A Week that Included a DD 214 and a Funeral.

Seth has been navigating the retirement process for awhile now, so I probably should've expected it. But it was still kind of a shock when he came home with his DD 214 today. 

We celebrated with impromptu cupcakes at the playground. There will be- down the road- a real ceremony, and uniforms and awards and flowers and decent refreshments, and that will probably feel like a more fitting milestone to mark what is really the end of an era. But today, red dye number 7 on important documents worked for us. What a wild ride it's been, and how proud we are of his service.

It's been quite a week, to say the least.

Last Monday, on our way back from Hilton Head, we got word my Mamma Gran had died. She was 89, and it was in her home, immediately after a Chiefs win and with two out of her six kids present. All of those things were comforting, but she was the real family matriarch, and- especially for rootless Army kids- this was deeply unsettling. 

The week was a flurry of trying to get ahold of people and make arrangements and travel plans and juggle work and life and farflung family... and Friday night well after midnight (having discovered to our disappointment that the state of Missouri halts alcohol sales at 0130) found Missy and I pulling into our luxe I-70 accommodations in a freakishly blue rental Hyundai.

A few short hours later brought a sibling reunion I will always treasure, which included changing into funeral attire in the bathroom of the Sedalia Panera. (Ben, who had been TDY in Florida, boasted a suit he had purchased minutes before at the local Kohl's. The tailoring job was dubious at best.)

The day was a blur of speeches and tears and reunions and fond memories and heartwrenching moments. There was a lovely visitation, at which we got to see some of the Walters family (who reminded us of just what a small town we come from when they dropped everything at the last minute to pay their respects);

a cold burial on a windswept hillside

during which the six Robinson kids (our aunts and uncles and Mom) said goodbye to the last of their parents,

and a Very Robinson non-nuclear-Robinson get-together at a lakeside biker bar (because sometimes the yelp description leaves something to be desired and you roll with it anyway.)

We finished the most gutwrenching day I can remember at the Grans' house, exactly as I remembered things. With too much to eat and drink, and laughter, and wild stories, and card games.

 

Oh yeah, and Missy and I hit the hotel waterslide. Although I promised not to post pictures. 
The next morning (way too early) brought an apropos family farewell

and a race to the airport. It was the most endearing, exhausting, gratifying whirlwind weekend I can remember. I'm still recovering, which is why I never really found the words for a proper tribute to the lady in whose memory we had all raced to the frozen middle of the country on a January Saturday.

Luckily, my sisters and cousin did.

 

I was delighted to be met at the airport after a long day of travel by the incredibly supportive Seth, who had been more than happy to single parent for the weekend to make my trip possible, and who took us all out for an eclectic late night date night (note Finley munching on a sushi burrito) at the wild and wonderful Morgan Street Food Hall. Some of us in PJs.

 

It's bittersweet to sign off from this one, as Mamma Gran was the real reason I made time to blog every week. She loved the pictures and stories, and I think of her as I attach my favorite photo of the week, one Seth sent me as I was on the way to her funeral. 

Finley and Ford, full of joy and life and poor outfit choices. 

Family, it turns out, really is everything. 

Escape to HHI

It is literally impossible for a working Mom to relax at home. There is always, always something on the regular "to do" list (laundry/dishes/whatever is stuck on the bottom of the vegetable crisper), the "wish list" (way less glamorous than it sounds) (includes things like reorganizing the storage shelves and cleaning out the garage), or the "if I should be lucky enough to get something contagious, rendering me unable to work, but not actually be on death's door" list (hello, linen closet!) Which is why every chance I get to relax, I'm packing 87 pairs of underwear and socks and begging my family to accompany me on an adventure.

Ok, it's not the only reason- I also really like adventures- but it doesn't hurt.

Which is how Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend found us in Hilton Head, an unlikely time of year to go to the beach but also a much-needed and laundry-accumulation-free adventure.

Seth wanted to try out the kayak fishing (for some reason I have no pictures of this except an early morning shot of a PJ-clad Ford dropping his Dad at the boat launch, with cold feet and nothing to wear on them but a random glove)

and I'm committed to my "six more months in NC" bucket list, and had inexplicably never been. And it was incredible. The sand is so packed you can ride bikes on it 

(but still soft enough for sand angels),

the winter weather was invigorating (according to a can't-stay-out-of-the-water Finley),

and HHI has all the amenities, including the lovely Sweet Carolina Coffee,

 airbnbs with very dangerous bunk beds,

the unparalleled Coligny Beach Park,

and hundreds of miles of bike trails. Which eventually yielded this adorable nap.

To keep things interesting, there are also alligators just roaming about

and disconcertingly plantation-themed attractions everywhere.

Which, refreshingly, reminded us that kids may require difficult conversations but are, at the end of the day, just kids. ("Mom, it's not OK to have slaves. Right? But I do like these camelias. They smell like fresh meat." (?!) "Also, alligators could eat you.")

They were rewarded for their incredible bravery in the face of mostly-invisible alligators with an early morning trip to Starbucks

before church at one of the oldest churches in America, the Lutheran Church of the Ascension in Savannah.

We rounded out our day playing tourist in Savannah with a trip to SCADstory,

a walk through historic squares,

a surprisingly well-received visit to a spooky but beautiful New Orleans-style cemetery,

and a trip to the iconic Forsyth Park, where we took zero decent photos,

 and played on the swings.

Because we have a Seth Nieman, we also watched the playoffs games at a River Street dive which happened to be the home of the Original Chicken Finger,

after sampling the world-famous Byrd's cookies.

Having been assured that the Packers would not make it to the Super Bowl, we were free to enjoy our last day by visiting the iconic Hilton Head Lighthouse (114 steps to the top!)

and laughing about the facts that 1) it contains a "top of the lighthouse" souvenir shop,

 and 2)  you can't get much more "South Carolina" than a lighthouse overlooking a golf course and a yacht club.

 

 At least there was also a decent playground

and some real Southern BBQ before the long drive home.
Note that Ford refused to be parted from his new pirate hat,

which outlasted him on the trek home.

My favorite photo of our idyllic long weekend, because it may have captured the one in which I laughed the hardest, was of the kids aggressively chasing seagulls at the beach. I'm grateful for a lot of things, but tops

is that I'm really glad they didn't catch one.