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.

A Toasty Mug

That, right there, is my first homemade latte in months.

True story.

In an effort to offset the expense of summer, the Russian and I opted to let our Nespresso capsules run out in late spring.

I wouldn't consider it a hardship, as The Russian has perfected the art of making cold-press coffee. He makes great batches of it every week, and, typically, we needed little else to give us our daily pick-me-up. 

My summer morning ritual went as follows: grab mason jar, fill with ice, pour in lovely mixture of milk and cold-press, swirl around {the coffee, not me}. Voilà!

But let me tell you about the best part - the part that's even better than the delicious, chilled brew. 

The sound of the ice cubes clinking as they shift in the liquid, nudging the glass and bobbing about.

Isn't that just one of those quintessential sounds of summer? The right way to start a warm day.

It wasn't until this week that I began to crave the warmth of a latte. A toasty mug to hold close as the mornings grow dim and blustery. 

Rainstorms have descended upon the Pacific Northwest. We wake to the pattering of drops at the window.

As I've written about before, way back in one of the first blog posts, part of living here is coming to terms with the rain. For me, a hot latte is key.

Thus, our first shipment of Nespresso capsules arrived yesterday. I was excited to make my latte this morning! 

But, of course, the hectic pace of things - school drop-off, dog walking, birthday party planning, chicken-curry making, grocery shopping - pushed it off. 

So, here I am, at mid-afternoon, finally sitting down to enjoy that first cup. 

And yes, it's so very nice. And yes, I hardly mind the rain. :)

Birchbox

Sure, I like wearing a little makeup.

I like to smell good, too.

Sometimes I even put this goopy stuff in my hair to make it less frizzy. Or maybe it's a curl enhancer. I'm not really sure.

So, it's probably time for me to admit something: I am uneducated and cheap when it comes to product.

Product, ubiquitous product - the stuff us females are inundated with.

The word that seems to stand for everything under the beautification sun.

When it comes to this subject, my knowledge is extremely limited.

I happily use free samples and hand-me-downs from my mom.The Russian's Momlady gives me the Mary Kay hook-up, for which I am thankful. And I rarely stray from the items I have used before.

Most of my product is related to skin care or make-up.

I do have a bunch of hair stuff, but I am the laziest hair-care person known to man. Seriously.

Only two haircuts in as many years. Enough said.

Anyway, I'm a product idiot. That's the bottom line here.

Having spent time with several friends and family members who are product gurus, I know where I land on that scale.

Yep, down on the idiot end of things. 'Tis the truth.

And that's okay. I'm perfectly fine the way I am, and no amount of product is going to make me a better person. I know this.

However, it sure can help as the body ages. And on those rough days, when I'm feeling less than stellar about myself, a little perfume, decent moisturizer, lip gloss, and mascara makes me feel slightly improved.

So, I like to have it around - a little of this, a little of that.

My first two Birchbox shipments!

Aaand here's where we come full circle, back to the part where I remind you how clueless I am about beauty potions and such.

Enter, Birchbox.

For my birthday, my brother and sister-in-law gave me a little brown box. It was simple and unadorned, and I thought, probably, filled with socks.

I always need socks, so that would have been fine, too.

But no - there were no socks. Birchbox is something much better {depending, I suppose, on the state of your sock drawer}.

With a monthly {$10/mo} or annual subscription {$110/yr}, they'll send you "4-5 personalized beauty and lifestyle samples".

Higher-end product I didn't know existed and would never, ever think to buy for myself.

I've received two boxes so far, and the goodies range from various facial serums to perfumes to hair treatments to eyeliner. I love eyeliner.

That eyeliner is deep, midnight blue. Siiiigh!

You can try the samples, learn more about them online, and, if you so desire, purchase particular items through their shop. There's no pressure to do so, though.

I see that box arrive in the mail, and I get giddy! Giddy, people. Like a kid on Christmas morning.

I don't even know what half the sh!t is, but I'm so excited to pull back that pink tissue paper and see what treats await.

And chances are, I won't buy any of it {okay, maybe a few things...sorry, The Russian}.

Probably, I'll make these samples last for the rest of my life, 'cause that's how I roll.

But for me, it's about the discovery.

That eau de purfum, Folle de Joie, is heavenly.

Here's a world I've never quite understood or cared to explore - too overwhelming, too expensive, too shishi.

Birchbox simplifies all of this for me, culling a vast sea of products down to 4 or 5 items every month.

Pretty practical. Pretty economical. Pretty, frickin' awesome!

Just sayin'.

Dear Summer,

Dear Summer,

Officially speaking, you reign for another 22 days, but...uh...lets get real.

Today is the last day of August. Labor Day is tomorrow. School begins on the 3rd. The leaves are already starting to fall.

Who are we kidding?

So, I'm callin' it.

Good bye, Summer - dear friend and fancy-free cohort.

Clearly, you're taking your leave, which should come as no surprise.

It's sort of an annual thing, right? I would know, seeing as I'm no spring chicken {as Mister so lovingly mentioned one day}.

But I'm still kinda sad.

Okay, really sad.

I miss your steamy days and balmy nights; your booze-hound benders and low cut tanks; your bonfire chatter and charcoal aroma.

Your good times never come with any strings - I like that about you.

