It’s this or cigarettes. Or, possibly, shaking my child.

I’m sitting down to write a blog post for the first time in ten days because the alternative is to have a cigarette.

And the only thing I want more than a cigarette right now is to not have a cigarette.

Yes.  Again.  I’m quitting again.  We – Jared and I – are quitting.


It’s hard to tell people that you’re trying to give up smoking again.  There’s only so many times you can expect people to believe that this time will be the time.  The truth is, it gets harder and harder to tell yourself that this time will be the time.

We’re trying to do things differently.  We’ve been taking Chantix for a week now, spending as much money on pills to quit smoking as we do on cigarettes to keep smoking.  They say it will make it easier.

There are two half packs of cigarettes on my back patio right now.  They’re leftover from yesterday and last night we fell asleep before remembering to throw them away.  I want to throw them away, but not as badly as I want to smoke them.  I’m afraid if I put the pack in my hand, I won’t be able to resist putting a cigarette between my lips.

And so I’m writing this blog post instead.

I know all of the reasons to quit.

I know about the health risks and the smell and the money and the time.  I know.  I know.

But I know, too, about the subtle look among strangers gathered around an outdoor ashtray, the one that says, “I’m not perfect either, and that’s OK.”  I know the sense that something is missing inside me right now.  And that something may be toxic and poisonous and deadly – but all I can feel right now is the gaping hole left in its absence.

But I want to do this.  I need to do this.

One of the reasons I started Body for Life 6 weeks ago was to prove to myself that I could, but I also did it to be a better parent, to have energy to play with my kids more.  I know that quitting smoking will, ultimately, make me a better parent, too.

I’ll have more energy.  I’ll have more time for them.  I won’t be exposing them to secondhand smoke or telling them to “go over there” in some sick effort to protect them from it.  And while I can’t promise that quitting smoking will grant me a long and healthy life, I can at least show them that I want to spend as many years as I can with them.

For what it’s worth, my son is in his room throwing a five alarm fit at the moment, including cries of “Why me?  WHHHYYYYY MEEEE!?!?” because he got himself grounded.  The easiest thing to do right now would be to go outside and have a cigarette, just so that I don’t barge through that door and demand that he knock it the hell off now.

But I’m not doing either of those things.

Instead, I’m just writing a post.

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