Today we went to a funeral. We got up at oh-dark-thirty and somehow left the house only fifteen minutes later than we planned. And yes, we definitely left bowls of milk and cereal sitting on the table all day. We drove three hours to attend the graveside service for my great-grandfather on Meme’s side.

The kids did incredibly well. They cheerfully stood by the graveside and sang or bowed their heads when prompted. Afterward, I heard they actually helped with the burial, throwing clumps of dirt in while they laid Papa to rest. (There was a crowd of children who watched and helped respectfully, I think.)

Meanwhile, I took Willa back behind the van to pee in a cup, only somehow both of us got our shoes wet. That’s why God invented baby wipes: To get the pee off Mama’s high heels.

I wore my red heels because they’re comfortable, but mostly because I knew MeMe Robinson (Mira’s namesake) would have loved them. She was Papa’s wife of 64 years and she had sass and style and spirit in spades. The whole Robinson clan does. They love to laugh and play hard.

And they have a strong sense of family. All 71 children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren of Papa gathered to tell him goodbye.

After the sort of lunch that can only be prepared by little white-haired ladies from the church, we gathered for a memorial service. Finn had managed only a ten minute nap all day and was prepared to denounce us as infidels. Andrew wrestled him during the service while we sat with the family in the front of the church and tried not to wiggle too much.

Mira was so inspired, she fell asleep. And snored.

With feeling.

I tried shifting her around to open up her nasal passages and encourage less enthusiastic snores but didn’t really succeed. I cradled her in my arms while we sang in front of the church and she never woke up. She simply joined the chorus with her own serenade.

Aunts make any day bright.

After the funeral, we said our goodbyes and hit rush hour traffic. We made the inevitable stop for ice cream and water. And then another stop for the bathroom. And then we tacked on dinner. And then gas….

We made it home in time to put everyone in pj’s and send them to bed.

After the last child was tucked in, Andrew and I stood in the kitchen and wrapped our arms around each other. Partly because we were too tired to stand alone. But mostly because in a day where we remembered family lost and rejoiced in the family we’ve been given to grow, it felt right to be still together and be grateful for God’s goodness and mercy to us.

And so we were.

What made you grateful today? Did you hug the ones you love today?

So my twins, remember them?

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:

Our sweet babysitter was cheering at her last basketball game of the year and offered us tickets. I took the girls for an evening out.

They learned of our plans in advance and were BEYOND excited. They woke up yesterday morning and carefully thought about their outfits to wear “for Miss K.”

All day long, they bugged me about leaving on time. Willa even forced her entire meal down because I told her she couldn’t go unless she  ate her dinner. That ought to cover her required calories for a week or so. (She eats like a bird. Oh, for her ability to portion control!)

Finally, we loaded up in the van and took off. I hadn’t been on campus in many years and had no idea where I was going. Note to self: college campuses are not designed for 12 passenger vans.

Truth.

Because Jesus cares where we park, He sent some kind soul to wave us in to the VIP parking right up next to the gym. And I ceased to panic that we drove all that way only to practice Reverse in the parking deck for a few hours.

We made a quick trip to the restroom that ended prematurely because Ellen heard the national anthem and rushed out the door so as not to miss the song she recognized and resulted in me leaving the bathroom still tucking in my shirt and buttoning my pants, much to the entertainment of the co-eds milling around. (Also, if anyone noticed my zipper wasn’t fully zipped, I’m really sorry. Three excited little girls were pulling me along at too quick a pace for proper putting together.)

Once we found some seats, Willa was full of questions. First and foremost on her mind, “Mommy, why do the cheerleaders have to wear bows?”

They were sporting some rather large ribbons. I told her, “Because we live in the South, sweetie. And that’s how southern girls show team spirit.”

She continued to pepper me with questions: “Why are those people sitting on the bench and not playing? Why is everybody yelling? Why are they wearing blue?”

She noticed everything and struggled to understand it all in her four year old brain.

Meanwhile, Ellen was quiet, taking everything in. She will process for a few days and then probably announce her intention to take up cheering. She doesn’t emote DURING an event, but afterward we will get an earful.

And Mira? She just clapped and cheered and danced. She was quiet, but happy.

We stayed til the very end (snacks and water helped us through the second half) and got our picture made with the favorite Miss K.

On the way home, the girls were sleepy, but not too sleepy to tell me thank you at least five times.

Totally worth it, just for that.

And then, right before she put her head on her pillow, a sleepy Willa stopped me in my tracks with this question: “Why are they different?”

“What?”

“Why do the cheerleaders wear different size clothes than us?”

I barely stifled my giggle before I suggested she ask Miss K. that question the next time she comes.

If I were you, K., I’d blame it on laundry skills. Based on her mama’s laundry shrinking tendencies, Willa is very likely to believe you.

p.s. If the video isn’t playing, try right clicking on it. Depending on your browser, you may have to tell it to play.