A Crash Course In Bicycle Safety

So my twins, remember them?

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They had a birthday which I will blog about eventually. It is so very true that the birthday of the eldest is hardest on a mama heart and sometimes she just has to treasure it for a bit. It’s also true that I haven’t had much time for blogging this week. You pick the reason for my delay.

For Sam and Ian’s birthday, we gave them new bikes. Only they were the wrong size and we had to replace them. But we all got sick and it was Wednesday before they received their actual birthday bikes.

Parents of the year, yep, we are.

So yesterday, Andrew took them outside and told them we were going to finally enact a strict policy regarding bike helmets: Wear them, or we take away the bike. We’ve got a nicely paved driveway to ride on, but it’s sort of hilly. My inner Safety Patrol is on high alert every time they fly down the hills at unholy speeds.

Helmets properly applied, the kids were turned loose on the driveway.


It wasn’t long before I heard the siren song of an injury from my spot in the bed where I’ve been cuddling the Kleenex and napping a lot.

According to witnesses, Ellen and Ian had a collision that resulted in her skidding ON HER HEAD/HELMET. She was miraculously unscathed but rightly terrified. She went about rather white-lipped for the afternoon.

It was date night last night, so we left the kids in the very capable hands of our babysitter and went in search of a good meal that neither one of us had to cook. We hadn’t made it ten minutes down the road before our intrepid babysitter called. “Sooooo, there was a bike riding incident and there’s blood coming from Adam’s head and I think maybe you need to turn around.”

And so we did.

When we arrived, the crowd was still around Adam’s little body in the driveway. He was talking, but there was a lot of blood around him. Sam sat next to him eating a popsicle. It took me a second to realize he’d been injured, too. Matter of fact, it took quite a few minutes to piece the whole thing together.

Apparently, Sam and Adam went down a hill side by side and miscommunicated about who would turn which way. They turned into each other.

Miss K said it seemed to happen in slow motion, which I know from experience is how you feel when you’re on the front porch holding a baby and can’t sprint fast enough to prevent certain disaster.

Sam busted his front teeth and gums while Adam somehow managed to get a cut on his temple, just below his helmet. It was a nasty little gash and Andrew and I had a tough time deciding if we needed to get it stitched or not. Fortunately, Aunt Katie  and her medical know-how were available via text. We sent her a picture of the wound.

Andrew believes strongly in being prepared, so he has a special first aid kid he keeps well-supplied with out-of-the-norm things like “oral IV” and “QuikClot.” He also had plenty of butterfly bandages, wound closure strips, and super glue so Aunt Katie said we could set up our own little ER at home.

We laid him out on the table and Andrew cleaned the gash with hydrogen peroxide, shaved some of his hair around it, and then taped it shut. I grimaced a lot and held Adam’s hand.

And, oh my, that baby boy was so calm. Adam is our most dramatic child (well, they’re all pretty dramatic), and he’s especially dramatic when wounded. Andrew and I braced ourselves for thrashing and screaming. But Adam REALLY didn’t want to get stitches. So he laid very still and something in my Mama Heart squeezed a little tighter to see him look up into his daddy’s face with such trust.


Please see also: Andrew was a trooper. He stayed totally calm, showed Adam everything he was going to do before he did it, and played the whole thing nonchalant. I’m the only one who knows that when he was done, he took a big deep breath and claimed he was wrung out…

Well, now you know it, too. But you won’t tell, right?

Anyway, as ever, Andrew is my hero. The end.


In my efforts to contribute SOMETHING to this little scenario, I gave out oils and potions and smoothed little foreheads. (Hint: Bach’s rescue remedy works magic on a traumatized boy. And I gave both fellas some loving mama touch by rubbing essential oils on their backs. It felt good to all of us.)

What was interesting to me was that Sam and Adam weren’t the only ones traumatized. Ian was white as a ghost when we pulled up and we actually had to sit him down and have him put his head between his knees. He doesn’t do so well with blood and excitement.

He was the one who thought to get Sam a popsicle (as is our standard mouth injury protocal) but when he ran inside to get one, he couldn’t find them at first and, as he put it, “I yelled and hit the refrigerator, Mommy.”

We settled them all down with some dinner (milkshake for Sam) and a movie. Everyone seems fine today, although Sam is choosing his meals very carefully. They’re back on their bikes like maniacs, but they’re wearing their helmets without being told, something I’m grateful for.

Now I just have to figure out how to get this Mini-Maniac fitted for a helmet, too:






  1. Oh goodness!! I’m so sorry. Why weren’t bikes nearly as scary when we were kids??

    Granted, my one broken bone came from a bike wreck, but still…it just wasn’t as scary.

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