I lost my mind several days ago and signed Carson, Ella and I up to pick blueberries. My super-mom-wanna-be side filled my mind with nonsense like, “enrichment” and “learning” opportunities for the kids. What the hell ever. This morning my rather-be-on-the-computer-with-the-kids-watching-Dora side has reconsidered. But since I already RSVPed, we’re going against my better judgment.
The acid in my stomach is churning with worry and trepidation. Two kids, a stroller (I don’t even KNOW if they allow strollers), camera bag, hand cleaning paraphenalia, diapers, wipes, beer, sunscreen, snacks, extra clothes, and my TWO TOO-YOUNG children (yes I think I DO need to mention them twice)…blueberry picking??…Why do I do this to myself?
All I can think is, “There’s going to be mud! There’s going to be blueberry juice! The stains! I won’t survive! I won’t survive!”
I can almost hear the blueberry farm workers calling as I set off into the field with all my gear and two toddlers and into my certain demise, “DEAD WOMAN PICKING BLUEBERRIES.”
Dear Interwebs,
It’s been great knowing you. Due to some bad decisions on my part, I guess that this will be our last time together unless somehow, some way, I make it through this execution day. Pray for my soul.
Your pal,
Jennifer
You must have been thinking about how you’ll have three days of freedom and you wanted to get one last good deed in.
Must’ve been.
VDogs last blog post..Project Support Beauty In Nature
ziploc baggies and a parking lot strip-down before entering the family truckster afterwards. You’ll be alright.
I made cookies at Christmas and decided to let the kids decorate them. What I wasn’t thinking about was all of the raw egg in the “paint” (we had to paint the cookies prior to baking) for the cookies and how a 1-year-old and 3-year-old would know not to put it straight into their mouths. It was the most stressful project I’ve ever done. No one had fun and there was a big mess and MUCH raw egg eaten.
But…everyone survived. You can do it, Sista!
Mama DBs last blog post..Starbucks? Check. Gas? Check. Bees? Check,
I took my son bb picking last weekend and it went very well. 3 1/2 is a good age for it, especially when said 3.5 loves blueberries more than any other food. He must have eaten a pound or more while we picked. Once we got home though, our 3 lbs didn’t sort out into as much freezer stash as I expected. We have to go back in the next month and be more serious about picking.
Rayne of Terrors last blog post..wildflowers
I haven’t yet ventured out with the hubby (a brit who has never ever been berry picking) or the Little Imp to gather berries here in Maine, AKA the blueberry state (yeah there’s that little thing about it being famous for Lobsters too, but so what!)….oh who am I kidding? I haven’t got the first clue how to pick berries. That and someone told me there would be snakes…or maybe that was a warning for picking blackberries. I don’t know.
Either way, we’re well overdue to go pick berries, get dirty and then come home and ask ourselves what the hell we’re going to do with all the berries because none of us even like them!
[...] Update from yesterday…(This is totally separate from Hump Day), I survived, barely. Five pounds of blueberries, two screaming and baked children, half a juice box, and stained knees were my souvenirs. Oh, I can’t forget the shit-tay pictures I took. *insert heavy eye rolling and irritated head shaking* *and sneering* /end over use of * [...]