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I am just going to preface this by saying I am in no way looking for sympathy. I love my life, my family, and feel very blessed even though I feel slightly overwhelmed today. In the past month, we moved Chloe to Pittsburgh and sent Lily to kindergarten. After a two-week reprieve, Peyton broke his arm, kicking off an ongoing ordeal of xrays and surgery and more xrays and doctor's appointments. Thankfully, P is good, his arm is healing, and his spirits are high.

Now, in between all our normal activities of work, school, dance, gymnastics, football--Peyton still wants to go to practices and games--and doctor's appointments in Akron, we are moving my mom into our house. This requires packing up my family of origin's home and locking the door on that chapter of life. Thankfully my sister has been vigilantly helping my mom pack because I have been little or no help. To thank her, my mom is giving her a lot of crap and referring to her as the "slave driver."

Normal right, everyone's life is busy and hectic to a degree, but I feel like lately there has been a larger than normal chaos cloud centered over ours. I attribute part of that to my quitting smoking. Again. After writing about how I treated myself to the Birchbox, I thought it was pretty bad to enjoy a reward for something I hadn't done. So I stopped smoking. Like last time, I prayed that God would give me strength to make it through the cravings, that He'd help me not to kill anyone or gain 50 pounds. And He has. Sorta.

But, I should have been prepared. I have been smoking off and mostly on for about 25 years, so I've quit lots of times. Every time, Satan freaking unloads on me. It's as if there's a little group of evil minions whose sole job is to make sure I never successfully quit. "Come on, she quit again! What are we gonna do this time? Her dad's dead...Chloe went to college...Lily's in school...Her mom's all ready moving in...Let's break Peyton!" Really, you bastards?

Additionally, every time I quit, I get sick. Really sick. This time, it was the worst respiratory nonsense I've had since, well, the last time I quit smoking two years ago. I'll admit I am a dreamer, an idealist, and often an idiot. I wholeheartedly believe that each time I quit it will be the last time. I truly trust that I won't gain weight, I will feel like a million dollars, look 10 years younger, and be able to roll around in my bed throwing all the money I save into the air. I don't have unrealistic expectations. Not at all.

I'm Mary. I'm a nicotine addict. Today is my 9th day clean. I have not killed anyone, but I have gained 5 pounds. Yesterday, I opened my Birchbox completely guilt free.


  1. Buy a box of freakin' patches. Jaysus. They're the only way I managed to quit the last few times. Jeanny is currently conducting a test into their long-term constant usage and will be publishing results in 2026 upon the graduation of Jinju at which time she will tear off the last patch, triumphantly light up a Marlboro Light and cough at her graduate, "You leave now. Buh bye."


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