Apples

Ben called to tell us his apple tree was ready to be picked.  At least he was ready for the apples to be picked since they were dropping all over his lawn.  I headed down with the kids with the intention of picking a few buckets. 
Oh no.
We picked every.last.apple.  
Then the kids jumped in Uncle Ben's pond before heading home in our suburban so loaded that it groaned over every slight rise in elevation.

Eric looks super stoked.  

It's a look I'm beginning to associate with a teenager that may be slightly annoyed 

at having to help his/her mother with another project that isn't super riveting. 

We began picking with a ladder and climbing the fence. 

And that was working just fine.  

My three buckets were filled rapidly.

At one point Max discovered Uncle Ben's pump handle 

was easy enough for a two-year-old to lift.

All fun and games untillllllll ~

~ he heard the distant rumble of heavy equipment!

Because who doesn't pick apples with an excavator?!?

We didn't stop til every last apple was picked from the tree and lawn.

I came home with so many apples I almost cried. 

But I guess we'll survive the Apocalypse.  That is, if one can survive on apple pie filling and sauce!

Then, it was off to the pond.

Nickles was prepared with his trunks and life jacket, 

but not for Uncle Ben to raise him so high in the sky. 

This is more like it.

When a girl is sandwiched between five brothers, 

she becomes an adventure seeker.

It's kind of sink or swim. 

No pun intended. 

Amen. Alleluia.  They all survived and we made it home with our load of apples.
Thanks, Uncle Ben, for a memorable afternoon!