One Day At a Time

In the midst of blogging last night, my daughter walked into my room to tell me she had thrown up.  This is a fairly normal occurrence for her unfortunately.  A grumpy stomach runs in the family on her father's side.  I double check with her to make sure it's just a typical episode.  She says it is so I tell her to drink some water and get back to bed and get some rest.  I feel for her, I really do.  However she started doing this when she was 5 years old, so after almost 8 years of it I don't feel the need to get up with her every time it happens anymore.

When I finished blogging I walked to the kitchen to treat myself to a steaming cup of apple cider.   While the cider was heating I headed to the bathroom for one last stop before bed.  I'm so glad I emptied everything that was sitting on my chest before I got there.  My daughter had neglected to tell me she had missed the toilet.  Big time.  While I'm wiping the evening's dinner from tiny crevices and trying not to gag, I ponder the timing of things.  Had I found the mess before I had poured my feelings onto paper I probably would have had another tearful breakdown last night.  As it was, my heart felt lighter, so I laughed at the irony of the whole thing instead.

 On the subject of riding fences, I've been wanting to quit smoking for almost as long as I have smoked.  I've quit twice before; both times for over a year.  I'd like to quit again and make it last.  Addiction can be our partner, but never our friend.  I have a few cigarettes left in my pack, but my goal is to not buy anymore.  I have so many reasons to quit, and only one reason not to really.  Fear.  I despise the word.  I cringe to think of the feelings that accompany it.  However, I've grown tired of talking the talk and avoiding the walk.  Quitting smoking seems like the best place to start.  It goes hand in hand with some of the other not so great habits I'd like to give up.  I'm going to aim to tackle this first, and then see where my (hopefully) achievement leads me.  

 Tomorrow will be day one.  I'd really like to say I will be here blogging every night as a means  of therapy to get me through the first week.  I would hate to be a liar though.  The truth is, the first week is the worst.  I may write lots of hate letters and journals that will stay in my collection of writing that never gets posted here.  I may not want to write at all.  I may write about how wonderful it feels to stick with it.  I may abort my mission.  Week one, here I come....one day at a time.