Strawberry picking, OCD style

Today I took the boys strawberry picking. Yes, it was voluntary. I took the boys outside in the SUN to forage for something I can buy for 2.99 a pound at Weggie's. Much to my surprise, I LOVED IT. The boys were pretty good at it, and J cruised up and down row after row, picking the PERFECT ones. And then shoving them in his mouth, stem first. Somehow the only thing that would get spit back out was the green. He's a pro. Mr. M was into carrying the bucket for the yucky ones. No shock there, Mr. I like gross things like SNAKES. Eeew. He is so not my child. As for me, I crawled, on my hands and knees in the DIRT. Real dirt too. Not the nice clean dirt I buy at Home Depot. This was a FARM. With DIRT. And probably BUGS (which I tried not to think about). However, I am a wee smidge of a control freak (which honestly comes as a surprise to me, but earlier this week when I was overseeing my corsage making sweatshop workshop with my colleagues, it was pointed out to me as I made someone re-wrap the stem five times) and finding the perfect clusters of ripe berries was my cup of tea. Orderly, systematic, YES PLEASE. The only thing that would have made it the ultimate zen retreat would have been one of those I-exercise-water-backpacks filled with Sauvignon Blanc. You know, the ones that came in so handy in college for morningtails? (Everyone around the country reading this is like, um, WTF are morningtails? If you're a Hamilton alum, you get it, and probably own two of those thingies- one for beer and one for screwdrivers) We picked for almost two hours and when the boys finally started to lose their cool after being treated like migrant pickers (THAT ONE! Get THAT one! No! That one is no good! THERE! THERE! GET THOSE!!!!!) it was time to go. (Sidebar: I know that "migrant pickers" can be a loaded term. I fully stand behind the rights of all workers to have a fair work environment with Blue Cross/Blue Shield and a living wage whether they choose to be called itinerant farmers or whatnot) It was a great morning, and I have the farmer's tan to prove it!

But now what the hell do I do with the 19 pounds of strawberries? Ugh.