Making Applesauce

I’m a bit old-fashioned for my generation in that not only do I enjoy gardening, both flowers and vegetables, but I take it a step further by canning and freezing anything I can get my hands on.  Usually come mid-July, once the green beans start coming on and the apricots arrive, my kitchen is overflowing with produce and the aromas of boiling water and food preservation.  This process goes on through September as various fruits and vegetables are ready.  The whole effort is exhausting and at the end, there is not anything more satisfying than looking across those brightly colored jars in your pantry and knowing you did it all.  You are feeding your family the best food that they can get, because it is usually organic and free of preservatives.  I’ve been doing this since I was a child, early on with the assistance of my talented grandmothers and my mother, and now as an adult I’ve branched out on my own.  After nearly 12 years, Peter still makes fun of me when I pull out a fresh jar of salsa and say, “You know, I made this.”  I get the “Yeah, yeah, just hand me the chips” look.

Two years ago, when Samuel was about two and a half and Ethan was one and a half, I managed to put away quite a shocking amount of goods.  Last year, I did nothing in the preservation department as I was flat on my side hoping to keep two babies locked up tight for a few more weeks to avoid NICU.  This year I had high aspirations to get something done, and it has been comedic.

On our one acre of land, we have two apple trees.  Last week, it was time to pick the apples from the largest apple tree.  Not only were the apples finally changing to that lovely crimson on the sunny side of the tree, but the bees were literally starting to chew apples down to the core and the deer were leaving behind extensive evidence that the apples were prime.  Every year, since we’ve lived in this house, I’ve split my apples with my friend Vicki.  So she came with her baskets and children, and I was with my baskets and children, and we started picking apples.

During this time, Jocelyn and Nina tried to eat deer droppings, not once but at least fifty times before we found a poo-free radius.  Nina sat in the wagon at one point, then Samuel walked by, accidently stepped on the wagon handle and flipped Nina out, head first.  Imagine how that turned out.  It was 94 degrees, so the four boys had nothing to say except, “Mom, I’m hot and thirsty.”  I did the responsible thing and grabbed piles of popsicles and ice water and started the sprinkler for them to run through, which they chose not to do.  We even encouraged them to visit the inside of the house, where it was nicely air-conditioned, but they wanted to participate in the apple picking.  Why?  Because they are boys and there was a tree and ladders involved.  Nina and Jocleyn started crying out of frustration and heat until they discovered they could suck water into their mouths from their sippy cups and launch it out onto themselves which turned into a soothing and amusing game.  Eventually our boys gave up and went inside and Vicki and I took turns carrying babies around the yard, full of apples and water, while the other finished picking.

Late that afternoon, I was feeling ambitious and thought I’d get started on the slicing and dicing.  As soon as I was in the middle of it, Nina and Jocelyn became bored with their toys and started dumping apples out of the basket onto the floor.  Before each toss, they would take little bites out of each apple.  Not knowing when I’d get to all of the apples, I ended this game because I didn’t want a bucket of bruised, slimed apples to deal with later in the week.  I plopped their little tushies on the counter, with the big pot between them.  At first they would each take an apple out of the pot and take a bite, throw it back, and choose another one.  Pretty soon, they discover a great game.  They begin tossing the apples onto the floor, laughing at each kerplop, and then both saying “UH-OH.”  Thinking, “Fine, I’m cooking them and still have to rinse them,” I continue chopping and slicing and let apples fall.  Then the “duh moment” hits me.  Every time they drop an apple it has a little “splat” leaving the floor a sticky mess and my bare feet are just about stuck in place from the fifteen or so apple slices littering my floor.  At this point, I’m up to my elbows in babies and apples and I’m so close to filling the pot for the first batch of applesauce, I just close my eyes and cringe.  Then I join in the “Uh-Oh!” and cringe with them, because it really is pretty fun and very cute.

Shortly after the pot of apples reached boiling point, I remember that just last year Vicki gave me a brand-spanking-new, all-in-one apple peeler, corer and slicer.  I hadn’t even tried it out yet!  I took this baby out of the package, and for a canning mama, this was like sliding your hands down a sleek new weapon.   I attached it to the counter and starting turning the crank.  Holey Moley.  I’ve never peeled apples so fast.  I discover I can peel, core and slice 10 apples in 4 minutes (that’s fast folks), which fills one quart freezer bag.  This is exciting.  I holler, “Samuel!  Ethan!  Come check out mommy’s new toy!”  They run into the kitchen and after watching it, I can just see delight in their eyes and imagine whistles coming out of their little mouths.  “I want to try it!” they say.

Those boys took turns destroying apples for nearly two hours.  And it turned into a gruesome adventure as I’d listen to them say things like, “No!  Don’t take my skin!  I’m an apple!  An apple!  I won’t be an apple without my skin!  Ugg!  You took my guts too!  Now I’m a dead apple!  You killed me! ” Aside from the grotesque images created during the great apple annihilation, it was highly entertaining.  And did I tell you how fast it worked?  I reported to Peter that I think we need to invest in three more of them.  That way, when Nina and Jocelyn get older, we can have an assembly line of little peelers right down the counter. Just think how many apples we could put away?

In the end we finished one basket of apples and had two more to go.  We’d managed apples with cinnamon on the dehydrator, six packages of frozen apples in the freezer, and a batch of applesauce on the burner.  Then the fun was done and things went downhill from there.  Nina and Jocelyn were ready for bottles and a nap, it was time to cook dinner, and I wouldn’t let the boys peel any more apples because we had piles of apples going one place or another.  It was cleanup time, but between the bottles for the babies, and dinner, the mess sat and sat.  I managed to clean up about half of it that night and get the applesauce in the containers and put away.  But Peter finished scrubbing all the pots the next day.  I love that man.

