Just Peachy

To borrow W.'s new favorite phrase (he starts all conversations with it.)
"Can I tell you one thing about (peaches.)"
It is not a question, for he will automatically go into a long story.
Here is mine.
One thing about living in Pennsylvania...we have peaches. Yes, everyone talks about Georgia Peaches, but you haven't lived until you have had a peach that was just picked. Mind you, I have always hated peaches; the fuzz and dripping juices are too much for me. The ones I grew up with were hard and mushy (somehow at the same time) and mealy, or came from a can. When I moved here, I slowly warmed up to peaches, especially ones that were tree ripened and warmed up by the sun. When I went to the farmer's market this week, I picked some up since the farmer said that it was the last of the season.

And I turned it into...

Meanwhile back at the homestead, we have been learning about numbers.  What is each one?  What is their meaning?  What are the practical applications of knowing your numbers (W. could care less about numbers until we started talking about money.)  When we were making the jam, he started in on peach pit math...it goes something like this:

W: If you have 8 peach pits, how many peaches did you make into jam?

Me: How many do you think?

W: 8 am I right or what...How many peaches go into each jar (we made 4 jars)

Me: Lets find out...

W: Lets pretend the peach pits want their peaches back...I'm putting the peach pits with their mommy jars.

He placed one pit in front of each jar, noticed there were still left over, and then began passing pits out again to the "mommy" peaches. 

W: The jars ate 2 peaches and then said "we don't want any hard rocks" then they spit the pits out.

I didn't think we'd be doing division already.