I moved out of my office yesterday assuming the next few months would be too busy to spend time there.

Just 20 hours later I am sitting at Village Wine and Coffee trying not to listen to other people’s conversation as I research spending on Early Childhood education.

The problem is I find the ladies of Shelburbia more interesting than studies from 1960. I don’t want to. I want to focus on the piece I am writing for a pre school in Rhode Island, but the competition in the middle school girls basket ball team is so intense, and their voices so passionate that I can’t turn my ears away.

There are four tables occupied in here today and I know three of the groups. The fourth is hosts an attractive couple probably in their seventies and at one point they introduce themselves to table three based on a bit of conversation they overheard and I overhear them and realize they are parents of a friend. I stay out of it, or else it will get really loud in here. And I am supposed to be working.

It was one degree as I drove in. Denver is 34. It doesn’t sound so warm on its own, but 33 degrees is significant. The boys were guessing they will have indoor recess. This winter just won’t quit.

So I will quit it.

Next weekend I am packing up our winter stuff. Maybe not the kids, but Steves and mine. That’ll show it. Our life is getting smaller. Disappearing into boxes. No office. No wintage linens. If we host it will be on a bare table. Which incidentally is how we always host. Saturday I threw out the art supplies. Cracked glitter glues, dried up stamp pads, single googly eyes, half twisted pipe cleaners all of which have gone untouched since the neighborhood girl retreated into her house at the beginning of winter. 9 months ago.

Sort of like me with the office Leo grabbed some recycled paper yesterday and told me he wanted to make a project. “Good luck”, I told him, “I got rid of most of the supplies.” I came up with a great roll of small point pens that are usually off limits. He eschewed them asking for his stamp pads. Gone. I told him. “Like Simon?” he asked. “Why are you giving away all of our stuff?”

I decided not to mention the vintage linens. That might be the last straw.

I’m pretty sure he can work it out.

Through the window of the coffee shop I see a friend approaching. She has recently moved and I remember her telling me how much she got rid of in the move and how little she missed it. I believe that.

The new house has very little storage. A one car garage and a dirt basement from 1913 that I plan to pretend doesn’t exist. I am hoping it will encourage me to stay lean, stay away from the glitter glue and delete the ebay app from my phone. It will however have an office. So I won’t have to work out. Which, if today is any indication, is a good thing.

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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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