myself that I can do hard things even when no one is watching.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror when I got back—cheeks flushed, hair a mess, sweat dampening my shirt. For a second, I didn't see the tired mom who struggled to get Emma to finish her math worksheets this morning (why does she always want to draw horses on the margins?). I saw a woman who is strong, capable, and, dare I say, desirable. I think we forget that sometimes, don't we? We get so caught up in the service of others that we forget our own bodies are vessels of strength and beauty, not just tools for chores.

I’m planning to surprise Mark tonight with a nice dinner—nothing fancy, just his favorite pot roast—to celebrate getting through the midweek slump. He’s been working such long days lately as the foreman on that new site, leaving before the sun is even up at 5:30. I want him to come home to a house that feels like a sanctuary. I want him to look at me and see the woman he married nine years ago, even if I am wearing a robin-egg-blue headband to keep my hair out of the gravy.

I had a quick chat with Megan on the phone while the wax was cooling. She’s busy at Sweet Magnolia getting ready for the weekend rush, but she reminded me to take a breath. She’s always the one who pushes me to see the progress I’ve made, whether it’s in my running pace or the way I handle the household budget. We’re even planning to hit the bakery early on Saturday before our match so I can see the new display Dani helped her with. Having that sisterhood, that mirror to reflect your best self back at you, is everything.

As I wrap this up, I can hear the floorboards creaking upstairs, which means Noah is awake and likely looking for his plastic triceratops. The timer for the oven is about to go off, and the evening rhythm is about to accelerate. But for right now, in this quiet moment, I am content. I am growing, I am working, and I am exactly where I need to be on this Sycamore Street afternoon.

I hope you found a moment for yourself today, too. Whether it was a five-minute coffee break or a four-mile run, I hope you felt your own light shining. You are worth the effort you put into everyone else, I promise.

I love you. — Lucy