I hurt...

Canning season is killing me. I just spent ANOTHER day in sweats and an apron. We started with apple pie filling at this time yesterday, went home to sleep, and reconvened this morning to tackle pears. Here's the current stats, Rose, if you want to compete:

Peaches:49
Peach jam: 7
Tomatoes: 26
Applesauce: 41
Apple pie filling: 12
Pears: 21
Pear sauce: 32

Thank goodness for Janet. We aren't sick of each other yet, which is a good thing since we are maybe halfway done. This is our fourth canning season together. We courted for a year before our canning marriage, and just like folk wisdom says, the first year WAS the hardest. Now our communication is either of the mental variety (I think, 'I should check that kettle' and she is already doing it), the silent variety (she points at knife and peeler and I pick one up and start), or the abbreviated variety, (we say, "Are you going to get that?" and the other knows exactly which item "that" is and what action is implied by "get"). This leaves lots of spare time to discuss politics, child rearing, and how pretty fruit is. Seriously. The color of an inside of a peach or the blonde look of pear puree, it is beautiful.

Am I a hypocrite for neglecting my kids all day so I am able to can fruit, and then when I have counters covered in preserved fresh food say, "Get your shoes on girls; we are going to Purple Turtle for dinner."? Maybe...but I am so tired.