Fit the tab into the buckle and pull low and tight across your hips

I am just coming to terms with last Wednesday. And I had a whole long weekend to recover from it.

It started with the guy who came over to adapt my new grill from propane to natural gas. My awesome electrician's son had planned to come do it (and that's some good eye candy), but an unanticipated rewire of a house in midtown and the crap weather of last week made it impossible for him to come by. The electrician, though, didn't want to leave me in a lurch (imagine that, gardener!) and sent a colleague over.

The colleague, though really really nice, kinda hit me by surprise. First off, he was struck by a motorcycle when he was stranded on the side of the road, which left him half-paralyzed a year ago. So, he's still got a substantial hitch in his giddy-up. Two, he brought his chihuahua with him. I was concerned about his steadiness on my uneven driveway and patio. I would have felt terrible if the motorcycle accident had paralyzed him, but my lawn furniture had finished him off. Second, who brings a chihuahua with to hook up a grill?

Clearly, I had no business playing with natural gas (I really need my eyebrows) but I hadn't planned on supervising the whole modification procedure. Two hours gone.

Then, I head off to school for the 3rd, yes 3rd, Thanksgiving celebration of the week. Yes, Virginia, the Pilgrims ate Froot Loops and DID drink Capri Sun out of foil pouches during the first Thanksgiving. You got a problem with that?

THEN, I had to go to the girlie doctor for my annual TSA-style check up. Which, of course, provoked all the usual questions pertaining to my mortality. Especially: if 40 is the new 30, then why do I need a mammogram now? Do the girls not know they are ten years younger than they were a generation ago? Ugh. Although seeing all the mothers-to-be in the waiting room with their babydaddies always gives me a chuckle. There was this woman sitting with her mom-to-be folder cooing over every prenatal milestone with her man beside her: "AWWW. Look what the baby can do at 18 weeks. AWWWWWWWW at 22 weeks. AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW at 28 weeks."

Meanwhile, I'm playing on my iphone because sitting in the waiting room listening to mellow music and doing the online crossword puzzle is the first calm I've had all day. I'm thinking, "wait 'til you get a load of what they do during week 312, lady! I'll give you a hint: it involves permanent markers, hot wheels, and your new upholstery. Sucker."

I'm all proud of myself as the woman with the mature uterus until the nurse asks me to get up on the scale. What kind of sadism is this doctor practicing? And, why, oh why, on my health history questionnaire is there a box to tick off if I wear my seat belt? SEAT BELTS? This is how we assess my quality of life? Do I smoke? Do I drink? Do I wear a seat belt?! For real? How about the box where I check that I do all three. At once. Or if I eat vegetables occasionally. Or if I eat fried foods at every meal. Nope. Seat belts=how seriously you take your health.

After finally escaping with an ego feeling its age and my girlie parts excessively lubed up, I head for the boys' friends' houses. Very nice friends have picked up my kids from school and taken them home to play. Unfortunately, said friends live on opposite ends of the universe. I stop in at the grocery and head to midtown to Friend #1.

Friend #1 is the most optimistic, good natured soul. EVER. It's just really beyond belief how upbeat and positive she is. TOTALLY unlike me. I just sit back in awe, thinking she should be in a zoo or something. Where's the cynicism? The angry humor? The wry and insulting sarcasm?

I have groceries in my trunk, and I walk into her (immaculate) house and agree to chat. But, time gets away from me. I realize I've imposed for nearly an hour while Friend #2 has S at her house. ACK! I rush out and half-drive, half text Friend #2. (And the doctor thinks a seat belt is important. Hah!)

EXCEPT. I accidentally text Friend #1 the message intended for Friend #2. Fortunately, Friend #1 is (as mentioned earlier) perfect, so I had nothing nasty to say, but was a bit frazzled at the mix-up nonetheless.

Now, I'm driving in holiday traffic, panicked, and trying to retext Friends 1 and 2 to clarify the mistake.

Blessedly, Friend #2, KH is the most laid back mom ever. She has boys and babies and chaos and seems remarkably sober and well adjusted depsite it. She called and offered to keep S overnight. Which is AWESOME, since it would have taken several more hours in that traffic to get to her house anyway. She's laughing at my texting gaffe. Her LOL comes through as actual laughing.

Finally, I got home. E and M and I wolf down our belated dinner and chillax in front of the TV. I refuse to tell M of the texting debacle since he is anti-text anyway. Around 10, KH calls me. S wants to come home.

I get BACK in my car, which I have been in for a substantial part of the day, and head off to pick up S. Who has been keeping KH's household up for hours. I apologize, pick up my kid, and head home.

Finally. It's 10:30 and everyone's asleep. I thought of my new scripts (Hooray! Chemical sanity!) to console me and my girls for their medical trauma. I faded into sleep and dreamed of more awkward texting scenarios, wondering if perhaps wearing a seat belt is really my best option.