Wednesday Whispers and the Wildflowers of the Will

Hello, friends. The house is finally quiet for a brief window, the golden Iowa sun is beginning to dip behind the sycamore trees, and I am sitting here at the kitchen table with my robin-egg-blue journal and a very tired pair of legs. There is something about a Wednesday that feels like the deep breath before a plunge. We are past the rush of Monday and Tuesday, but the weekend still feels like a distant shore. Today, I found myself thinking about the stamina it takes to just stay the course.

I started my morning early, even before Mark kissed my forehead and headed out to the construction site at 5:30. While he was grabbing his thermos, I was already laced up for my run. I’m up to three and a half miles now for my Cedar Falls Harvest 5K training, and let me tell you, the humidity this morning was no joke. I felt every single ounce of my thirty-four years as I crested the hill near Joanne’s house. She was already out there, of course, in that signature pink bathrobe, looking suspiciously alert for 6:00 AM while she deadheaded her petunias.

As I ran past, she waved a trowel at me and yelled, 'Keep those knees up, Lucy!' It made me laugh, even though I was huffing. It’s funny how we see ourselves versus how the world sees us. Inside, I felt like a soggy mess of self-doubt and aching calves, but to Joanne, I was just the young woman down the street putting in the work. It reminded me that staying in shape isn't always about the aesthetic result; it’s about the mental grit required to not turn back toward the driveway when the air gets thick.

After the school run—Emma was particularly preoccupied today drawing elaborate saddles and manes on the margins of her subtraction worksheet, and Noah was stomping around the living room in his velociraptor pajamas—I spent my afternoon in the 'candle studio,' which is really just my kitchen counters covered in newspaper. I had a surge of orders for 'Lucy’s Little Light' after my Etsy update yesterday, and the scent of lavender and cedarwood is currently clinging to my hair.

Working on these candles has become such a lesson in financial patience. Every small sale feels like a brick in a wall I’m building for our future. It’s not a fortune yet, but it’s mine. There is a specific kind of self-worth that comes from watching a balance grow because of something you created with your own two hands. I spent an hour today calculating my supplies cost versus my profit margin, and for the first time, I felt like a real businesswoman rather than just a mom with a hobby. It’s a slow growth, but it’s steady.

I also had a long chat with Megan today. She stopped by with a 'test batch' of lemon curd muffins from Sweet Magnolia, and we sat on the porch while Biscuit tried his best to look pathetic enough to get a crumb. We talked about the upcoming anniversary—nine years with Mark this September. It’s easy to let the romance slide into the routine of construction schedules and hardware store shifts, but Megan reminded me that being desirable isn't about being perfect; it's about being present. I want to make sure I’m still 'seeing' Mark, and not just his laundry pile.

Mark gets home in about twenty minutes, and I can already hear the rumble of his truck in my mind. I’ve got a simple pasta toss on the stove and a fresh candle burning—one of my new 'Late Summer Meadow' scents. I want the house to feel like a sanctuary for him, but also for me. I’ve realized that I deserve a beautiful space just as much as anyone else does. That’s been the biggest lesson of this year: I am worthy of the effort I put into everyone else.

Tonight, I think I’ll skip the late-night scrolling and head to bed early. I want to be fresh for my shift at Miller’s tomorrow. Mr. Miller mentioned we have a huge shipment of winterizing supplies coming in, so I’ll be elbow-deep in invoices and the smell of fresh sawdust all afternoon. It’s honest work, and I’m grateful for the rhythm of it all.

Ladies, if you’re feeling like you’re just treading water today, please know that the treading is what keeps you afloat. Every mile run, every dollar saved, and every kind word to a neighbor counts toward the person you are becoming. We are all works in progress, and there is so much grace in the middle of the muddle.

I need to go wash the wax off my fingers before the kids start clamoring for dinner. Noah is currently trying to convince Biscuit that a plastic Triceratops is a worthy opponent, and Emma is asking if horses can eat pasta. It’s loud, it’s messy, and it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I love you. — Lucy