So yesterday evening it was no surprise that as we picked the lovely red crab apples in our yard, my nephew starts calling them CRAPapples, and we all end up doubled over laughing.
Ah, to be eight again.
The tree is covered in tart, red apples. Crapapples, that is. It's a favorite of the local deer and raccoons as evidenced by the ample, um, scat, littered under the tree. The husband did pooper scooper duty for us. I don't think he wants a dog anymore.
Not the most happy bunch of cousins...wrangling four kids at the end of a long day and getting them to smile is apparently really hard work.