I'm not big on yams either, but I do think they need to be part of the Thanksgiving dinner, whether I eat them or not, just because.

My boys are at school. My daughter is going in a half an hour (and then I pick up younger son). She is watching Mr. Rogers. I actually think Mr. Rogers is a better influence on her than I could ever be. But most of my shamming comes from the housewife arena of sahmdom.

Huh. I use made up words more often than is seemly.

Okay, then quickly (because I have to leave) and without googling: how many people were killed in the Boston Massacre?

I said without googling!

According to Roseanne, if the kids are all alive at five PM, you've done your job, Cindy.

Aren't yams sweet potatoes? Because I can French fry a mean sweet potato. With cinnamon and sugar. And butter.

oops. pulled a Dan Quayle.

Five.

my stomach hurts and I think I'm having an anxiety attaack that's been going on for about an hour. It hurts to breathe.

Poor Nora. Can you go for a walk and sit someplace semi-quiet and relax fopr a few minutes?

Robin gets it. Three dead at the scene, and two mortally wounded, I believe. I hadn't known that before. I'm learning some interesting stuff! I just can't figure out how to put it all together into a coherent whole.

I am going to try to do that but I have to wait to see if the server files will be salvaged. otherwise I'll just stress out away from here too.

Ah, the first day of a re-vamped prescription regime, wondering which bodily twitches are just twitches and which are the precursors of new and exciting side-effects.

Still, I quite like my doctor, double chins and all. We were talking about my blood pressure, which is creeping up again. Hubby was there, and I said, "I have stress," accompanied by pointed look at snickering Hubby. Doc: "Well, it's illegal to kill your husband." Not "It's a bad idea," just "It's illegal." My doc knows all the health excitement Hubby has, and it's nice to know Doc recognizes that it takes a toll on me.

I got so lucky that I got this doctor when I was in the hospital. He'd come in in the evenings to tell me if I was going to get sprung. One evening towards the end of the stay, he said, "I want to keep you at least another day." I said, "Dammit." He said, "Oh, a dammit doll." Hubby laughed and I just stared at the doctor, absolutely flummoxed and trying to decide if I was going to be amused. I can deal with a doctor who makes me laugh.