Union Station

           No one dreams of coming into a train station just in time to line up, dripping with sweat from the exertion of a brisk walk in 80 degree weather whilst carrying an independent toddler in a wrap plus 40 lbs. of luggage. Well, maybe someone would; but I'm pretty sure that it would qualify as a nightmare (I've decided to tag this post as such). For me however, this was no dream.
          It all began very innocently with my mother's dear friend offering to drop me off directly at the train station.  I had taken the Metrolink (from the Amtrak station) to our hotel for the Joyce Meyer women's conference and was prepared to take it back as well. The offer for quick door to door service was too nice to pass up though. In Chicago and Kansas City,  Amtrak departs from "Union Station". This is not the case in St. Louis; and no one is to blame, but me. I was reading the map and asked to be dropped off there. It is, in fact, 0.6 miles apart (according to Google maps). When they dropped me off in front of Union Station, I had an extra 20 minutes;  so I wasn't worried at all about making it inside to my train. After walking the length of the block without spying any signs for Amtrak, I figured I must just be on the wrong side of the building; but my heart began to sink as I found no such evidence.  I asked a security officer for help and realized I still had quite a ways to go. After getting confused from his directions,  I stopped to let the squirmy Mr. Blue Eyes down from my Storkenwege and consult Google Maps. I was relieved to see that the end was in site, but unfortunately Google maps doesn't know where the sidewalk barriers will prevent you from crossing at the stoplights. I had to do a bit of backtracking and Mr. Blue Eyes protested being placed back in my wrap (a few minutes later, I smelled his reason for disgruntlement). This wasn't the moment that I could handle an inquisitive one-year-old old dashing into the road or running down the sidewalk. It took a little doing, but I got everything together. In the meantime, I got a very funny look from someone who looked like a cross between Jamie Kennedy and Opie Taylor...maybe it was the confused look on my face, the wailing of my son, or the shaking of my hands. Would I even make it on time? I began praying and reviewing in my mind some of the things Joyce had said about fears. She had encouraged us to sing a simple song when we were afraid; and so I began signing, "I've got it. I've got it. I've really, really got it." She talked about how we have nothing to fear with the Holy Spirit dwelling in us. We have Him with us always.
           Thankfully,  I arrived just as they were boarding. A couple took pity on me and helped me down the escalator with my luggage (the elevator was, of course, out of order). Because of the long hike,  Mr. Blue Eyes took a three hour nap in my arms while on the train. I was tempted to wake him after an hour and a half (like I do at home), but I felt like I should just wait and enjoy the quiet. It must've been the Holy Spirit speaking because the train ended up being delayed by 2 1/2 hours, and he was still a happy camper at 11:50pm due to the prolonged nap.
             This whole ordeal reminded me of parenting. We think we know where we are headed,  but sometimes just as we think we've arrived and taken a shortcut...we find out there is even more work to do. God has really been dealing with my heart about fear, and I recently started a Bible study on Fridays called "Grace-Based Parenting". It's based on a book by Tim Kimmel. After the first video session,  I was a little discouraged by how vague it seemed. Then, I got the book that I had purchased (used off of Amazon) and almost fell over. He is a wonderful writer! God is using this book to address fear in my life in a different aspect. He talked about different common mistakes in parenting and one in particular caught my eye. He calls it "Fear- Based Parenting". I know that I have been guilty of this at least a few times. The problem that he points out with basing your judgements on your fears is that you are demonstrating to your children how small you believe God to be. He says, " Making safety the priority tells our children that we think God is incapable of doing what He said He would do for His children. Obviously,  God wants us to shrewdly bring our children up within a corrupted world system,  careful to make sure that they don't have to process issues to big for them. Many parents assume that all pressures from the corrupted world are too big for their children. " These fears are a trick from Satan to keep you and your children from experiencing God's power. Of course,  we shouldn't just throw our young children to the wolves; but we need to be intentional about showing them how to turn to God for help in the midst of problems...we can't just shield them from everything. I love that he write that "safe Christians" is really an oxymoron. How can you really protect someone from everything and still reach out to others who need to know God?  He writes that we need to demonstrate a strong hope about the future even while going through struggles because ultimately we trust God to be in control. I'm loving this book, and I feel like it is no accident that God has laid this in my path to read at the same time as the other book I'm chewing on (Living Courageously).
              I won't make the same mistake about Union Station in St. Louis,  and I'm determined to start parenting in the direction and with the confidence that I had hoped to all along. I know one of the purposes God has called me to is being a good mom to my children without all the fears that have been running our lives. To check out what other moms have to say about their purpose, check out www.jillsavage.org