So, let me return the favor: no more guilt trips, no more pining. {Can I pine for something before it's gone? Yep.}

A short and sweet farewell is in order, classy-like - in remembrance of you.

Until June, keep hot, sweet thang.

XOXO,
Meggie

Berry Magic

Berries.

When I think of my childhood, I can't help but think of berries.

I mean, they're not the only things that come to mind, but they're right up there with skiing, my big ol' family, sheep, tall grass, Chelan, marzipan, and bedtime stories.

Berries were just always around.

Salmon berries, huckleberries, and blackberries - we could find them all over our property.

And every fall, we picked enough blackberries to make pies throughout the coming months.

Our recipe is a special one, and it reminds me of my mom.

You bake the crust first {there is no top crust}, work some berry magic, pour the filling in, refrigerate, and voila!

It's usually eaten cold, which is divine.

The best pie ever, hands down. At least in my book.

For whatever reason, the last few summers have been sparse with the berries at my parents' place. Enough for them, but not for both of our families.

So, I took the kids and the puppy to our all-time favorite green space - Discovery Park.

We hiked up to our secret spot, and the four of them waded through the tall grass, lounged, and smeared themselves in berry juice.

Literally.

It was hot and there was some whining.

We're all a little scratched and bloodied.

The puppy pilfered enough from our bowls to guarantee a colorful evening of intestinal distress.

But I picked enough blackberries for two pies!

And it was so nice to enjoy the solitude and peace that often comes with gathering.

When I think of Autumn {yes, I know it's still summer}, I think of gathering.

Pumpkins, leaves, apples, evergreen boughs, berries. The coming together of loved ones.

I like gathering all sorts of things.

Maybe that's why I love this next season so very much.

And now the berries are cleaned and frozen.

Ready for berry magic.

Chill the Eff Out

Summer. Two and a half months of long, hot, wide-open days.

No school. No soccer or gymnastics. No hounding PTA emails. No frantic mornings and packed lunches.

Summer. Sounds pretty damn good to me.

Ironically, this spring I dreaded its onset.

After a year in which two of my children attended some form or another of school, I should have been ecstatic. Jumping for joy. Cart-wheeling down the street with a drink in my hand.

Instead, I was nervous.

For the FIRST time ever, summer had lost its shine.

Reason number one: Entertainment

Basically, we go from ultra-structured days to 'hmmmm, what should we do?' days. It's a little shocking, even for the kids, and anyone who's had children will understand what I'm talking about.

This has never bugged me before. I am not an overly structured person. In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't fall anywhere within the Overly Structured paradigm.

But somehow I got wrapped up in the busy-kid mentality that pervades in my neck of the woods.

Even in the summer, parents {working or not} tend to keep their children running from one activity to the next. Educational lessons built in wherever possible. Play dates up the friggin' yin-yang.

God forbid my children should have any long stretches of unfettered free time. Or a day or two to themselves - no plans, no friends, no coaches telling them what to do.

So, the first month of summer was pretty busy, at least by our standards. I even scheduled them to attend a week of VBS at my parent's church {which they loved, btw}.

But it was so unlike me to stress about being busy enough. About keeping them busy enough.

Freedom induced stress. Lame. Even I wanted to kick myself.

Reason number two: The Canine

We rescued a 6-month-old puppy in May through a wonderful organization called Animal Aid & Rescue Foundation {if you're looking for a furry buddy, I would highly recommend them}.

I mean, what family with three young children living in a cramped house in the city doesn't need a puppy? I know, I know - what was I thinking? But we went ahead and did it anyway {God bless The Russian for caving in}.

She was sweet from the start - a heart on her sleeve kind of dog. But still a rowdy puppy, and one with her own bag of issues.

The Russian had little time to care for her, as I knew would be the case, and so the responsibility fell on me. And it hit me hard.

What the hell was I going to do with a hyper, rough-on-the-leash puppy all day? How would we get out and do our summery things without crating her for hours on end? How would she behave on our various vacations?

It was a physical and emotional dilemma - and yes, a trivial first world problem. And yes, one I might have foreseen, had I not had puppy blinders on.

Even in the midst of my meltdown, I knew it was ridiculous. I mean, she's a dog for crying out loud.

But somehow it felt as though I'd adopted a fourth child. A fourth child that ate everything, yanked your arm off on walks, and wouldn't mind getting a taste of every cat within eye shot. You get the picture.

I'm a capable woman. I am strong and determined. But for some reason, this dog brought me to my knees. I can't explain it, and I'm  embarrassed by my reaction, but that's the truth.

Conclusion: Chill the Eff Out

So, yeah. Basically, I needed to take a chill pill. Or down a couple shots of tequila. Make that a whole round of shots.

By July, all was well.

We'd found our way back to an unstructured summer. And guess what? My kids don't combust when faced with a week of back yard play and old toys. A fact I'd once known but lost sight of.

And our puppy is awesome! She's got her quirks {and still considers cats fair game....good thing our feline steers clear}, but she suits our family and we suit her.

When next summer draws near, I'll be ready. If I feel the pressure to over-entertain my children or get the nutso urge to adopt another creature, I will take a moment.

I will walk to the liquor cabinet and grab trusty ol' Jose Cuervo. I'll take a long pull and then a deep breath.

Then all will be right with the world. :)