We survived.

Allan left for the Bay Area before sunrise on Monday for a deposition. He was hoping it would only take one long day, but ended up taking two long days. Apparently the experience was akin to deposing a brick wall. 

While my children are perhaps the furthest thing from brick walls, I did experience two long(ish) days. However, it was another experience helping me realize I can do hard(ish) things. I periodically texted Allan pictures to let him know that things were running smoothly. For instance, "Look! The kids are up and eating breakfast....it's a miracle!! (please ignore the fact that Jack hasn't showered)"

There were other things I texted him that I would have texted him anyway, because they're hilarious. Like Natey's XTREME bedhead.

Nose injury courtesy of the sidewalk....

Poor AC ended up having to go to the doctor on Tuesday due to a fever, not wanting to eat, and being completely miserable anytime she wasn't sleeping. Oh, the tears! This was a brief moment of contentment. The happiest I'd seen her in days.

Turned out to be a virus. Boo.

 While AC was taking a much-needed nap we made some cookies. Our neighbor rang our doorbell late Saturday night to let us know our garage door was open. We made these as a thank you. We were especially grateful because we didn't answer the door (don't you think you're being doorbell ditched when you get three rapid rings at 10:30pm on a Saturday night?)...so he alerted our friends, and his other neighbor, figuring they could text us. Smart man.

Making these cookies is so dang exciting! 

 Allan thinks the worst thing you can do to cookies is bake them. He's been disappointed a few times lately when he's eagerly reached for a refrigerated tupperware full of cookie dough only to realize that it's a tupperware full of homemade veggie burgers. Poor, poor man. So I saved a golf ball-sized chunk of dough (okay, baseball-sized) for him to come home to. True love.

He got home shortly after dinner on Tuesday night. There was much rejoicing.

Wednesday morning I actually got out for a run. Exercise has been a challenge lately. Though I love them, strolls with the kids don't really do anything for my fitness. Allan and I have to time everything perfectly in the morning in order for me to get out and get it done. More accurately, Astrid has to time everything perfectly. Her timing has been stinky lately. 

Here I am staring at my shoes committing to run at least four times a week in March. I will reward myself with a new pair of kicks from Runner's Corner when we're in Utah for Easter. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. (Side note: My hamstrings look like Apollo Anton Ono's in this picture)

 

 

 

 I am officially over making baby food from scratch. It was lovely for the first three kids, but I've recently found myself with a starving child who doesn't want to wait a half hour while I whip something up. So, I am embracing the pouches. I always taste test to see what some of these wacky combinations taste like. This one needs to be made for adults, so that I can sip on my own pouch with dignity.

It's amazing. For what it's worth, the red lentil, butternut, apricot puree was NOT amazing.

 Oh, Micah. You can be so pretty when you're sad. Your tears glistening on the tips of your looooong lashes. I believe this brooding was the result of Jack doing something to your Minecraft world. He put chickens all over your treehouse or something like that. 

 Jack has an official assignment from the Primary President to play the prelude music for Junior and Senior Primary every Fast Sunday (which means he plays cranky prelude).  I keep trying to emphasize that he needs to take it slow and quiet.  He makes Praise to the Man sound like a jig.

"Look, Mom! I build a TAHMPLE, Mom! It's a TAHMPLE!" (temple).

 On Thursday afternoon we had seven boys under nine playing at our house for a few hours. Here are two of them. We had no idea when we bought this house that the gravel on one side of the house would be legendary among the four and under set.

By the way, seven boys nine and under leave quite the mess: 

Jack's game of "dirt clod fireworks" did not go over well with Mom. Or Dad. The cleanup did not go over well with Jack.

 
Tomorrow night Allan, Astrid, and I have a date. Dinner at Panera and then buying more baby food at Target before my coupon expires. 

(Note to my posterity: We really are this exciting. Like, all the time.)