I had a bad day yesterday.

(Am I the only one who instantly hears the entire chorus to the Daniel Powter song whenever those word are uttered?)

It was one of those days when it wasn’t one really big thing went wrong, but a myriad of little things that happened in such a succession that they felt big.

The bathroom scale showed my highest all-time non-pregnant weight. I got an ugly, ugly comment on my blog. I broke my juicer when my shoulder gave out as I was putting it on the counter. Right after the juicer incident, Tegan was trying to help me pack away Christmas, and when I was out of the room took the two nutcrackers off the mantel. When I came back in, she was playing with the nutcrackers, and said she’d taken them down but that it “didn’t go so well.” Translation: something had gotten broken.

Little things.

I’m the first one to tell you that a number on a scale is NOT something you should be stressing out about. And the comment? It’s part of blogging. I’m supposed to shake it off. The ruined juicer, while not exactly helpful to our debt repayment efforts, is still just a “thing.” It can be replaced eventually. As for Tegan and the mantel: She’d accidentally knocked down about 5 of my elephants, but only two were broken. They happened to be my two favorites… the little stone one that Mike had bought me about 19 years ago, the one that started my collection; and a tiny clear glass one that I’d picked up in Bermuda. The first could be fixed with some crazy glue… but the latter was smashed beyond repair. They had more sentimental value than monetary value, but still… just things. And, interestingly, I’m supposed to be letting go of the importance of things. Here we go.

Once I’d gotten in that rut of, “I’m having a bad day” though, I couldn’t get out of it. I tried wine. I tried chocolate. I tried a tiny bit of yoga. I tried hanging out with the girl while she took a bath (which, while it didn’t exactly help, at least distracted me with happy and very important conversation about things like Adele, mermaids, and body hair)

I finally gave up, kissed everyone good night, and went to bed at 8:47, knowing that tomorrow would be another new day. Another fresh start, another chance for a do-over.

And here’s today. The scale still says the same number, but it’s okay. I’m healing. I’m working hard. Soon I’ll be able to be more physically active again.

There are no meanies on my blog.

I’m the only one up, and the house is so silent, I can hear the hum of the ceiling fan above me.

The dog is peacefully sleeping on her flattened little bed on the floor by my feet.

The sun is coming through the stained glass window on the front door, and making pretty patterns of rainbows on the french doors behind the kitchen table.

There’s a little denim mini skirt in the middle of the floor, and it makes me smile: it means a happy, healthy, energetic 4 year old girl lives here.

I have a new bag of freshly roasted coffee beans, just waiting to be ground and made into my morning cup of coffee.

Life is good.