picking blueberries

Well, the leaves are turning and I'm reminded that it's time to finish up some summer posting. I suck at blogging, seriously. If you've stuck around, bless your heart, and thank you :)

Since I fall short of logging all of the stuff we do, I've decided to only expect myself to post happenings that fall within these categories:

1. Amusing (to me) stories, usually involving the short and stout people who live here
2. Major (to us) events in our lives
3. Photos I can share quickly with only a few words
4. Traditions I'm starting that will hopefully weave themselves into the fabric of our family
5. Posts that give me an excuse to list things

The perfectionist in me can calm down about the fact that there is no way to log it all, nor is it a necessary part of life. As long as I take some photos and video now and then, and dust off this blog once in awhile, my family members will not resent me as adults for not documenting anything. There will be plenty to read and look at, let's not ruin the moments we're having by salivating over making sure they're forever captured.

Just a little self-pep talk there.

On to one of our new traditions: a little blueberry-picking expedition to Post Farms!

I don't think Jude could quite believe that there was an entire field of blueberries that no one was eating. He wasted no time.

Whose pail is whose?

Theo's usual mode of obsessively watching what Jude is doing.

Grass in the face. Thanks, bro.

They both have old man hats now. Jude actually wore the blue one Theo has on, but probably at eight weeks old rather than eight months (the child has a huge gourd).

One thing I recall happening as we left... Jude was walking ahead of me down a blueberry row to the car and suddenly yelled, "QUESADILLA!" (Kids.)

We plan to pick these every year, freeze them, and use them in our oatmeal and smoothies all year long. Nothing like freshly picked food, even if you're eating it frozen in January.