The Story of "Oh, Glory!" and Other Wordiness on the Prarie

          Mr. Blue Eyes is realizing the power of words. He's recently discovered the word "no", and all the power it can hold. Screaming it at his sisters can result in them backing down from swiping his toys that he's decided only he can use (like his treasured rocking horse). Thankfully,  he is yet to discover the word "Mine!" He is just beginning to understand the consequences of ignoring our "no". This weekend,  he had several time outs from the outdoors, when he tried to ignore me. His snotty nose and red eyes are pretty pathetic, but I resisted the power of his cuteness. He's not only learning words, but gestures as well. When I deliver him from time out, he usually gives me a sweet little kiss and hug. You may think me heartless to squelch his fun, but he's been trying to make it through our pasture to our gravel road (and was close to success this last week). Yes, our son is a runner. Too bad for him, I am too. Of course, he still smeared bird poop all over his outfit last week while I was distracted.  It's pretty easy to get your hands (and shoes) on it with 25 chickens and 8 ducks that free range. The country is awesome and beautiful,  but not exactly sanitary.
            Our sweet son also learned another new word besides "no" this past week. Father's Day Eve he began calling Charles, "Dada". He's had the sound capability for a while, but insisted on calling Charles by other names (with great enthusiasm but inaccuracy). For some reason, teaching him the sign while saying "Dada" helped him connect the two together within a couple of days. I love hearing him scream "Dada!" each time he catches a glimpse of him, except when Charles is mowing and I have to convince Mr. Blue Eyes that he can't ride on the "brmm-brmm".
           Going through the produce section of a grocery store is both heartbreaking and hilarious as he screams "BALL!" for every round produce...lemons, onions, limes, kiwi, tomatoes,  and my personal favorite, enormous watermelons. He just wants to chuck each and every item accross the store. He cries when he's told "no throwing" to the items we do pick up. Our last trip to the store was much easier because he wanted to go on the "Ba Poo" ride ( baby translation: Winnie the Pooh) at the end of the shopping trip. Every time he nearly threw a shopping item, I asked him if he wanted a ride. At one point on our trip, he literally paused with his arm poised behind his head and then thoughtfully put down the can of tomato paste.
           It's good to listen and not just talk all the time, so I've taken a break from some of my wordiness by reducing posts.  Summer has been a good time to reconnect with Charles and the kids, and put my phone down. (It's also been necessary to put it down, due to the unexplained back-up of 499 of my photos that stole 75% of my data allowance for the month of June by the time I'd hit June 5th.) 
            We took a work/business trip earlier this month and helped my mom pick 15 quarts of strawberries. 30 beautiful pints of freezer jam resulted along with a few memorable moments.  One nearly forgotten phrase that I heard at my mom's was: "Oh, Glory!" My mom has uttered this every time she hurt herself for as long as I can remember. I also realized I'd forgotten why she said that. She said that she was thanking God that she could even feel the pain. One of my mom's dearest friends was a paraplegic; and when my mom would complain about her back hurting or her toe getting stubbed, her friend would tell her how she wished she could feel the pain. If she could've had a backache,  it'd meant she could walk. If she'd stubbed her toe, she would've been grateful to be up and moving again. I always thought I was doing good just uttering "Ouch!" when I got hurt instead of swearing. However, my mom challenged me to show gratitude in my pain. I'll have to work on that.
          Because no trip with five kids can ever be uncomplicated (despite getting to take along my 15 year old, permit-packin' neice), we also had 10 ducklings emerge after taking them with us in the incubator. The adaptor that we used in the van to run the heating element worked well enough that the remaining 3 eggs  successfully hatched too (albeit four days later than usual). We also took two one-week-old ducklings along. Half-pint snuck them out of the box a couple times to sit on her lap. I couldn't help but smile as they snuggled into her hands and turned their heads backwards (in true ducky fashion) for a nap. My mom may have a heart of gratitude, but she would've never tolerated ducklings on a seven hour road trip. I don't think I would've heard "Oh, Glory!", but rather a firm "No!" if I tried to take some along. We ended up selling seven of the ducklings on the business portion of our trip through our old hometown. It was a short sweet trip; and if we didn't see you this time, it's probably only because you didn't have strawberries or ask for ducklings. We will try to catch you on the next round.          
           What's the newest word around the Ingall's farm? There may be some goats appearing before cows. Let's all take in a deep breath together and exhale, "Oh, Glory!"