Wednesday Wicks and the Weight of the Waiting

Hello, friends. I’m sitting here at the kitchen table with the window cracked, letting that humid August air drift in while the house is finally—blessedly—quiet. Mark is still out at the site, Emma is currently deep in a 'horse stable' she built out of couch cushions, and Noah is finally napping in his dinosaur pajamas. I can see Biscuit stretched out on the linoleum, chasing squirrels in his sleep, and for a moment, the world feels perfectly still.

Today was one of those 'middle' days. You know the ones, ladies? It’s not a hardware store day, and it’s not a pickleball day. It’s a day for the side hustle and the steady grind. I spent the morning in the kitchen with my double boiler, pouring a fresh batch of 'Cedar Sunset' for the Etsy shop. There is something so meditative about the way the wax melts down, turning from a solid block into something clear and fluid. It reminds me a lot of how we change, too—slowly, under just enough heat, until we’re ready to be poured into a new shape.

I hit a small milestone this morning that I wanted to share with you all. I laced up my sneakers around 9:00 AM, right after the morning rush of oatmeal and lost socks. My goal for the Cedar Falls Harvest 5K in October is feeling a little more real every day. Today, I clocked three and a half miles. My lungs felt clear, and my legs felt strong. I remember when a single mile felt like a mountain I couldn't climb. It’s funny how our self-worth can be tied to these physical victories. Not because of the number on the scale, but because of the promise I kept to myself.

Speaking of promises, I had a little heart-to-heart with myself in my robin-egg-blue journal this afternoon. Megan gave it to me for a reason, and I find myself reaching for it whenever I feel that familiar itch of impatience. I was looking at our savings jar—the one Mark and I are using for our tenth-anniversary trip next year. It’s growing, penny by penny, shift by shift at Miller’s. Sometimes I look at it and feel like it’s taking forever. I want the big result now. I want the finish line, the vacation, the 'perfect' version of everything.

But then I looked out the front window and saw Joanne. She was out there in her signature pink bathrobe, even though it was nearly noon, carefully deadheading her petunias. She doesn't rush them. She just pinches off what’s dead so the new growth has room to breathe. It hit me that I’m doing the same thing with my life right now. I’m pinching off the old doubts—the ones that say I’m 'just' a bookkeeper or 'just' a mom—to make room for the woman who runs 5Ks and manages her own small business.

Mark caught me in a moment of reflection this morning before he headed out at 5:30. He didn't say much—he never does when he’s in work mode—but he squeezed my hand and told me I looked beautiful, even with my messy bun and a streak of soy wax on my apron. It’s those little moments that remind me that desirability isn't about being 'done up.' It’s about being seen in the thick of the work. It makes the long days he spends at the construction site feel like a partnership in every sense of the word.

I did have one small 'oops' moment today. While I was labeling the new candles, Noah decided that his velociraptor toy needed a bath in my sink water. Let’s just say there’s now a very clean dinosaur and a very wet kitchen floor. But instead of getting frustrated, I just laughed. Last year, I might have cried. Growth looks like a lot of things, and sometimes it just looks like having a better sense of humor about a puddle on the floor.

I’m planning to keep the momentum going tomorrow at the hardware store. Mr. Miller mentioned he needs help reconciling the July inventory, and I actually find myself looking forward to it. There’s something so satisfying about making the numbers balance, even when the rest of life feels a little lopsided. It’s my own way of bringing order to the world, one spreadsheet at a time.

Tonight, I’m making a simple pasta for dinner before Mark gets home at 5:20. I want to have everything cleared away so we can just sit on the porch for twenty minutes before the bedtime chaos begins. It’s the small windows of time that matter most. We don't need a grand gala to feel successful; we just need to keep showing up for each other and for ourselves.

To those of you who are in your own 'messy middle' today, please know that you are doing enough. Whether you ran three miles or just managed to get the dishes done, you are building something beautiful. The wax is melting, the flowers are being tended, and the finish line is getting closer with every single step you take.

I’m going to close this up now and get the water boiling. The sun is starting to dip low over Sycamore Street, and the house is starting to smell like vanilla and cedarwood. It’s a good life, friends. A slow one, a quiet one, but a very good one indeed.

I love you. — Lucy