Two weekends ago Mark and I went to visit his mom as she was working at Conner Prairie. Since it was 94 degrees outside, we brought along some refreshing ice water and frozen blueberries. While we visited, we went to the barn to see the new cow and the big horses. On the way back we were distracted by chickens and a young girl feeding the chickens invited us into the hen house to see if Mark could find an egg.
In the hen house, Mark looked around, walked along the row of nesting boxes, and found a nice clean egg in the straw (I believe it was a 'plant' for a youngster to find) and picked up the egg. The three of us then headed into the farmhouse to put the egg someplace safe so it could turn into tomorrow's breakfast.
Mark, clutching the egg tightly in one hand, did very well making his way into the farmhouse. Unfortunately, about ten feet from the egg's destination his attention wandered and he dropped the egg. A tidy boy, he called attention to the 'messh' and it was promptly cleaned up (handy to have a slop bucket for such things if one has pigs around!).
The story is mostly unremarkable (will that pun ever loose its enjoyment?) except that before nap time, I asked Mark if he remembered seeing the chickens (the chickens took the top spot in this visit). He repeated 'chichen,' paused, said 'egg,' paused, and then 'messh.' He had repeated the sequence of steps of the afternoon's incident making his daddy proud--proud enough to pick up his pen and return to his blog.