Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Ingredients for pie crust:

3 cups flour

1 tsp. salt

2 sticks unsalted butter

1/2 cup VERY cold water

optional: 1-2 tbsp. sugar if you like it sweet

In a Cuisinart, add the flour and salt (sugar if you’re using).

Pulse three or four times.

Cut butter into six or eight slices per stick each and add to the flour mixture in the Cuisinart.

Pulse on and off until the butter is well cut into the flour., while adding ½ cup VERY cold water (may need a touch more) into the running machine – pulse until a ball is formed.

Flatten the ball of dough into Saran Wrap and wrap it up.

Chill in refrigerator for one hour or until you are ready to make your pies.

Cut into four even pieces and roll out the bottoms and tops as called for in the recipe on a floured pastry cloth.

Next, roll out pie dough and place in bottom of 10 inch pie pan.

 

Ingredients for pie:

6 to 8 apples, peeled and sliced (Golden Delicious work well)

1-2 tbsp. flour

1 cup sugar, plus additional for sprinkling over top pie crust

sprinkling of cinnamon, to taste

2-3 tbsp. butter.

6 to 8 apples, peeled and sliced (Golden Delicious work well)

 

Peel and slice 6 to 8 apples into a large bowl.

Toss apples with flour and sugar.

Apron Strings by Samantha Gianulis

When I was little, I had to put up with Johnny Mathis

 

THE EIGHTS OF NEVER

Which is not so bad if it is just Johnny Mathis singing, but grandmothers, mothers, aunts, grandma’s friends, neighbors, and Wednesday night mahjong groups attempting to harmonize to “The Twelfth of Never” diminished my respect for crooning music. Stuck at my Grandma’s, I begged to listen to Saturday Night Fever instead of Johnny, only to be sneered at by older women in ancient but still fresh-looking pleated skirts and horn-rimmed glasses nibbling lemon squares and sipping tea. Soon, Johnny Mathis soon represented to me the stubbornness of holding on to an age gone by because of old ladies unwilling to adapt to new things like disco or call-interrupting. I associated entertainers from the 1950s with embarrassment by my female kin not just singing but singing loudly, very sentimental lyrics that made too-cool me roll my eyes and think, gag me with a spoon.

Still, those women are burned in my brain. I envision them sitting around the table, obstinate but cheery. Why did they cling so tightly to the romance of thirty years ago when life in the 1980s was clearly more modern, hip…better? What is so good about the past, or bad about now, that, like Johnny Mathis, you claim you’ll never stop loving it?

“Never,” a young me swore to herself listening to that darn song about “never” over and over on scratchy vinyl, “Never will I be like them.” I will never be resistant to change. I will never croon or swoon, that’s so lame. And I am going to be open to new experiences, music, things.

Now let’s fast forward from adolescence to to motherhood.

I rubbed my big, pregnant belly in anticipation of my first child twelve years ago. I gasped when I felt a kick, I ooohed and aaahed at sonogram pictures. My mother looked on, folded her newspaper together in fractional precision, and declared, “Wait until you hold him for the first time, you’ll never believe how you could love something so much.” That, I believed. But it scared me. It made me think that the metamorphosis that begins in labor and delivery would instantly age me into a fragile, foolish, exaggeratedly sentimental nerve center.

I laid awake at night, waiting for the first contraction, and the pregnant me wore to herself that I would NEVER! do certain things.That list grew after he was born (and the other babies that followed).

1999: My son, this precious little thing who I love more than I thought was possible, will NEVER play football like the college boys on television. Huge kids trying to hurt (read: tackle) each other and that’s supposed to be fun? Who does that?
2011: Hell week is about to start. I was against playing football and fought it until my son presented me with logical arguments to contradict my fears, like I taught him to do when he believed he was right. The pediatrician suggested my son learn how to tackle properly, and that I be optimistic.

2001: My kids will NEVER eat sweets or junk in between meals, only once in a while.
2010 (to now): “Here’s five bucks. Get yourself something from the snack bar, but don’t spend it all, it’ll be dinner time in a bit. Get me a Diet Coke and Red Vines, and be quick, it’s the last inning and your brother is pitching.”

1988: Look at those braggarts writing “Champions” on their cars or wearing ALL STAR shirts! What about the other kids (read: kids like me) who aren’t athletically extraordinary? I’ll never be that insensitive!
2009: I just bought the last blue, yellow and white window markers for the car to represent our team colors. My family’s All-Star t-shirt order is one of the largest in our league. We must display our pride and show our son how much we support him!

