These past two days make me want to rip my hair out!! My hair’s already boyishly short, so I’m certain any ripping will result in a Sinnead. Every time I inhale, Ellie is melting down. She doesn’t even have the decency to wait for morning coffee when I feel better-equipped to deal. Kids are so inconsiderate like that.

Seriously. Waking up to wailing that continues for sixty minutes just sucks. All of you who get a smile and a hug in the morning don’t know how lucky you are. Yes. I’m jealous. I’m so worn down. God help the next person who tells me that Aspergers is mild on the spectrum of Autism. God help them.

Appropriate that today’s parade of objects is spooktacular.

• I used to brush my teeth immediately after showering. Naked. For convenience. Now that I’m 43 I find it way too disturbing distracting.
• I cooked bacon in the microwave once. To date, it’s by far the best way to do it! I never did it again though because three days later my popcorn tasted like hickory cured ham.
• Until several months ago, I laughed at people who claimed to mistake Desitin for Colgate.
• Words I never dreamed I’d utter: NO! You CANNOT bring rabbit poop in the house!
• Words I’m pretty sure my parents never dreamed they’d utter: Stop shoving those beads up the cat’s butt!
• I wonder how old I’ll be before I stop talking like a sailor.
• I wish Bonne Bell lip smacker necklaces would make a return but with a more updated look now that cold weather approaches.
• I’ve walked over the same dried-up black olive on my kitchen floor several times during the last two days. I’m making it a contest to see who, in this house, will cave and actually throw it away.
• My immunity to handling doodies and puke is pretty high. I can’t do boogers. Even the word hangs on my uvula and makes me want to wretch. Now. Get on out there and enjoy your lunch.

At preschool, the day concludes with circle time and a goodbye song involving each child’s name. Ellie sang it for me on her way to school this morning.

Ellie: Goodbye Ryan. Goodbye Ryan. Goodbye Ryan. We’ll see you again next time.

Me: Your good friend Ryan moved away and is going to another school now. I bet you really miss him.

Ellie: No. I don’t mind. Goodbye Ryan. Goodbye Ryan. I’ll see you again next time.

Shit. Damn. Hell. I woke up sick. Shit. Damn. Hell. I didn’t get the job I applied for. I even put on mascara that day. Shit. Damn. Hell. We have no more money. Shit. Damn. Hell.

My Grandma Aggie and Grandpa began making apple butter in 1973. It started when they found a copper kettle for sale for about $100. Together with good friends, four bushels of apples, and ten pounds of sugar, they made this every fall. My Grandpa is no longer with us, but my Grandma is handing down all the tricks of the trade. Meet my Grandma Ag, Queen of Apple Butter Fest.

On a Friday night, we get together and peel apples. The peels are boiled in water to make juice. Bright and early on Saturday, a fire is started beneath the copper kettle and the apples along with some of the juice go into the kettle. It’s all stirred continuously for eight consecutive hours. When the apples are cooked down to mush, the sugar is slowly added along with some cinnamon sticks.

Here, the apples are just getting started.

This is Lisa. She took lots of pictures and is lots of fun.

This is Ellie. Part of the day involves staying nourished on powered donut holes. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

This is our friend Darren. He was in charge of the fire and did a fine job. He is also the youngest old man we know and a great friend.

This is Bernadine. I like her hat and sunglasses.

This is CliffDon. Wife of either Lisa or Donna. I could tell the two brothers, Cliff and Don, apart at the time because of their different jackets, but this was two weeks ago.

No Apple Butter Fest is complete without an organ grinder. This man is a neighbor and just brought his instrument along for a little entertainment. We all got a turn and I got to polka with my Grandma. It was great.

If you’re thinking that organ grinding might be a hobby you want to try, the first step is growing a mustache like this.

This is when Apple Butter Fest gets serious. It’s time to can. Everyone gets a job and there is a dry run (meaning we put down our wine and beer and focus).

First is the pour. My Dad was in charge of this. Meet my Dad’s hand.

The next step is cleaning the jar edges from any sloppy pours (which were minimal, for Dad has a steady hand). At this point, Grandma Aggie had to trade in her crown for a visor.

The boiler of the lids (Craig) passes them of to the lid-placer-onner (JoAnne).

The most important job is the rim-liner-upper. Ellie took this task very seriously and was the perfect person for the job given her experience with various parades of objects (seen here and here and here).

Then, 150 jars later. We were finished.

I didn’t get pictures of the best part. All of us enjoying the fruits apples of our labor. I think it’s because my battery died. Or maybe I was too busy stuffing my face.

Here are some additional photos. I was particularly interested in this one which I’m calling “Out Take”. If you’re not stirring, your job is to talk about it while having a refreshing libation. I don’t know Lisa well enough to embarrass her so I’ll just say this. I’m glad she’s holding a spatula.

Here’s Grandma Aggie, Judy, and Ellie.

This is Connie and Norman. It looks like they’re not having fun here. I think it’s because they don’t have wine.

More stirring. Because that’s what happened for eight hours straight.

To the right and behind CliffDon is my Dad.

Can’t you just see the heavens opening up and hear the angels sing? This is SO yummy!

I LOVE when little kids tell stories. The and over and when they’re so excited just kills me. Here’s Ellie telling us about her dragon.

Ellie choked on a lemon rind this morning. Seriously choked. She turned blue and couldn’t breathe. We heimliched. We were totally calm. It sucked and then it was fine. We went to the farmer’s market and had a beautiful day together with friends (by the way, Happy Birthday Ben) afterward. I came home though and threw away all the markers and crayons in hues of blue. From now on the sky in all future pictures will be a healthy shade of pink.