Wednesday Whispers and the Weight of the Wick

Hello, friends. I’m sitting here at my little kitchen table, the sun just beginning to dip low enough to catch the dust motes dancing over the wood grain. It’s that quiet, golden hour in Cedar Falls where the house feels like it’s catching its breath before Mark walks through the door. He should be home from the site in about twenty minutes, and I can already hear Biscuit pacing near the front window, his tail thumping a steady rhythm against the blue baseboard. There is something so grounding about the predictability of a dog’s love, isn't there?

Today was one of those 'between' days. It wasn't a hardware store day, so I didn't have the smell of fresh-cut pine and Mr. Miller’s gentle grumbling about inventory to keep me company. Instead, it was a day for Lucy’s Little Light. After the excitement of those ten orders yesterday, I spent the better part of the morning in my 'studio'—which we all know is just the corner of the dining room—pouring, trimming, and labeling. My hands are still a little sticky from the soy wax, and the scent of 'Cedar and Sage' seems to have settled into my very pores. It’s a good smell, though. It feels like progress.

I had a brief interruption around ten when Joanne popped over. She was still in that signature pink bathrobe, looking a little frazzled because her petunias are starting to struggle with the late summer heat. We stood by the fence for a bit, and she gave me some unsolicited, yet surprisingly helpful, advice about drainage. She reminded me that sometimes the most beautiful things just need a little more space to breathe. I think I needed to hear that today, not just for the flowers, but for myself. We get so cramped in our own heads sometimes, don't we, ladies?

Training for the Harvest 5K is still moving along, though I’ll be honest, my legs felt like lead this afternoon. I managed three miles today, pushing through the humidity that likes to hang heavy over Sycamore Street this time of year. I’m not the fastest runner—far from it—but every time my sneakers hit the pavement, I feel like I’m reclaiming a version of myself that got lost somewhere between diaper changes and bookkeeping spreadsheets. It’s about more than just a race in October; it’s about proving to Lucy that she can still do hard things for no one’s benefit but her own.

Speaking of doing things for myself, I had a little moment of vanity in front of the mirror after my shower. I’ve been feeling a bit more toned lately, and I actually felt... well, pretty. It’s a strange thing, isn't it? As wives and mothers, we spend so much time being 'functional' that we forget we are allowed to be 'desirable' too. I’m looking forward to Mark seeing me tonight. He’s been working such long hours lately, and sometimes a quiet evening and a warm smile are the best ways we can reconnect after the world has spent all day pulling at him.

The kids are currently occupied in the backyard. Noah is hunting for 'long-neck' fossils near the oak tree in his velociraptor pajamas—I swear, I can’t get him out of those things—and Emma is perched on the porch steps. She’s moved on from her math worksheets and is currently sketching a very elaborate horse with what looks like purple wings. I love her imagination. I hope she never loses that sense of wonder, that belief that you can just draw wings onto something if you want it to fly.

Financially, things are feeling a little lighter this week. Seeing the Etsy shop pick up steam isn't just about the extra grocery money, though that certainly helps with the rising cost of everything these days. It’s about the validation. It’s a small victory to know that something I created with my own two hands has value to someone else. It makes the late nights and the waxy mess on the stovetop feel like an investment in a bigger dream. We’re growing, slowly but surely, like those petunias Joanne is so worried about.

I’m going to head to Sweet Magnolia tomorrow morning before my shift at Miller's to see Megan. I think I need a cinnamon roll and a pep talk. She’s been so busy with the bakery lately, but she always makes time to listen to my 5K updates and candle-making woes. We might even squeeze in a little pickleball practice on Saturday if the weather holds up. Having a friend who cheers for your smallest wins is a grace I don't take for granted.

My robin-egg-blue journal is waiting for me on the nightstand, and I think I’ll write a few private lines in there before bed tonight. There are some things that are just for me, and some things that are for you. I’m learning to balance the two. It’s all part of this messy, beautiful process of becoming who I’m supposed to be at thirty-four. It isn't always glamorous, and it certainly isn't always easy, but it is mine.

I can hear the truck pulling into the driveway now. Mark is home. Noah is already sprinting toward the gate, shouting about dinosaurs, and Biscuit is doing his little happy dance. Life is loud, and it is full, and my heart is very, very grateful. I hope you found a small victory today, too, whether it was a three-mile run or just remembering to take a deep breath when things got hectic.

I’m going to go start dinner now. We’re having tacos—Emma’s favorite—and then I’ll probably spend another hour finishing up the packaging for those ten orders. I want them to be perfect when they arrive at their new homes. Every candle feels like a little piece of my heart going out into the world. Thank you for being part of this journey with me, friends. It means more than you know.

I love you. — Lucy