1982: Aprons are so old lady! Do women past age 40 wear anything without boring flowery designs on them? I’ll never wear one, ever.
2010: I just got dressed for Date Night. A beautiful summer white dress and it’s not even wrinkled, and the kids throw dishes in the sink (Heaven forbid they put their dishes in the dishwasher!) I can’t leave these dishes for the babysitter to do, I’ll just throw on an apron so I don’t get my dress dirty. It has a blue hydrangea on it and I just love hydrangeas.

1998: Diet cocktails? I’ll never drink those! Just work out an extra twenty minutes! Light beer is awful!
2011: Have you tried Skinny Girl margaritas? Zero Weight Watchers points per serving! Perfect for the days you can’t make it to the gym, which is a lot since the boys have football practice twice a day….

1996: Toy guns are bad. I see too many kids with them. My children will never be allowed to use violent toys.
2008: Where’s the water gun? Honey, squirt your Dad while he’s sleeping, you can say it was my idea.

1994: Wow, Disney almost had me there, trying to get me emotionally involved in this movie because Simba’s father died. If I cry in a Disney movie then I’ve become my Mother, and I will never become my mother.
2010: Toy Story 3 was by far one of the most existential movies I have ever seen. Not only did I cry, I didn’t try to hide the water works from my kids who were more interested in their mother’s unexpected display of emotion than the movie itself. (“Is Momma okay?”).

1994: Dad, why are you saving our trash and putting it in a stinky container in the backyard? That’s disgusting! I don’t see how anyone could ever have such an interest in garbage.
2011: The new composter is almost here. This morning’s coffee grounds and eggshells have been set aside, along with last night’s slightly brown Romaine leaves. Imagine how much I am going to save in garbage bags alone! And my flower plants next to the composter will benefit from so much…

Though I am now in my forties, I am by no means over the hump of hypocrisy, naivete, or presumption. I still find myself judging, assuming, making lists of “nevers”, but I catch myself now. I laugh at myself, my younger self, my pregnant self, my Mommy self, my future self, because I should. I try to forget all the things I shouldn’t do, and try not to take everything so seriously. When I am not so worried about what everyone else thinks, I enjoy a lot more … old albums, football games, toy stores, showing my own parents gratitude. When I distract myself from the things that could happen, I’m open to the things that are happening … the smell of pie circulating the kitchen, how a seedling can grow from sprout to strong, stalky plant in a week after a good rain an successive sunshine, or the opportunity for a quick, 20 minute nap, and loving my children with total abandon.

There is really only one NEVER I can think of, but it’s taken. It’s written of and taken by Johnny Mathis, and he got it. I wouldn’t mind listening to The Twelfth of Never now, as I prepare to bake my Aunt Debbie’s cherry pie, in the floral print apron I got for my wedding (still looks like new!).

When I was little, I had to put up with Johnny Mathis. Which is not so bad if it is just Johnny Mathis singing, but grandmothers, mothers, aunts, grandma’s friends, neighbors, and Wednesday night mahjong groups attempting to harmonize to “The Twelfth of Never” diminished my respect for crooning music. Stuck at my Grandma’s, I begged to listen to Saturday Night Fever instead of Johnny, only to be sneered at by older women in ancient but still fresh-looking pleated skirts and horn-rimmed glasses nibbling lemon squares and sipping tea. Soon, Johnny Mathis soon represented to me the stubbornness of holding on to an age gone by because of old ladies unwilling to adapt to new things like disco or call-interrupting. I associated entertainers from the 1950s with embarrassment by my female kin not just singing but singing loudly, very sentimental lyrics that made too-cool me roll my eyes and think, gag me with a spoon.

Still, those women are burned in my brain. I envision them sitting around the table, obstinate but cheery. Why did they cling so tightly to the romance of thirty years ago when life in the 1980s was clearly more modern, hip…better? What is so good about the past, or bad about now, that, like Johnny Mathis, you claim you’ll never stop loving it?

“Never,” a young me swore to herself listening to that darn song about “never” over and over on scratchy vinyl, “Never will I be like them.” I will never be resistant to change. I will never croon or swoon, that’s so lame. And I am going to be open to new experiences, music, things.

Now let’s fast forward from adolescence to to motherhood.

I rubbed my big, pregnant belly in anticipation of my first child twelve years ago. I gasped when I felt a kick, I ooohed and aaahed at sonogram pictures. My mother looked on, folded her newspaper together in fractional precision, and declared, “Wait until you hold him for the first time, you’ll never believe how you could love something so much.” That, I believed. But it scared me. It made me think that the metamorphosis that begins in labor and delivery would instantly age me into a fragile, foolish, exaggeratedly sentimental nerve center.