What have you read recently or discovered about your fears?

The "Louse"-y Month that Ended Well

          I love learning, but the things I could tell you about head lice at this point is ridiculous.  It has always been one of my worst nightmares to have to make an announcement about "having lice" to friends and families. This past month, I've walked through a lot of fears (it was kind of been my theme for the month). Mary has brought so much excitement and happiness to our lives. However, this month she brought us itchiness. Near the beginning of September, she complained of an itchy scalp; and being the caring mother of five that I am, I briefly inspected her head. No bugs, no bumps, no white specks meant no problem in my mind. I figured that she just hadn't been washing out her shampoo well enough.
          A week later, Half-pint spotted a louse crawling across Mary's hair part (her visual acuity is amazing). After a doctor appointment due to some serious denial and inexperience on my part,  I sent hurried notes to those we had recently seen (like a new friend I had over for the first time that day, "Hope you enjoyed your visit to our farm...of head lice!") and those we had planned to see. I then made a very quick trip to Wal-Mart for the recommended shampoo. I'm all for natural stuff, but ten minutes till complete annihilation of lice sounded pretty appropriate at the time. However after bagging all of her stuffed items and treating her hair, I felt despair well up within me after I picked live louse after live louse out of her hair with the nit comb (my final count of live lice was over thirty). Since it was midnight by the time I was done, I gave up and went to bed. At 5am, I woke up to a horrible itching sensation.  The pediatrician said I'd know if I'd gotten it because "it's uncomfortable". Oh, yes, I knew!  At this point,  I was convinced these lice were resistant to the pesticides;  so I began googling essential oils treatments. Every site had a different recommendation,  but nearly all of the recommended Melaleuca for both lice repellent and insecticide. Unfortunately,  that is one oil I didn't own (notice the past tense). Instead,  I poured coconut oil and lavender and eucalyptus all over my head.  Then I sealed it up with some Saran Wrap and began texting my friend, begging her to order me some Melaleuca.  Eventually the itching subsided and I calmed down enough to go over the info from our pediatrician.  They recommended Cetaphil if the pesticide didn't work. Yes, we're talking gentle daily facial cleanser. (Here's the info in case you ever need it.) The kids and I traveled 20 minutes to snatch the last two bottles on sale at Walgreens. The rest of the day was a blur of applications,  nit-combing and blow-drying. Fortunately,  no one else had any nits or lice during their wet combing that evening (for the record,  I couldn't find any on my head that night either...but they may have been obscured by the bleeding birthmarks on my scalp line that didn't agree with the cheap plastic comb included in our kit). It's 3 1/2 weeks later,and I'm now starting to consider inviting a families over for playdates again.
           That's not the only buggy issue we had this month. Half-pint has had some swelling in her knee joint that we followed up on with lab work.  Last week, we were notified that she has Lyme's disease (which is being treated with antibiotics for the next four weeks). Lyme disease always scared me, but juvenile rheumatoid arthritis scares me more. At least Lyme disease doesn't mean managing pain for the foreseeable future...or continued doctor appointments an hour away. This was definitely an answer to prayer; and considering the natural tick predators that we've added to our family of fowl (lovingly named "Tic" and "Tac"), we will hopefully not deal with this again. I couldn't resist throwing a picture of their ugly diseased bug killing faces in with this post (I wonder if they eat lice too).
           If you'd have asked me if I was a fearful person , I would've said "No, way!" even after this crazy month of scary things. I went to a conference this past weekend in St. Louis (best Christmas present ever!) and had a wake-up call to how much of my life is driven by fear. I picked up a copy of Joyce Meyer's new book, "Living Courageously", which covers the topic. I'm only about halfway through it, but I really love it! I'm currently meditating on Psalm 56:3 (pg.33): "What time I am afraid, I will have confidence in and put my trust and reliance in You." After all, who knows when the next bug will strike?

