It’s been a little bit of a frustrating weekend. Our refrigerator is beeping for no discernible reason. I can’t get some of the photos from my phone to upload to my computer no matter what I do. My running injuries that have been getting so much better have resurfaced. No one in my family will watch the Olympics with me. I can’t get my two white cats to pose together nicely for a photo regardless of how many cans of cat food I hold above my head.

Really, I have no shortage of frustrations.

(Mostly it’s the running injury thing. I am more depressed about that than I can properly express, but I can’t go into that right now. I just can’t.)

Anywho, what with avalanche of tiny slights that has enveloped me this weekend, I made an effort to balance it out by having fun with these hooligans:

Photo of my three kids sitting on a pipe in a green setting.

I am always trying to get a perfect photo of all three of them. I don’t think this qualifies as perfect, but it’s happy and that might be better.

Team Stimey went blackberry picking today because I wanted to eat blackberry crisp. (Well, I wanted to run 14 miles and then eat blackberry crisp, but things don’t always go as we hope.)

Four photos: 1. Jack and Alex picking berries 2. Quinn holding out a handful of berries 3. Sam leaning on a fence 4. a bucket of blackberries.

The great thing is that just about half of my family won’t eat blackberries, so five people pick and two and a half people eat.*

* Quinn is the half person. He kept talking about how delicious the blackberries were and how he’d forgotten that he liked them, but I was so busy picking berries that I didn’t see what Alex did, which is that Quinn kept putting them in his mouth and spitting them out. I think he was confused by sweet and tart.

It turns out that the farm where we picked our berries also had a pick-your-own-potato section and, bizarrely, picking his own potatoes is something Quinn has really been wanting to do. What a happy cowinkydink!

We followed the signs from the blackberry fields to the potato fields until we knew we were in the right place because we came across this adorable little sign indicating that—

Photo of a sign. It is a painting of a potato with arms and a face. It is holding a potato peeler in one hand and peeling a chunk off of its forehead. It's grim.


Leaving the grim cartoon sign behind us, Quinn and Alex headed out into the tuber fields to dig themselves some taters.

Four photos: 1. Alex holding a shovel and Quinn squatting down holding a potato 2. Alex and Quinn both squatting and inspecting potatoes 3. Quinn using a shovel to dig 4. Quinn holding a potato and the plant from whence it had come.

Shortly after I took that photo in the upper right, Quinn took a bite out of a raw, dirty potato. As with the blackberries, he spit it out.

I’m still frustrated about my refrigerator, etc., but outings with my family go a long way in making things better. Especially when they end with blackberry crisp and ice cream.

Photo of the blackberry crisp I made today and the ice cream I served it with.

I’m going to eat it for breakfast tomorrow too.

4 thoughts on “Remedies

  1. Maybe you refrigerator is crying out for help, maybe it has appendicitis?

    If I lived closer, I would be over for breakfast. That vanilla ice cream looks amazing too. I love a good vanilla ice cream.

    It is much too much stress to run in this heat. Heal yourself until it cools down.

    End of my playing mother… and at 78 I have never been a mother. ?

  2. Woke Husband up from a sound sleep laughing out loud about the potato sign. So wrong! ;)

    Happy Summer, Team Stimey. Sorry about running injury. Hugs to you.

  3. THERE IS NO BETTER BREAKFAST THAN FRUIT CRISP/COBBLER WITH ICE CREAM. Plus, it is basically oatmeal with fruit and milk.

    I loved the reaction to the potato sign.

    I think that picture of the three boys definitely qualifies as perfect, especially for the long run: later on, a picture of them sitting stick-straight in sweater vests wouldn’t be NEARLY as satisfying.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *