We have an apple tree. Every summer it is completely full of small, green apples. You can barely see the tree for the apples.
Every year, I think to myself, "Self, we are going to do something with those apples this summer."
This year was no exception. The kids and I grabbed bowls, buckets, and wagons and started picking apples.
(And just so you know, I don't usually dress the kids in the same shirts. This was the last day of VBS.)
We picked gobs of small, knobby apples.
I had visions of apple pies, apple crisp, apple tarts, and applesauce.
And yet, three weeks later, what have I made?
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
The apples still sit. Some in the house refrigerator. Some in the garage refrigerator. And even though I am still holding on to the fantasy of actually using them, I know they will soon end up tossed out into the field to rot.
I wish someone would just peel, cook, and prepare those delicious apple treats for me.
I think I need a farm wife.
