Shop the fall collection ➔

I feel like I have been in a state of transition for months. Packing and unpacking. Loosing and finding. The feeling probably exists because we have been in a state of transition for months. On the 11th of this month we will have owned our little piece of the pie for 4 months, paid 3 mortgage payments, by the time this is published, slept there for 2 nights, and I’ve probably had at least one meltdown. If my husband is lucky.

In all the hubbub around our very own fixer upper project I got a little behind in turing the calendar page. I got around to it 3 days ago and the quote for May is by Edwin Way Teale. It reads:

“The World’s favorite season is the Spring. All things seem possible in May.”

I stopped for a minute and stared at the words. Reading and rereading them, letting them sink and soak for a minute. My first reaction was “Well, isn’t that cute!” Second, “How timely.” Third, “Shut up calendar.”

Right now my house is in disarray, not how I normally keep things. Our home and life is in boxes. My daughter is sans pants and I’m cooking a gourmet meal of pancakes. Possibilities Teale? Really? Any other May, maybe. Probably.

I really want that quote to give me the kick in the butt to finish packing and get excited about this change for our family. Excited and open to possibilities but currently I’m examining the possibilities of who can come finish my packing and where I can go until all the things are moved, unpacked, and set up. I’m not sure that’s what Edwin Way Teale quite had in mind when he said “possibilities.” I hardly see myself frolicking in a field of May flowers brought to fruition by April showers.

Moving is rough in every way shape and form, and for someone who quite likes the safe space she creates for herself and family, the thought of packing up and relocating (even just down the road) is draining. Especially with this being the first home my husband and I lived in together, the place we brought our baby home, and the place we started rearing her. I think moving is a drag for everyone so I really need to suck it up. I’ve recently read, though I forgot where, that when a big change happens in your life to throw three months at said change. Work through it, live your life, and then see where you are in three months time. The writer said that at the end of three months you generally find you have adjusted and you are still you, your family is still your family, and you are still living your life. Even thriving many times. It’s kind of a psychological game, but I’m good with that. 

This resonated with me as I’ve always had a hard time with transitions. As I thought back to all the large transitions I’ve endured I found this three month rule to be accidentally true. College. By three months I had found the class I liked, maybe the spot I liked to sit, and the person I liked sitting by. Marriage. I finally started to like the guy I lived with…KIDDING. But by three months we had seemed to find our own daily rhythm and being away from my own family (who lived 4 miles up the road) wasn’t so bad. Pregnancy. By three months I wasn’t feeling so sick, tired, and terrified. I could actually process and get excited about the sweet little life inside me. Baby Girl. I actually vividly remember around her third month thinking “Ok, I think I can do this.” I loved her instantly but that newborn fog is HARD. End of Downton Abbey. Well, I’m still throwing three months at that, but I’m starting to see the light…

So I’m packing our stuff in boxes. I’ll unpack them in our new house. Place things where I want and hopefully get rid of a few things. I’ll plant flowers, a garden, and hang my laundry on the line. I’ll hoe my own rows, grow my own daisies, keep raising my baby and all that jazz. But all the while I’ll be throwing three months at our new home. And if three months doesn’t cut it I’ll more than likely throw another three in just for good measure.

Jessica Alexander

Jessica is a wife, momma, homemaker, and forever wildflower. She delights in finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. Born and raised in Southwest Nebraska Jessica is now the community Granola Girl, striving to keep life as simple and pure as possible. She, her patient husband, spunky daughter, and rowdy golden retriever have recently waded into the deep end of the adult pool and bought their very own 1920's bungalow. They are learning Home Improvement 101 in a "fly by the seat of their pants" style! Hailing from a lineage of wordsmiths writing is one of Jessica's favorite pastimes and she is always eager to listen to and share a story.

I Thought Our Friendship Would Be Unbreakable

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Two friends selfie

The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!”  I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still...

Keep Reading

The First 10 Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking

In: Journal, Marriage, Relationships
The First Ten Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking www.herviewfromhome.com

We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the...

Keep Reading

To The Mother Who Is Overwhelmed

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Tired woman with coffee sitting at table

I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...

Keep Reading

You’re a Little Less Baby Today Than Yesterday

In: Journal, Motherhood
Toddler sleeping in mother's arms

Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday.  Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms.  But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and...

Keep Reading

Dear Husband, I Loved You First

In: Marriage, Motherhood, Relationships
Man and woman kissing in love

Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when...

Keep Reading

Stop Being a Butthole Wife

In: Grief, Journal, Marriage, Relationships
Man and woman sit on the end of a dock with arms around each other

Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it.  Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day...

Keep Reading

I Can’t Be Everyone’s Chick-fil-A Sauce

In: Friendship, Journal, Living, Relationships
woman smiling in the sun

A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even...

Keep Reading

Love Notes From My Mother in Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Journal, Living
Woman smelling bunch of flowers

Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river.  Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor.  It...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Friendships End, No Matter How Hard You Try

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Sad woman alone without a friend

I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift...

Keep Reading

Goodbye to the House That Built Me

In: Grown Children, Journal, Living, Relationships
Ranch style home as seen from the curb

In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every...

Keep Reading