It was a Salt Lake weekend, so I was busy cleaning the house, washing dishes, and putting laundry away. Then it dawned on me — I had no Italian Sweet Cream coffee creamer in the fridge. I drink my coffee black, as it should be done. (Settle down. I’m only teasing.) Brandon, on the other hand, drinks his with mostly creamer and a splash of coffee.

After six months of living in two houses, constantly packing and unpacking and existing in limbo, I’ve come to appreciate how grounding the small things are — like waking up in your temporary home and having your favorite coffee creamer. Or your favorite mug. Or your favorite robe hanging on the hook.

As I walked to the neighborhood grocery store to buy creamer for Brandon’s upcoming visit, I found myself feeling like a guest in my own Montana home. Brandon hadn’t done anything wrong. It was the small things — not being on the chore list, my coats no longer on the backs of chairs. Even the beagles’ meal routine had changed. Brandon had reversed their breakfast and dinner because it was easier for him. That little switch made me realize: to some degree, I was no longer part of the rhythm of the household. And to some degree, that was true.

Brandon and I plan to live a more nomadic life someday. Snowbirding, traveling, enjoying warmer winters and family-filled summers in Montana. We know that will require living between two places — but our vision includes being together, with all three beagles, living fully in one place at a time. What we’re doing now is not that.

I live full-time in a furnished rental in Salt Lake City, traveling home to Montana every other weekend or so. Brandon lives in Montana and visits Salt Lake every couple of months. Only two dogs are allowed at my Salt Lake house, so Scout and Bruno are with me, and Hudson stays in Montana. It’s not ideal, but it works.

When I moved, I packed five winter outfits. Every time I go home, I swap a few items to adjust for the seasons, keeping a rotation that fits in my Subaru Forester. My goal is to eventually return to Montana in one trip. The comforts I brought with me from Montana:

• My beagle quilt
• My oversized coffee mug
• My bathrobe

Those things help, but what truly grounds me is routine.

What Makes Me Feel at Home (Wherever I Am)

Routines have become my anchor — a sense of stability when everything else feels temporary. My daily rituals, whether I’m in Montana, Salt Lake, a hotel, or even Gertie the camper van, help me feel like myself.

My non-negotiables:

• Morning coffee (black for me, creamer for Brandon)
• Walking 10,000 steps a day
• Reading daily
• Daily adventures with the dogs
• Doing something creative every day

Staying in touch with loved ones is another constant. Thanks to Snapchat, I can “see” what my daughters and friends are up to instead of just hearing about it. We also have a “Team Grace” text thread that keeps everyone updated on appointments, progress, and daily wins.

Still, there are days when I see a snap of my family working on a rental project together, and I feel a wave of FOMO (that’s “fear of missing out” for my midlife friends not up on the lingo). I feel guilty. Because while I’m here — caring for Grace, walking the dogs, doing yoga, and reading — Brandon is juggling both of our workloads back home.

This past month alone, he’s handled two rental showings, managed an eviction, dealt with tax docs, paid the bills, supported my daughters, and somehow kept everything running smoothly. These were all things I used to do. And now he’s doing it on top of his own responsibilities. I feel the weight of that. I feel the guilt. I feel the sadness that I’m not there to help.

But this is the reality. Caring for Grace is my full-time job now. Self-care is my second full-time job. And in this new role, I’m not the “fixer.” I’m not the one who swoops in and saves the day. I’m not organizing the chaos — I’m holding space inside it.

I offer Grace gentle words when she’s discouraged. I listen to my middle daughter, Abbie, vent about work. I reassure Hannah during custody hearings — from six hours away. I’m a voice on the line. A face in a Snapchat. A quiet presence instead of a whirlwind of action.

Closing: Where I Am Now

Living between two homes has taught me that home isn’t a zip code — it’s rhythm, routine, and connection. It’s being able to hold love across distance. It’s learning to let others show up and carry things you can’t.

This chapter isn’t easy. But I’m here. Grace is here. And every day I’m learning that even in the in-between, we can still find home in the people we love, the habits that ground us, and the tiny acts of care — like buying Italian Sweet Cream creamer for someone you love.