Even though my house isn’t excessively dirty . . . I mean I’d like to think that we are at least a good four levels above frat house disgusting. At least. And yet. We have a serious fly problem. And by problem I mean that my children come in and out of the house 18 hundredy times a day and leave the doors open and these flies come inside. And these flies . . . they are not your grandmother’s flies. They are genetically mutated beasts that look as though they ate the flies of yesteryear for dinner. It is totally possible that these flies will be the death of me. Like they will take me from a little nutty to straight jacket crazy. The buzzing, the zipping past my head with their mocking tones. I’ve become obsessed with killing them. The other day I told Gavin that I would pay him $5 if he could kill the fly that had currently made it’s life mission to destroy my sanity taken up residence in our home. He was totally game. For 4.2 seconds. We managed to trap one of them in our window, like between the glass and the screen. This dog sized fly is now buzzing around inside one of my kitchen windows, keeping me prisoner and preventing me from enjoying the sweet summer breezes of June. {Que someone drafting some hate mail because I decided to write about chiuaua sized flies in a post about pie . . . } Okay, but to be fair . . . . I don’t know if I can totally blame the flies. I mean, I have things like this pie in my kitchen. And this cake. And this frosting. And this lemonade. I get it. But I’m also going insane. I need to work on my ninja fly assassin skills. Okay. Let’s talk about this pie. It’s AMAZING. Like I’m desperately trying to loose all my mom weight (you know what I’m talking about . . . that weight that just creeps on as you have babies, your metabolism slows down, and you spend your days making pies) but I for sure ate a couple slices of this bad boy. It’s the perfect amount of sweet, it has the best crust, and the most amazing cobbler-esque topping. It needs to be part of your summer BBQ’s.
