I’m starting to see a pattern.
There are ideas- really, really good ideas- that get into my head. And even if they don’t jive with my current reality, once I’ve decided that THIS is the plan, then buster: We’re sticking with the plan.
So when it falls apart spectacularly, I shouldn’t be surprised. But I always am.
Loudly.
With tears.
Which brings us to Sunday! P.J. and I- we– had decided to go apple picking. In Indiana. Because we always have, and we’ve gotten the cutest pictures underneath a row of trees for three consecutive years, and who cares if we really needed to squeeze it in between afternoon plans and naps? This was our plan. I even charged my fancy camera.
We’ll leave at 7:45 a.m., we told ourselves. This would help with the inevitable traffic jams caused by the I-90/94 narrowing to one lane and blah-di-blah.
We left at 9:04 a.m. There was traffic.
“Okay guys,” I told my team. “We now have even less time for our forced gaiety/pictures because we have to leave at 11:15.” (That’s right, after an hourlong drive to an Indiana orchard and an equal return trip, I had allotted roughly an hour of apple festivity. HAVE FUN, KIDS!)
We parked roughly two towns over from the orchard itself- ENJOY THE FRESH AIR, KIDS!- and after my repeated questions of who needed a hoodie and are you sure (this part is important to remember), we left a bunch of gear in the car (two towns over) and waited in line for the tractor to pull us around the perimeter of the orchard. (Fun fact: Our preferred picking spot? Pretty much forty paces from the front gate. The tractor ride exists solely to thrill/confuse our children.)
We got on the tractor. As soon as it started to move ALL OF MY CHILDREN WERE FREEEEEEZING COOOOOOOOLD. P.J. and I smiled benignly at each other and pretended not to understand English.
Once we had looped the property, we were fully equipped to lick a few apples (and pay crazy amounts for said licked apples). And a low-hanging branch full of beautiful, glossy apples was right there where we began- and hey, my kids were ambling right around there, too! That looks like a photo op to me!
What is it about a man in overalls?
“Nora, SIT. Hold your brother!”
Nora flung her apple and dropped to the ground, arms nervously outstretched. Jasper gave her a look like “Yeah, not so much.” Susannah pretended she didn’t understand English, instead preferring the twirling and flinging the one-bite-per-apple dance of her people’s homeland.
“Suzy, can you come take a quick picture with your bro and sis?”
“No.” (Fling.)
At this point, Nora had managed to inch (picturesquely) near her brother, and the two of them were quietly eating apples like a frickin’ postcard for apple orchards.
“Hey, Zu, real quick. Just stand over here with your apple.”
“Ruuuuuunnnnnnnnnning to the treeeeeeeeeeeeees…” (Maniacal laughter.)
“Babe, can you help Nora hold your brother? Come here just for a sec?”
“The grass is WET! I DON’T WANT IT TOUCHING ME…”
Nora: THE GRASS IS WET?!
P.J.: SUSANNAH. REALLY QUICKLY, OVER HERE FOR A PHOTO.
ME: FORGET IT, ALL I WANTED WAS A PICTURE OF MY KIDS STANDING AND, LIKE, EATING. I DON’T EVEN CARE ANYMORE.
NORA: SUZY WHY AREN’T YOU LISTENING…GAHH…
Aaaand cut to me calming Nora, P.J. suggesting that Susannah march it back over here if she knows what’s good for her, and Jasper deciding he never much liked apples, anyway.
We decided to scrap the photo.
Susannah, inconsolable, decided that she really, really needed to be in a photo- actually, can it be a video? Are you taking a video now?
Five minutes later: an only slightly tear-stained Nora and an only slightly tear-stained Suzy sat under a picturesque apple tree, each clutching fruit like their very ride home depended on it. I took close to 150 photos, each time mere seconds after (a positively done) Jasper was placed between them. (“Nope. Nope. Noooope.”)
And sure, he had slept poorly the night before, was woken early, and was sporting a rough little cold, but seriously. MAN UP, JASPER.
This was among the best photos of the lot:
I hear you, buddy.
Don’t worry, they perked up after twenty more minutes of apple picking and rested nicely on the hourlong drive home.
I think there are a few life lessons in there somewhere. Among them: Don’t force a memory. Don’t force a photo op.
And don’t forget to buy the apple cider and pumpkin donuts on your way in, making the cut n’ run part way quicker.
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