On Easter Eve after we had put him to bed an hour before, Dallin came charging out of  his room with panic in his eyes. “I forgot to write a letter to the Easter Bunny!’ I grabbed some paper and a pen and Dallin dictated this letter for his favorite chocolate-bringing friend:

In the morning, the baskets were full but Dallin was more excited about the reply the Easter Bunny wrote on the letter. I love the magic of holidays with the little ones. Happy Easter my sweet Dallin.

After years of crying, begging, pleading and whining . . . I finally got my way. My sweet husband broke down and bought a swingset and a trampoline for the boys. I jumped for joy. My husband jumped up and down angrily when he had to assemble them both. And the boys just jumped. And jumped. And jumped. We finally have a cool backyard!

Thank you Darling. You are the best, most amazing, thoughtful, kind, smart, handsome, funny, wonderful husband in the whole world. . . can we get a hot tub? Just kidding. . . sort of.

We play a game at our house that I used to play with my family. A game that lives on in infamy among my grown siblings. A game that as an adult, you either hate passionately or tolerate with distaste. As a kid, it’s the best game in the world.

The Squirt Bottle Game.

To play, you load up a squirt bottle (ice-cold water is best) and you place it in the hands of the lucky person going first. They announce a category, such as “Colors” and secretly think of their favorite color. Then they go around the circle, aiming the bottle menacingly at each player and ask for a guess. You are supposed to try to guess the shooter’s answer, but usually the adults guess the most obscure answers possible to avoid being sprayed with the ice-cold water. Whoever guesses correctly, gets squirted once. Or twice if Dallin is it. Or a dozen times if Hyrum is it.

When Hyrum is it, he always picks the same category. With a devilish gleam in his eye, he announces: “Me tinking of a muffin.” Sometimes this means the baked breakfast treats, other times it means a character from the Muppets. He calls them both “muffins” and loves them equally. Sometimes the right answer is “blueberry”, other times it’s “Kermit.” You just never know. Either way, you get squirted.  A lot.

So if you ever come to our house for Family Home Evening, you better brush up on your muffin varieties and your Muppet characters. Oh, and bring your raincoat.

Here’s our muffin monster enjoying his favorite treat.

Hyrum is so thorough in his coloring that the paper is literally saturated with marker by the time he finishes, which transfers to his hands, which rubs off on his face. I grabbed the camera to capture the image of my pink son and thanks mostly to the inability of a two-year-old to hold still, the pictures turned out blurry. I thought it was appropriate and dubbed the collection of photos:

Fuzzy Portraits of a Smeared Artist

 

I realized just how behind I was on blogging my pictures when I saw these pictures from St. Patrick’s Day and realized I hadn’t written about them. So over a month later, here’s what we did for the Irish holiday . . .

We had a leprechaun hunt and as quietly as possible for three rowdy boys, we tiptoed through the house, catching leprechauns and stealing their chocolate gold. Hyrum, our choco-holic, thought it was the best game ever and kept asking for more gold long after all the leprechauns had all been caught.

And yes, his face is pink. But that’s another story.

We made crepe paper shamrocks and colored activity pages all about rainbows and leprechauns.

Then we had a nasty-looking, but yummy-tasting dinner of green-tinted shepherd’s pie, green rolls, and green leprechaun drink.

The boys really enjoyed the holiday this year, but Dallin still randomly shouts, “You’re not wearing green!” And then pinches you . . . hard. Anyone wanna explain to him that St. Patrick’s Day is over? You better some green.

Dallin, our resident comedian, thinks it’s hilarious to hike his pants up to his armpits and run arround singing, “White and nerdy. I’m just too white and nerdy.”

The other day when I pulled out the camera to snap a pic of White and Nerdy, Cheesy wanted in on the action as well.

 

Cub Scouts has been a part of our lives for the last 3 years. We have supported Porter through over 120 den meetings and 36 pack meetings. We have participated in two Pinewood Derby’s (both of which Porter won), attended three day camps, and sent him on several weekend hikes. We have done the watermelon cheer, the TNT cheer, the mosquito cheer, and any other cheer of which you can think. We have passed off hundreds of requirements in search of patches, belt loops and pins. And we loved every second.

Porter’s Arrow of Light ceremony accompanied by his 11th birthday officially brought his Cub Scout days to an end. And I cried.  Here is my very grown-up Webelos Scout, ready to receive the highest award a boy can earn in Cub Scouts.

Here are the two younger ones as Grandpa tries to get a good picture of them together.

The ceremony was amazing. The Cubmaster’s father came dressed like a Mountain Man and spoke to the kids. Then my Navajo uncle came and performed some Native American hoop dancing for everyone. He did such a great job. Thanks so much Uncle Robert!

The boys getting their arrows that night got to walk across the bridge to signify the crossing from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. They had to say goodbye the best Webelos leaders in the world, but were met on the other side by our amazing 11-year-old Scout leader.

Porter and the audience got to cheer for his accomplishments. I think he screamed the loudest.

I was a proud mama. And a little sad too. That’s my baby, after all.

 And Grandpa was still trying to get a good picture of Hyrum.

Porter, I am so proud of you. You worked so hard and you truly earned every item on your shirt and belt. You constantly amaze me with your intelligence, determination and capacity for kindness. Your Arrow of Light will be a reminder to us all that when you work hard, you can accompish anything. I love you.