We’ve already broken into two packages of the frozen, sliced apples and made scrumptious apple crisp for dessert one evening.  I’ve also been peeling apples here and there and tossing them in the dehydrator, but I think I’ve given up on the applesauce endeavor this year.  After all, Mott’s makes a perfectly good applesauce.  In the end, I broke down and gave lots more apples away and probably won’t be hauling home truckloads of produce this year.  And you know what?  I didn’t even feel defeated.

Goodbye Lost

Last night, I parted ways with a commitment that I’ve had for the past eight months. While I felt a bit sad and empty that such focus had come to an end, I realize that good things will come of this. Peter insists that I’d get more blogging done if I’d write instead of watching Lost episodes. I look at the dinner dishes and know that I could do them before the next morning, but then I’d have to determine which was more important, Lost, sleep or those dishes. I finished the 100th episode, and have to say, wow. At the risk of ruining it for those that I know are catching it through streaming Netflix, I won’t say any more. But wow. Since January I have watched an episode whenever I had a moment of childless time. Lost was truly something that only I did in our household, a little me time, even though I tried to convince Peter to join me at least a thousand times.

Now that my relationship with Lost is over, I’ll have to find other ways in the evening to provide balance in my life. Just about anyone who has truly experienced parenthood can acknowledge that it isn’t all cute little handprints, giggles and adorable pictures, snuggles on the chest, the smell of baby, or tiny little booties. It is those things, but it’s also filled with temper tantrums while you are walking through Target, ear infections when you have that big presentation the next day, handprints on everything and not just Mother’s Day cards, curiosity about how that milk got there, nefarious body fluids wreaking havoc on all textiles with 100 yards, the loss of privacy for years and years, and children announcing a family “secret” in the checkout line at Walmart. Things that never piled up suddenly do – like laundry, dishes, the mowing, and to-do lists. So it goes, and so it goes. Therefore, my adult brain seeks out reprieve here and there, and I blissfully found it in Lost for quite a span.

Besides indulging in Lost for myself and True Blood with Peter, there are many other things we’ve found ourselves doing more and more over the last year to maintain a touch of sanity. Since our first year of raising multiples is coming to an end on the 22nd, I’ll share some of those with you.

At least once a week we find ourselves taking what we call “Sunday Sanity Drives.” These are fabulous days where we mutually agree that we will pay for fuel and lunch out instead of therapy. Essentially we make sure all children are fed, comfortable, and exhausted. Then we buckle them into the van, drive until they fall asleep, grab lunch on the road, and Peter and I get to drive through the Black Hills for at least an hour or two with uninterrupted conversation. It is a rare occasion when all four children sleep, so this is truly an extravagance.

In the effort for peace of mind I’ve also sacrificed some of my health. I know that wine, chocolate, coffee, diet coke, pumpkin pie spice lattes, frappes and pizza are not good for you. But they taste so darned good and they make my mouth and stomach smile. At least once a week, I load the kids in the van and do a drive-through beverage pick up. My favorite is the frappe in summer and the latte in cooler weather. If nothing else, it stops the afternoon-before naps fights between our kids. Note that many of my treats of choice are highly caffeinated. Enough said.

I’ve also refused to give up some of “me” for the sake of my family. Reading is something I just can’t part with. My tastes have probably matured these days as I read fewer and fewer trashy romances and mystery novels because I’m tired of the same old plot and it is getting harder and harder for me to relate to the twenty-something heroines often portrayed. Maybe it is a sign of my age or motherhood, but I read less fiction and lean toward history books, gardening and cooking books, health books, parenting journals and my favorite these days, columnists. Since I can only squeeze a page in here or there, I have recently found extreme pleasure in collections of columns because they are brief. My favorite right now is Anna Quindlen.

Another ridiculous sanity trick I’ve discovered is that repeating mottos is as good as counting to ten when I’m doing this whole parenting thing. If I’m feeling a bit chipper, I quote Dori, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” If I am having a rough day I think of my mother saying to me year after year, “This too shall pass, this too shall pass.” My personal favorite on a truly bad day is to sing the lyrics to Rodney Atkins’ song, If You’re Going through Hell. It rarely fails in calming the red monster the creeps up my spine when my children do things such as spill three cups of milk in a row. After all, towels and washcloths are wonderful creations.

At some point I’ve also developed a hint of realism where I’ve accepted that I’ll be behind on everything until my kids think I’m not cool enough to hang around with anymore. Why stress? Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

And of course, a sane mom develops a support group. Mine is amazing, and I have such a variety of friends. A support group serves many purposes including having other experiences to bounce ideas off, having ears to rant and rave at, having someone to have a girls night out with, and have each other to swap goods and share childcare. This great circle also gets you out of the house for those Girls’ Nights Out, often for a round or two of drinking in our case. Though it was a while ago, we even went (shhh…) dancing one night at the local college dance club. The next oldest woman there was probably 23, but we 30+ ladies can still shake our booties.

It’s been a busy summer, and like the kids, now that it is wrapping up it is time to get to work. Samuel and Ethan will both be in preschool this fall, we’ll be celebrating Nina and Jocelyn’s first birthday next week, and I’ll be a dedicated blogger again. I’ll be able to pay closer attention to things now that I’m not buried in thoughts of Lost. But if you know something as fabulous as Lost was to fill the gap in my nighttime so that I can avoid the dishes, do tell. I’m always looking for good things to entertain me and Peter. After all, happy and sane parents are better parents!