It seems that Jennifer and I are making an annual tradition out of apple picking in Woodstock, IL. It’s a good outing for a fall Saturday, and an opportune excuse for having some girl time without the constant conversation from the spouses. Good intentions aside, we never can seem to pick the best weekend to go. Last year, we were completely unprepared for the cold, wet day ahead of us; we learned just how hard it was to pick apples with numb fingers. This year, we left Chicago with optimistic thoughts, both saying this exact sentence: “There’s no way the weather will be worse than last year!” and with good reason – Summer had decided to roll into town for one last hoorah, and we knew that this year the ground was dry, the gloves would stay home (just like they did last year!), and we’d be wearing sunglasses....
