Bloody Apples

The final product.

In the spirit of autumn and all things harvesty, I jumped on the baking-with-apples bandwagon the other day.

See, I have this habit of apple over-stocking.

They're always in our house. Always.

And yet, whenever I make a grocery run, guess what I buy?

More bloody apples, no matter how many exist in various states of waxy limbo at home.

Not sure if its a compulsion or a mental block or what.

So, what did I do?

I got a little Pinteresty.

{pause for eyerolls}

Let me state that I cautiously enjoy Pinterest. And, really, it's quite the thing these days.

Many skeptics are of the mind that it's a wormhole time-suck, luring people deeper and deeper into a world of make-believe and domesticity on steroids.

I get that, but still, I enjoy it.

Cautiously. Like one might adore the creative genius of a crazy person.

Thanks to Pinterest, I decided to put my apple stash to good use.

Apple Cinnamon Fruit Leather, to be exact. A whimsically unpractical choice.

Frankly, it's easier to just go out and buy the stuff. I can say that with authority, having now spent the better part of a day making fruit leather from scratch.

But can't that be said for pretty much everything? Take gnocchi, for example. Easy to buy, but so very satisfying to make.

Back to fruit leather, though.

I really did enjoy the whole process, and my house smelled like heaven.

I also loved knowing that my children found deliciously healthy treats in their lunch boxes for a couple weeks.

Will I do it again?

Weeeeell - I'll get back to you on that...after we finish the ginormous box of fruit leather recently purchased from Costco.

But come berry season, I might just try my hand at it again. :)

Mac's sneaky finger, trying to snag a wedge!

I divided them all up like this and kept them refrigerated. 

High-5, Honeybee

Today, Honeybee turns five.

She was born on October 15, 2009, at 8:16 PM. She had a mop of dark hair, a round head, and fiercely clenching fists.

In all honesty, she resembled an adorably angry heirloom tomato - all reddish-purple and ready to burst.

But then, she wrapped her tiny hand around my arm and rested her head there, and in the midst of the nurses and the doctor and the bright, glaring lights, she settled.

Fight replaced with the solid, serious weight of trust. And I was in love, even before I got a good look at her. Even before I found out she was a girl.

Fast forward five years, and here I am, trying to sort through my thoughts. 

I look at Honeybee, with her thin body and lanky legs, her blonde hair and hazel-green eyes, her tinderbox temper and snuggle-bug charm, and I don't know what to do with myself.

I want to hold her in my lap indefinitely, but the world inches closer.

With it's questions and adventures, horrors and beauty - one day, she'll see it for what it is: a place worth exploring.

And with more than a little pride, I can see that she'll be ready.

With her tender heart and steely spine, someday, she'll be a fine explorer.

Someday.

But today, she's only just five, and she doesn't seem that different than yesterday. Or the day before that, or the day before that.

Four, five, or years beyond my mothering grasp, she'll always be my sweet Honeybee.

And I will always be here for her, a place to settle and rest. Her mother.

Happy birthday, Little Tiny.