I have strong opinions about lots of things. People ask for my advice and I offer it with relish and without research. If you want me to tell you how I think it is just use this form. (I have an opinion post below this so go ahead and scroll down.)  

  All disclaimers apply.

I took a real life question from a non-Vermont based friend to lower the chances of me offending anyone.


My boyfriend just moved in and it is the happiest I can remember being. I still think about every other guy I have had and might have had. What does this mean?



It means you are alive. If you thought of no one else you would be unhealthily obsessed and I’m sure there would be a misbalance in your relationship. IMO each person represents one possible partner. Your job is to choose your boyfriend again each day. He should feel even more secure knowing that he is beating out all past and possible conquests.

It gets difficult. Two small drop of water spilled on Steve’s iPad and he dried it off in the most fastidious way possible. Case, iPad, front, back. Such care. Although on some days I would respect this as a gentle and thorough element of his personality on this day I was waiting to use the iPad and it felt ridiculous. My impatience turned to burning rage, and my judgement went from iPad care to relative lack of care of other items. Why so MUCH ipad love and so little griddle love. How LONG will the griddle sit grease laden on the counter?

That other guy, the one I never lived with, I didn’t know about his griddle. Perhaps he washed up after each meal prep instantly. Or perhaps he never prepped a meal at all. These other people, they are imaginary loves. In theory they can meet all of your needs without making you cringe over iPad drying. But in life they would not. They would suck too. No one person is the perfect match for you. Because there is no such thing as perfect and it is our quirks that make us excellent.

So I challenge myself, instead of erasing the iPad drying from my memory just add to it something great. The way he says “hey bud” to sleeping Leo as he carries him to bed cradled in his arms like the baby he isn’t. No one else can do that in that way.

Imagine the possibilities. Fret about the reality. But choose your guy again.

I wrote about this before by the way…you obviously don’t read my blog. Um. Wrong link. Nice to check the links before I publish. Here is the right link.


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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, Parent.co, 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 annarosenblumpalmer.com.

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