So this weekend is our Stake Conference. Carter got sick yesterday (at Red Robin - yeah that was really fun), and so Bart went to his Priesthood Leadership Training, and then to the adult session (our stake center is about 40 minutes north of us), and I stayed home with the monsters. Well this morning Bart let me sleep in to help me catch up on two nights of Carter being up sick, and after I finally woke up (I won't tell you what time, but I'm pregnant so there.) So after I had a break, Bart went to lay down for a little bit while I monster wrangled.
Now here's the problem. Our children are not quiet. Even when they're playing nice they are not quiet. There are always car sound effects, jumping and laughing, running and chasing and recently, thanks to Banshee baby, screaming. The other problem. Dad is like a big toy. I've probably said this before but my mom always says that Dad is like a toy that is only around a few hours a day, and is just so fun. Mom is like your foot. Essential and very loved, but noticed mostly only when it's hurt or broken. (The mom or the child).
So sitting in the other room is this incredibly cool toy that has locked itself in the room and won't play right now. What does that mean in child logic? We want the toy even more right? So every 5 minutes Jackson is asking where daddy is. Carter lays down on the floor outside his room inconsolably crying. Carter goes down for his nap, sleeps less than an hour and wakes up yelling for daddy again.
So after trying to get the toy to come play (and he still was too tired...) I pulled out the big guns. Cookies. We attempted to make cookies. Now I've made cookies with children. Last time Jackson mixed the cookies so long in the bosch that the chocolate chips melted and they became chocolate cookies instead of chocolate chip cookies. Oh well right? Big difference with four little helping hands. Now there are normal cookie troubles like, child tries to put flour (or some other ingredient in) and dumps half of it out of the bowl. Good luck mom trying to guess how much went in and how much is now on the floor. Fixable. Or picking egg shells out of the dough. Fixable. Now 1 year old baby climbing out of his chair, standing above the dough and drooling into the dough? Not so fixable. Or chocolate chips being eaten by said one year old, and when Jackson said "Carter those are for the cookies!" tried to take it out of his mouth and put it into the dough. Which one of those 400 chocolate chips was the one he sucked on? Good luck. Not so fixable.
Well luckily I noticed before each of those situaions actually came to fruition. But after getting all the ingredients in and four sticky hands trying to reach in and grab dough as fast as they could, I locked them all out of the kitchen (we have a gate to keep them out, which works about 60% of the time) and I knew with the oven hot and Carter thinking that's the best new place to hide, they needed to be out before we started baking cookies. So I figure, although my kitchen looks like there was a battle waged (and in reality there was), and I'm covered baby belly to knees in flour and Jackson is covered head to tummy in sugar and chocolate, we made it out pretty well.
So I start dishing up cookies, and what do I find? An entire measuring teaspoon buried in the cookie dough. So if my kids can get a teaspoon in the dough without me noticing (and we mixed it probably 3 times with it in there), now I'm scared for my life as to what else is in those cookies. I started out thinking it would be a good Sunday activity to take some cookies to some neighbors or friends, now I think the bigger service is not taking them the cookies. Don't worry if I ever have to bring baked goods/food to something or you ever get some from us, I made them when the boys were down for their naps. Because we're not doing this again.