Why I Failed as an Earth Mother: A Pictoral.

Bearded Man.

 Pictured above, is Bearded Man's dream property. His constant desire to live off the land and be self sufficient and prepared for any emergency created by Man or the Good Lord tends to be problematic sometimes. He pictures a simpler way of life, which often ends up in: Me ending up not unlike an Amish Housewife.

                    In this persuit, we went out and bought peaches. Bearded Man was so excited, that he went and purchased a canner and several canning jars. We were going to can EVERYTHING. 

                     


                           Bearded Man's dream pantry.

   



                 Funny thing about peaches. Their shelf life is very short. This (not Amish) working woman who is responsible for these peaches did not have a lot of time to can them. The peaches brought along their special friends, the fruit flies. Who brought every single friend and family they could find, and then had a big party, inviting every fruit fly in the neighborhood. I hate my kitchen, but the fruit flies LOVED it.

                        On the only evening after work that I had available, I had to deal with all 7000 peaches (give or take a few.) I don't think I like peaches anymore. I don't like to peel them, chop them, pry the stupid pit out, deal with peach juice running all over the place, nor their friends, the fruit flies.

                           After cussing through an entire box of peaches, while Bearded Man napped on the couch, it was time to throw them into the pot. In glancing at the directions, I was horrified at the vast amount of sugar the "Bell Blue Blook of Canning" called for. 21 cups, to be exact. Whatever. I dumped it in. And it didn't fit. So, I stomped through the kitchen and dug out a bigger pot.

                           It did not fit either. I decided I hate canning, and that it is not appropriate for working Moms who have all these kids and things that need to be done, and then began thinking about all the things that needed to be done, and became even madder at the peaches. Out came the next biggest pot, which fit 12 cups of peaches and 21 cups of sugar and 10 tbs of pectin, or something like that.
                           As it all simmered and did it's thing, I could only wonder how this was keeping my family healthy etc. Because, at this point, all this homemade goodness, fruit of my labor, nourishing yada yada yada peach slop was pretty much just:

 

 

And I still have to drag the kids out and pick 4 million pounds of blueberries. To make blueberry candy preserves.

 

As I ladled the sugar with peaches into the jars, and attempted to put the lids on without burning myself on the jars, one of them slipped. Right off the table, and proceded to coat my kitchen, myself, my scrubs and my apron in boiling sugar. Which is the equivelent of:

 

             At this point, I realized I could not get to my sink to clean the miserable peach sticky mess up, because it was full of dishes to wash the peaches, peel the peaches, chop the peaches, several different sticky pots that weren't big enough to hold the peaches.

 

                              Below, find a "Selfie" of my reaction.

      

                                      This is all I wanted. Like, ever ever again. I am a failure as an Earth Mother, I actively wanted to throw the entire pot of sugar with peaches at the sleeping man on the couch, who will never ever be able to live off the land or be self sufficient if I decide to be an alcoholic and run off to a beach someplace to live.
             

                                    Pretty much, I don't want to spend every single spare moment of the summer evenings and weekends canning. I would really  like to have this:

 

 

                                  So I can do more of this.