           Because I didn't want to keep this book all to myself, I picked up an extra copy to give away too...so if you'd fess up to one fear in the comments below,  you will be entered in the drawing (which an unsuspecting child of mine will randomly draw). The drawing will take place next Friday morning (the 10th),  and I'll announce it in the comments below. I also decided to give up linking these blog posts to my Facebook account.  It's only really showing it to two or three people anyway (it's weird how they determine who to show what); so if you were encouraged (or know someone who needs some lice sympathy) and want to share this,  feel free. I won't stop you. I might even "like" it.

The Dirt on My Window

          There are prints all over my windows,  and I'm having a hard time bringing myself to clean them. These are not the sweet little greasy handprints that I am used to. They are the wet nose prints of curiosity that were usually accompanied by a whine or two. It used to drive me nuts and was one thing I always liked to clean before company came over. Lately, erasing them has felt like I'm erasing a part of my life. Harley (our beloved Weimeraner, not to be confused with my dad) died at the end of August. I've already vacuumed and laundered our throw rugs, but his nose smears have remained.
             When a friend of mine recently posted a picture of her deceased father hugging her, it reminded me of a long forgotten memory.  I remember people asking me how I was doing after my dad died (when I was 13 years old), and I would always tell them how much I missed his hugs. I had totally forgotten about that, and I was flooded with a mixture of guilt and sadness...not just because of that loss, but that I had forgotten that.
           I realize now that fear of losing the great memories of our dog are trying to keep me frozen in disgustingness (or to be more precise, snot on my window). Well, this month has been all about realizing that fear is dominating my life and my decisions (read "The Louse-y Month..." post for more and a chance to win Joyce Meyer's newest book). It's a good day to clean, so here are a few things that I learned that I hope I'll never forget:

               1)There was look of utter panic and shakes at the mention of the word "bath" (and this time I'm not referring to my pre-teen Mary). I never realized it that a 90 lb. dog would take on a Fed-ex truck, driver and all his packages...and still be petrified of a bath. Harley had to be enticed to the edge of the tub with his favorite treats, while someone would "heave-ho" his rear end into the tub with warm water waiting.

            2) I had the dawning realization that all that "sand" in the bottom of his kennel that we first brought home with him was just dirt ground to bloody pulp from a hundred pounds of dog flesh tromping and circling in the kennel before laying down. I realized my feet would basically never feel a clean floor again since he couldn't take his shoes off when he came in. I also mourned the loss of once clean white stuffed animals that were quickly dinged by being drug across the floor.

              3) I never realized that having a dog meant never sleeping in again...EVER. Dogs are even more ridiculously schedule dependant than babies. Babies would occasionally sleep in until 8am, but the pathetic whimpering that started at 7:30am rarely gave a morning's peace. The girls learned to sleep through it, but I did not. I even got an occasional wet nose wake-up. Oh, the horror! He also shook his ears out so much in the middle of the night that I was glad he never slept in our bedroom.

          4) Dogs are the gateway pet. Once you take on that much responsibility, what's another eight cats, or twenty-four chickens, or fifteen ducks,  or  two turtles (and turkeys and guineas,  and lizards)...need I go on?

          4) Listening to your husband and getting a dog (even when you are not a dog lover) can be a  really good thing. Yes, you can get a winner of a dog off of Craig's list. Harley was amazingly obedient (especially if food was involved,  and especially if that food was hot dogs). I never knew a baby to love a dog the way our Gracie did. She was only 11 months old when we brought home our 87 lb. Weimeraner dog, but she found his head was the perfect height to walk under. His ears dangled down, and she exclaimed "tick-a, tick-a" when she felt them on her head. Her first word besides "Mama" and "Dada" was "Ar-ley". She stills tears up just mention his name. He also turned me into a dog-lover. That last moan of knowing when we went to say "Goodbye" to him at the vets office said volumes. It said, "I love you!" and "I'm hurting" and "I'm so glad to see you again" and "It's Ok" all at once. I've never heard quite so much in one me-ow, and I've loved and said goodbye to a lot of cats. 

          The nasal drips are getting erased, but the marks on our hearts will be there forever. The week that we waited to see how much he could recover from his stroke and seizures while staying at the animal clinic was full of nightly dreams that Half-pint would share each morning. Each one was different, but the same in that he ran away from the vet to come see us each time. They were beautiful.  He even had puppies in one of them (though that was physically impossible due to surgery and that he was a boy dog). In my mind, I can still see him running as fast as the day we brought him home. His ears are flapping in the wind, and his muscles are flexing easily as he races a rabbit and wins. There is no paralysis. There is no knowing groan.  There is a happy spring in his step when he bounds over for a pat on his head and a victorious "Good Boy!" from my lips. 

He was the best dog ever.

Fixing What Is Broken

          On the first day of school in our neck of the woods,  we rushed around to get 24 chickens, 8 cats, 5 ducks (plus 11 ducklings), 3 turkeys , 2 guinea fowl, and 1 dog their food and water. It takes everyone's cooperation to get it all done and be on time. It's next to impossible in a family of seven to be punctual when you're changing diapers, changing clothes,  fixing hair, and feeding little ones...all the while making lunches and praying to find the missing shoe (that the baby decided was a perfect car the night before). Of course,  we weren't actually headed to school. We start that this week.  We were headed to rheumatology...not for Grandma,  but for my 10 year old, Half-pint. She injured her knee in a martial arts warm-up July 7th, describing the sensation as her "knee-cap popping". She had swelling in her knee that warranted a trip both to the chiropractor and the pediatrician (and eventually sports medicine when the swelling was still there a week later). 
          Just in case you are faced with the choice, I wouldn't recommend scheduling an appointment with sports medicine the morning of your child's birthday party for 18 of her closest friends if you haven't even prepared the dessert. I had no idea that Half-pint would visualize the physician removing a "box" of fluid from her body (when in fact he was merely removing maybe an ounce of bursa fluid for lab work) or that this would result in a full-blown panic attack.  A couple of milligrams of versed later, she was calmly talking about the ceiling dropping on our heads, and we were able to complete her exam without putting her completely out. We did find out that nothing bacterial was causing the swelling (and the lack of blood indicated it wasn't a trauma issue).
          Our rheumatology appointment on the 13th of August gave us no answers. We were asked to come back in a month when the lab work done by sports medicine could be repeated to give a firm diagnosis of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. Given my daughter's love of nature and tick exposure, we'll also test for Lyme disease at that time. No one but me (and my four tag along kids) seemed distressed that I would be making another crazy round-up for an hour long drive to the doctor in a month. I was hoping for an answer, not another delay. I hate not being able to fix something.
         Shortly after we moved last year, I broke a necklace I had made. It didn't worry me or bother me at all. Since I had made it, I knew exactly how to fix it and what I would need to make it whole again. It actually sat on my bookshelf along with several other projects until a few weeks ago when I really wanted to wear it. As I was putting it together, I wished everything could be fixed so easily...like the problem with Half-pint's knee. It's hard to wait for answers. Then I had the thought: our Creator knows exactly how and what He needs to make us whole because He made us.
          I wish the problems at the Ingalls farm was just Half-pint's knee, but every week brings a new challenge...like our first chicken being lost to a hawk this week, our dog being incapacitated by a stroke and seizure last week, or my phone (that contained the downloaded background track) being broken by Mr. Blue Eyes just 36 hours before Mary's audition...it never ends. Each day I call, "In the morning,  O Lord, you hear my voice, in the morning I lay out my requests before you and wait in expectation." (Psalms 5:3)
           When I "recreated" my necklace,  I broke a bead and had to change my original design. I have to say that I think it's more interesting and more beautiful than before. May each time of brokenness in our lives cause the Creator to make us more interesting and more beautiful too.

