Yes, Virginia....

mascara DOES freeze. Solid. And does not apply to eyelashes in a familiar fashion at all once frozen. Also freezable is the sliding door of a Honda minivan.

Just FYI.

Yes, Virginia...

... tights do eventually disintegrate. Hot weather will do it, and apparently, so will keeping them in your closet for seven years or more without wearing them.

Did I realize they might disintegrate whilst shopping at the new Target? Noooo....

Did you know that it is possible to change tights, even if you have on knee-high boots, in the front seat of your car? Hey - I was at Target! I was able to save the day!

So what to do with all the pairs that I saved from pre & during pregnancy (i.e., when I was a working girl)? Sigh.

My hometown is often the site of bizarre incidents, including my birth and wedding. This article describes yet another strange happening. No one in Macon would yell "murderer" at anyone. At least not to their face.

Looks like its gonna be a white Christmas in my town this year. Boy, do I grow tired.

I'm enjoying my church a little more these days - we have a new pastor and he takes the job more than seriously. He's a hugger and his hair is really so very pastory but there is new life in the congregation and I'm not feeling like the lone voice of adventurous liberal-type questioning anymore.

I wish I were more thick-skinned. My neighbor and I have had a troubled relationship from the get-go, compounded by the fact that I cannot abide her child at all and am dismayed at his lying, his treatment of my children, and his destructive abilities (I thought this was MY problem, but other children have come over here with nary an incident, so there!). She is distancing herself now, which she should do, and for which I am grateful, but I never feel comfortable knowing there is someone out there not liking me. Why I give a shit, I'll never know. My plan is to drop this care once and for all when I hit 40.

The Christmas cards are almost done - nothing creative this year, just a cutie-pie picture of my girl with no front teeth and my boy loving on her. Being the family whipping post means that I mail to Aunt Alice and Uncle Arthur (who, I found out today, is dead. Will his card be returned? Forwarded to his descendents? What?) and Cousins Brenda and John. And John on the other side, too. I don't mind doing this - someone has to I guess, and I'm good at it. I just want to be thanked.

Finally, a note about my husband's bad behaviour this week. He wanted a snack. Did he go for a sandwich, a bowl of cereal, some nuts or an orange? NO! He opened the delightful baguette toasts for appetizers I was saving and ate them. All. And then for snack dessert, opened a jar of frosting. This sounds gross, but sadly it is one of my serious weaknesses so I am currently nursing a stomach heavy-laden with lardy icing and wondering what exactly I was thinking marrying a skinny man with a tapeworm. Love him though I do.

I had a car accident. Kind of my fault, kind of the fault of the humongous Suburban that kept me from seeing the speeding red car headed right at me (it is no secret that I do not care for humongous Suburban-like cars). The car accident has made me think so much that my brain hurts and that I need a nap.

The guy's car was totalled. My car, not so much. Me, the well-off young white girl in the minivan with a boy and his friend, not having to work because my husband does so well. He, the man just getting off from work whose registration was not current, whose license was expired, who may very well not have insurance. And who now does not have a car. At least he has a caring girlfriend, who, in her phone call to me today, identified herself suddenly as "fiancee". Lynn thinks they are going to shaft me. She's probably right.

Last night was bleak as all hell. I had to make a thousand phone calls to the thousands of people who were relying on me for something. I had to make my husband come from work. I had to rely on a stranger to change my tire (who did so despite his distaste for the constant stream of foul-smelling gas emitted by my son). I had to call the mother of my son's friend, who has already dealt with a year and a half of chemo for her child and now has to worry about letting her children ride with people.

Of course, had I not been so completely giving and maybe a little selfish on behalf of my family, I would not have been out driving at a busy hour at a bad intersection. I need to learn to say NO and say it often.

I had bad dreams and visions all night - of what could have happened, about what might have been, about where I might have ended up instead of in my bed, cozy and warm. I am lucky as all hell.

In the middle of the night, I went to check on my son - out of guilt, fear, whatever. I tucked in his covers and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. He woke up and said, "Mommy?" Yes? "I love you." I sure have a lot to be grateful for and I'll try to take more time and more opportunities to do just that.