The pile of plastic bins gather rainwater on the front stoop. They have been packed and emptied but didn’t quite make it back inside to repeat the cycle. The Young scientist inspects our rainfall. “That’s a lot of rain.”

I’m focused on the renewal properties of rain now, ignoring the mud and the grey since I am in my two good weeks, and optimism comes easily.

It was challenged a bit this morning, driving in to meet Ed to trade lunch for a blog transport. Chatting with my mom on the phone she told of the 9 year old with the tumor. Inoperable. Just as she tells the story a rabbit decides to cross Shelburne road. I am at its widest point, where the paving of parking lots make it feel like a real city, Shaws, then parking then 4 lanes of road, then parking, then Price Chopper. The bunny makes it through three of four lanes and is hit. But not dead. Struggling, twisting around in circles with oncoming traffic careening to a stop. I imagine a mercy killing, but the woman in the mini van just hits her brakes. I am headed in the other direction, so I miss the ending. But it wont be good.

Walking up College street, thinking about the 9 year old’s mother, a woman I am scheduled to meet in two weeks, who has tangentially become family. Some things that seem remarkable become normal after a while. Chronic pain, balmy weather. We just get acclimated. They don’t bring us up or down after we live with them for a while. But a sick kid?  Would you want to get used to that?

I guess like everything else it is about living the little moments. Taking care of the here and now, and focusing on the future as you have room for it. Enjoying his smile. Trying not to think about fairness, or luck, or their opposites.

We are leaving the lake. Headed to Shelburbia. It is the home version of my mini van. It just FITS us right now. Woods for the boys. Friends for the boys. A circle to ride bikes around for the boys. So I guess it fits the boys. Which is the right thing for right now. The more independent they can be the better. For them and for me. (And Steve but he can get his own blog.) In the meantime we are giving up light, and views, and privacy.

Knowing that we are leaving the lake I have rediscovered its beauty. I had stopped noticing the sparkle of the of the sun on the fingerprints of the water. The stripes of windmarks, the coming storms. Clouds, and mountains, and water, and leaves.

 Lake Champlain sunset Shelburne Bay

Its the motion I love. Right now nothing is fixed.

Every moment is moving.

Like this blog.

And my family.

See you there. Here. There.



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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble,, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at

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