At the End of the Rainbow (Does God Have a "Like" Button? )

           I love the "like" button, but perhaps I overuse it a little. When something on Facebook makes me smile or even just know someone a little better than before, I'll "like" it. Do you ever wonder what God would do on Facebook?  Do you ever think, "If God saw me would He groan over how needy (or whiny) I am? Would He "like" me? Would He leave a comment? Would I be on His friend list? Most of my posts on Facebook revolve around an interesting photo or a link to my blog. Sharing my blog can be feel futile and a bit frustrating.The way they choose to show your feed to certain people is confusing; and often times, I debate whether or not to actually post a link at all. If people really want to know what's going on, it's easy to subscribe. Sometimes,  I want to give up Facebook completely because it makes me think more about other people's approval than I'd like to admit. I didn't start blogging because I want a million likes (although it feels gratifying to get a few).  I did it because God does amazing things all around me, and I want to share it. I want our children to look back and know where they came from. I want them to know that God had a hand in their lives from the very beginning. I want them to know me and my thoughts because there aren't enough moments in the day to express them.  I also want other friends to know that they are not alone in their hard days, and that God is real. Most of all, I want to make God smile.
           In my last post, I showed you my kooky smiley face. I was also in the middle of painting some serious yellow on my walls. My hubby rolled out the Aquatic Green on our hallway and a few comments about their union. I love those two colors; and although the 2 x 5 strip of them together looked great, on the walls they looked awful. In our last town, there was a house on campus with this crazy rainbow assortment of colors. My girls would always say they wanted to live in that house. However, my six-year-old child quipped that our colored walls were "too crazy" for even her. Half-pint said it reminded her of a bathroom. Today when I picked up our copy of Usborne books "Find the Duck", I discovered my subliminal inspiration. When I looked at those two bold colors competing for my attention, I felt like a miserable decorating flunkee.
          It lasted on the walls just overnight before I grabbed the primer and went to work. We had hastily cleaned up and stored our painting paraphernalia in the garage before friends came over to witness the "tropical" look on walls ("tropical" was their word,  not mine). It was 6am when I dragged the supplies out and noticed a few sprinkles coming down on our van. The sun was shining brightly. I began to get very excited.  This could mean only one thing: A RAINBOW!  I started searching and saw the tip of a gorgeous double rainbow.  I dashed into the house to grab my phone because I knew it wouldn't last long. After snapping a couple shots of the northern end, I slowly scanned south to see where it landed. Our house was at the end of the rainbow.  I took a video clip and tried a panoramic shot, but it started fading and the rain stopped.
           I'm convinced it was a small display of beauty just for me. Was it God saying, "Now this is how to do color!"? Was He trying to show me that he didn't put blue next to yellow in the rainbow,  so I shouldn't either? Perhaps. When I close my eyes and really listen, I think He was saying something like this: "The reason you like color is because I like it too. You were made in my image. I like what your trying. Don't give up. You are special...that's why I made the rainbow end on your house. I made this rainbow just for you...because I love you!" When I shared the pictures of the rainbow with Charles, he said that it "must be the gold walls" we just painted. Whatever the reason, the timing and location of that rainbow made me smile and feel special. Rainbows became significant for me after going through the "The Great Banquet". There is a song that we sang repeatedly that talks about the colors of the rainbow being like the many facets of God's love. God may not be on Facebook, but He does control creation. Seeing that rainbow perched above our home felt like He had left an enormous comment on the sky for me instead of my computer screen that read, "I LOVE YOU in so many ways! <3" He loves us all, so what has He done lately for you that felt like a comment? If you can't think of anything,  I dare you to be bold and ask for a comment. Then, keep your eyes wide open and share it.