I laid awake at night, waiting for the first contraction, and the pregnant me wore to herself that I would NEVER! do certain things.That list grew after he was born (and the other babies that followed).

1999: My son, this precious little thing who I love more than I thought was possible, will NEVER play football like the college boys on television. Huge kids trying to hurt (read: tackle) each other and that’s supposed to be fun? Who does that?
2011: Hell week is about to start. I was against playing football and fought it until my son presented me with logical arguments to contradict my fears, like I taught him to do when he believed he was right. The pediatrician suggested my son learn how to tackle properly, and that I be optimistic.

2001: My kids will NEVER eat sweets or junk in between meals, only once in a while.
2010 (to now): “Here’s five bucks. Get yourself something from the snack bar, but don’t spend it all, it’ll be dinner time in a bit. Get me a Diet Coke and Red Vines, and be quick, it’s the last inning and your brother is pitching.”

1988: Look at those braggarts writing “Champions” on their cars or wearing ALL STAR shirts! What about the other kids (read: kids like me) who aren’t athletically extraordinary? I’ll never be that insensitive!
2009: I just bought the last blue, yellow and white window markers for the car to represent our team colors. My family’s All-Star t-shirt order is one of the largest in our league. We must display our pride and show our son how much we support him!

1982: Aprons are so old lady! Do women past age 40 wear anything without boring flowery designs on them? I’ll never wear one, ever.
2010: I just got dressed for Date Night. A beautiful summer white dress and it’s not even wrinkled, and the kids throw dishes in the sink (Heaven forbid they put their dishes in the dishwasher!) I can’t leave these dishes for the babysitter to do, I’ll just throw on an apron so I don’t get my dress dirty. It has a blue hydrangea on it and I just love hydrangeas.

1998: Diet cocktails? I’ll never drink those! Just work out an extra twenty minutes and have the real thing! Light beer is awful!
2011: Have you tried Skinny Girl margaritas? Zero Weight Watchers points per serving! Perfect for the days you can’t make it to the gym, which is a lot since the boys have football practice twice a day….

1996: Toy guns are bad. I see too many kids with them. My children will never be allowed to use violent toys.
2008: Where’s the water gun? Honey, squirt your Dad while he’s sleeping, you can say it was my idea.

1994: Wow, Disney almost had me there, trying to get me emotionally involved in this movie because Simba’s father died. If I cry in a Disney movie then I’ve become my Mother, and I will never become my mother.
2010: Toy Story 3 was by far one of the most existential movies I have ever seen. Not only did I cry, I didn’t try to hide the water works from my kids who were more interested in their mother’s unexpected display of emotion than the movie itself. (“Is Momma okay?”).

1994: Dad, why are you saving our trash and putting it in a stinky container in the backyard? That’s disgusting! I don’t see how anyone could ever have such an interest in garbage.
2011: The new composter is almost here. This morning’s coffee grounds and eggshells have been set aside, along with last night’s slightly brown Romaine leaves. Imagine how much I am going to save in garbage bags alone! And my flower plants next to the composter will benefit from so much…

Though I am now in my forties, I am by no means over the hump of hypocrisy, naivete, or presumption. I still find myself judging, assuming, making lists of “nevers”, but I catch myself now. I laugh at myself, my younger self, my pregnant self, my Mommy self, my future self, because I should. I try to forget all the things I shouldn’t do, and try not to take everything so seriously. When I am not so worried about what everyone else thinks, I enjoy a lot more … old albums, football games, toy stores, showing my own parents gratitude. When I distract myself from the things that could happen, I’m open to the things that are happening … the smell of pie circulating the kitchen, how a seedling can grow from sprout to strong, stalky plant in a week after a good rain an successive sunshine, or the opportunity for a quick, 20 minute nap, and loving my children with total abandon.

There is really only one NEVER I can think of, but it’s taken. It’s written of and taken by Johnny Mathis, and he got it. I wouldn’t mind listening to The Twelfth of Never now, as I prepare to bake my Aunt Debbie’s cherry pie, in the floral print apron I got for my wedding (still looks like new!).

 

https://www.familiesonlinemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/apple-pie.jpghttps://www.familiesonlinemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/apple-pie-150x150.jpgAdministratorApron Strings Recipesapple pie,cooking recipes,eight of never,family,food and recipes,friends,Johnny Mathis,lovePreheat oven to 450 degrees. Ingredients for pie crust: 3 cups flour 1 tsp. salt 2 sticks unsalted butter 1/2 cup VERY cold water optional: 1-2 tbsp. sugar if you like it sweet In a Cuisinart, add the...Parenting Advice and Family Fun Activities