Wednesday Wicks and the Weight of the Miles

Hello, friends. The sun is just starting to dip behind the old maple tree in Joanne’s yard, casting those long, golden shadows across my kitchen table. I’m sitting here with a cold glass of water and the sweet, lingering scent of 'Midsummer Hayride' in the air. I spent the last three hours pouring a new batch of candles for the Etsy shop, and there is something so grounding about the rhythm of it—the slow melt of the wax, the careful centering of the wicks, and the quiet expectation of what these little jars will represent in someone else’s home.

Since I don’t head into Miller’s Hardware on Wednesdays, I usually try to make this my 'business day.' Between the laundry and making sure Noah doesn’t try to give Biscuit a haircut with his safety scissors, I’ve been tallying my expenses for Lucy’s Little Light. It’s a slow build, ladies, it really is. Sometimes I look at the numbers and wonder if the profit is worth the hours of wax-splattered countertops, but then I remember the feeling of independence that comes with contributing to our savings. Every dollar earned is a vote of confidence in my own creativity.

Mark was out the door by 5:30 am again today. I heard the rumble of his truck fading down Sycamore Street while I was still tucked under the quilt. He’s been working such long hours lately as the foreman on that new build downtown, and I can see the exhaustion in the way his shoulders slump when he walks through the door. But there’s a quiet strength in his consistency that makes me want to be better, too. We have our ninth anniversary coming up soon, and I found myself looking at him this morning—really looking at him—and feeling that familiar flutter. It’s easy to let the romance slide into the routine of 'did you pack the kids' lunches?' but I’m trying to keep that spark alive in the small glances.

I managed to get my miles in this afternoon while Noah was occupied with his prehistoric world. He’s currently in his 'velociraptor stage,' wearing those dinosaur pajamas for the third day in a row (don't worry, I washed them while he napped). I clocked three miles today, and I’m finally starting to feel the shift in my endurance. Training for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October sounded like a pipe dream back in June, but today, my legs felt strong. I wasn't gasping for air by the time I turned the corner at the bakery.

Speaking of the bakery, I caught a glimpse of Megan through the window as I jogged past. She was waving a flour-dusted hand at me, a reminder of the pickleball match we have scheduled for Saturday. She is such a light in my life. It’s funny how we spend so much of our twenties looking for grand adventures, and then in our thirties, we realize that a friend who knows exactly how you take your coffee and a pair of good running shoes are the greatest adventures of all.

Joanne was out deadheading her petunias when I finished my run, still in that iconic pink bathrobe of hers. She stopped me to ask how Emma was doing with her drawings. Apparently, Emma had shown her one of her 'horse-ified' math worksheets when they were chatting over the fence yesterday. It’s a little embarrassing that my daughter would rather draw manes and hooves than solve for X, but I suppose I can’t blame her for having a creative heart. I see so much of myself in her—the way she gets lost in her own little world.

Looking at my reflection in the hallway mirror after my shower today, I felt a surge of genuine self-worth that had nothing to do with my dress size or the number of candle orders in my queue. I realized that my body is a vessel for all these roles—mother, wife, bookkeeper, runner, creator. Staying in shape isn't just about looking a certain way for the 5K; it’s about having the energy to show up for the people I love. It’s about feeling desirable not because I’m perfect, but because I am capable and present.

I’m waiting for the garage door to rumble now, signaling Mark’s arrival. The house is relatively tidy, the kids are playing somewhat quietly in the den, and I’ve got a stew simmering that smells like home. These are the small victories, friends. They don't make the evening news, and they don't lead to overnight riches, but they are the threads that weave our lives together into something sturdy and beautiful.

I hope you found a moment for yourselves today, whether it was a quiet cup of tea or a three-mile run that left your lungs burning in the best way possible. We are all growing, even when it feels like we’re just standing still. Don't be afraid of the slow build. It’s the foundations laid in the quiet moments that hold us up when the storms come.

I need to go help Emma with her spelling words before dinner, or she'll just end up drawing more ponies in the margins of her notebook. I’ll be back tomorrow after my shift at the hardware store. I can already smell the sawdust just thinking about it, and I’m looking forward to the familiar clatter of Mr. Miller’s shop.

Take care of your hearts tonight. Rest well, breathe deep, and remember that you are exactly where you need to be. You are doing enough, and you are more than enough. I love you. — Lucy