While I Am Unaware

          I watched Half-pint struggling with her emotions as friend after friend was unable to come to the Buddy Bash event at a martial arts school we joined two weeks back. I wanted to make something happen for her; but the more people we asked, the more we were turned down. People were out of town or were hosting other guests. Some already belonged to another dojo. Everyone had very good reasons,  but my little girl still took it pretty hard. I told her that maybe she'd make a buddy there. She insisted that there was no one even close to her age in her class that still had a white belt (the party was only for white belts). Having lots of siblings is usually a big plus because you can always count on them as a buddy. Normally Mary would've just been her buddy, but Mary had rehearsal that night for the upcoming community theatre that she's apart of.
        Earlier in the week, I had been feeling a similar frustration. Very honestly,  I told God that I felt like He'd forgotten all about me. My first new friend (remember my flourless chocolate cake flop) I'd made since coming here moved away a little over a week ago. Although I know it's not very mature, I pouted over it. I didn't want to say goodbye to her. I liked her too much. I told God I didn't think He was doing a very good job of answering my prayers. Right away, He brought another friend's name to my mind who has been a direct answer to specific prayer. However on our very first playdate, she shared that she anticipated moving in the next few months. My "answer to prayer" would be moving too. I brought this up to Him to point out that I still felt neglected by Him. As I sat down to journal, I specifically asked to feel His presence that day. I had just had so many days that I felt lost in the shuffle...like God was too busy with someone else to really "be there" for me. Later that day, Mary laughed and said, "Mom, you have a smiley face on your leg!" I have no idea what I leaned against; but sure enough,  there were two eyes and a mouth imprinted on my leg. That's just the sort of kooky sign that makes me know it was no coincidence. It made me and the girls laugh out loud. It also made me aware that God was there the whole time, waiting for me stop being so oblivious and trust Him.
          The next day, I found out my "answer to prayer" no longer had to move. I was shocked and extremely grateful...and I felt like a great big whiner (Is this where my kids get it?)! This all happened the day before Half-pint was agonizing over the lack of a "buddy". Guess what happened at the Buddy Bash? She made a new friend who's only a couple months younger than her...that happens to homeschool...and whose mom happens to have the exact same name as my friend that moved away. Seriously! What are the odds on that?? My hubby pointed out that this has been a really great week for me: a great friend is staying put, a new friend has just surfaced, and Charles spent his three day weekend patching and painting our kitchen/dining room and hallway (which is a serious labor of love if you saw all the holes and cracks in those walls and knew how much he despises drywall compound). Last night as I was cutting in the happy face shade of yellow (inspired by a friend's autumnal picture in a golden grove),  my heart was all smiles. Even getting my hair stuck in a fly strip couldn't spoil my day. Even realizing on our way to church that I still had fly trap goo in my hair didn't bother me. This morning, I couldn't help but sing along with Lincoln Brewster,

"You dance over me
While I am unaware
You sing all around
But I never hear the song

Lord I'm amazed by you...
And how you love me."

        Are you pre-happy face? Know that God is there. He hears you, even if He isn't answering every prayer the way you asked.  On the drive home from the bash, Half-pint remarked that she probably would've never made a new friend if her sister or friends were there. If God isn't answering "yes", it's because He has something better in mind. He's getting ready to give you a smile too.

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!"