I now conveniently have about 38,000 McIntosh apples thanks to a little apple picking excursion this weekend.
Please don’t even suggest that I make a pie.
Or apple sauce.
Is apple jam even a thing people make? I’m not finding out.
I decided to take the four kids apple picking on an 82 degree day in early September because I figured it wouldn’t be crowded and a friend said there were lots of apples low to the ground for kids to pick.
Except it’s strange to walk around an orchard while you sweat. And we had a tiny little mishap.
Poor Miss Harlowe got bonked in the head with an apple. The orchard even has a sign with all the rules when you walk in. “Don’t climb the trees.” “Watch out for poison ivy.” That sort of thing. But it said absolutely nothing about falling apples endangering babies. Maybe that’s just one of those parenting things you’re expected to know on your own.
Luckily, Harlowe only cried for about 3 seconds and appears to be completely unscathed by the incident. Of course, it’s hard to assess the emotional damage at her young age.
Meanwhile, after our extreme heat apple picking adventure, it was time for kindergarten.
Dylan would have rather had apples rain down on her than show up for the first day.
But she got out of the car, head to toe in some kind of circa 1994 polka dot dress that she begged me to buy at Target.
Then we spent 40 minutes outside her classroom, trying to coax her in…
At pick-up, she described her momentous first day as “good.”
Sometimes she can be so wordy.
Of course, I’m sort of bummed that Dylan insists on growing up.
But I’m so proud of that girl.
Even if she insists on wearing that dress.