The Apple Tree of Broken Dreams

 You know that scene in Groundhog Day when Bill Murray gets into a snowball fight with all these boys, and Andie McDowell is all charmed by it and he tries to replicate the moment in subsequent days but  it's just kind of over and never as magical as the first time?
That's how I feel about our apple trees. When we first moved in we had these two mature apple trees and I'm thinking, apple sauce! Apple butter! Apple juice! June Cleaver! I will be!

 Only babies and canning don't mix, at least not for me. There has been some falling and rotting, which to a Mormon homemaker is just short of blasphemy. But to employ another metaphor using snowball throwing, these trees have been pelting me with their bounty. Relentlessly, throwing snowball after snowball and never knowing when enough is enough, it's not funny anymore, but they just keep throwing.

So last week I had two lovely friends over, and in the midst of kids crying and cartoons and getting snacks and preschool runs we managed to make some pretty dang delicious apple sauce.

That's tomato sauce in the front. I didn't want to move it for the picture, but I'm realizing now it would have been less trouble than providing this lengthy explanation.

I was so excited that it was delicious. I made it! Off the trees in my very yard! I will feed my children with the food grown by my very own hand! (And by my hand I mean my husband’s hand). But canned by my very own hand! (More like Christine and Jane’s hands). 

Sadly, my fantasy was not to be. The first bite of applesauce did not travel from the mouth to the tummy. While my two younger children did put it in their mouth, this is where it ended up.

At which point there was some gagging.