A WHITEhouse, Actually

We went berry picking this past week. So far, we've picked around 40 pounds of blueberries to freeze, although I think at least 10 pounds made a detour into Mercy and Judah's bellies.

The children look deceptively calm in these pics. Mercy looks downright peaceful as she rests her head on Daggy's back. Trust me, it's all a sham for the camera. They were wild children. Mercy swiped as many blueberries as she could reach and shoved them in her mouth. Judah shoved the leaves in his mouth. Oh, and the whining! I don't know how frontier women did it, before the age of Ergo or Moby carriers.

The first day we picked, we had almost finished, and Judah was shrieking. I plucked Mercy off Benj's back and set her on my hip, with Judah on my back. I carried a gallon bucket of blueberries in one hand, and set off for the house to have the berries weighed and let Benj finish picking in peace. Somewhere between telling me that "two beebees are TOW HUBBY" (two babies are so heavy) and chattering about the "eemals" (animals), Mercy said "Dat, Mamma?" I said, "That's a greenhouse, baby." (Insert huffing, puffing, and sweating here as I haul two kids and blueberries). Puzzled, Mercy said "BITE house." I didn't understand at first, then realized she was saying that it was white, not green. Indeed, the greenhouse was covered in white/clear plastic. She couldn't understand why I was calling it a GREEN house, when it was clearly WHITE. I had to chuckle. How do you explain why a white house is called a greenhouse? I told her it was white, but it was called a greenhouse because green plants are grown in it. That, fortunately, seemed to satisfy her.