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Okay, so this picture doesn’t do the dirt justice, but if you saw him you would probably wonder if Denver has ever had a bath, ever. The dirt on his face and hands is astounding and I can’t help but wonder how I’ll ever scrub it all off. But he sure has had fun getting it there and I suppose what really matters isn’t the filth that has consumed him but rather the time he’s spent outside drinking in the sun and the fresh air and playing in the dirt. So. . . here’s to buckets and shovels, dumptrucks, rocks and sticks, “bad guy stew” (a.k.a. mud pies) and “bug land,” worms, bubbles and chalk and everything else that makes a warm spring day so dang fun and sticky.

Things have been falling apart here at the homestead. Not surprising, considering the unexpected news and the morning sickness that often follows such an announcement. Everything…no, I mean, EVERYTHING has been making me sick and I’m so tired, I feel like a walking zombie. So of course, the housework has been suffering and I can’t say things have ever been quite so messy. But I just want you all to know that Mark has been nothing but a rockstar these past few weeks. He’s been absolutely wonderful. He hasn’t complained once about the number of blizzards I’ve consumed from Dairy Queen or the increasing size of my britches. He hasn’t murmured even an ounce, when I hand over the kids upon his arrival home and then immediately crash upstairs in bed for the night. And a few nights ago, he stayed up past midnight until every last dish was washed and every crumb swept from the countertops. He has definitely been putting in some overtime here at home and all I can say is “Mark, I could just kiss you to bits”. . . if only it didn’t make me feel so barfy. I love you Mark–thanks for your undying love and support, even during my ugly parts.

When you were nine months old I discovered I was pregnant with your brother, Denver. I was so thoroughly enjoying you that the thought of another hadn’t even crossed my mind. And yet, Denver came and you immediately became “the middle child.” Neither you nor I handled the transition with much grace. Rather, we butt heads and screamed and shouted at each other for several months before we both came to terms with the new addition to the family and the fact that Denver wasn’t going anywhere. Slowly but surely I figured out your little personality and just exactly what you needed to feel loved. You frequently ask if you are my favorite and as a mother I’m afraid my reply must remain neutral: I love you all, but for different reasons. You want so desperately to be special, to be unique and special that my answer often leaves you wanting for more. So, in an attempt to help you understand how precious you are to me, I began calling you my “sparkly blue jewel.” You love things that sparkle, most especially jewels. And your eyes are so blue and twinkly, they are just like diamonds. And when I said, “Noah, you are my sparkly blue jewel and there is no one else like you,” your eyes lit up and your smile grew wider and I knew you finally understood how precious you are to me because what could be more valuable than a sparkly, blue jewel? Certainly not Hunter or Denver or Caleb, right?

You are definitely unique and often feel you don’t fit in our family. We are all chubby and you are skin and bones. When we pointed this out, you were devastated at your thinness and were delighted when the doctor suggested that yes, even you Noah, were chubby compared to other kids your age. For sometime you have tried to convince us that you don’t fit in because you have two brains while the rest of us only have one and while I have no idea where the second brain came from, it frustrates you to no end, that you are, yet again, different from the rest of us. You play different from your brothers which not always, but often leaves you playing alone, making up your own games and stories. While they drive trucks around the house and build towers out of blocks and legos, you gather small treasures in your fists and carry them everywhere. Each item is priceless, precious no matter what it is and you treasure them as if they were tiny pieces of gold. Foriegn coins, hex keys, acorns, rubber pencil tops and erasers, rocks with sparkles, small see-through pieces of lego that resemble jewels, barrettes, elastic hair ties, marbles, reflectors from bicycles, extremely small sticks and twigs. . . you name it, if it’s little, you cherish it. And if it involves all six colors of the rainbows or it sparkles, the value automatically doubles.

You love to draw and write and every picture you create tells a story. Most of your present artwork revolves around the Nintendo game, Zelda, but you can draw just about anything we ask you to. You have fabulous handwriting and I just know the teachers are going to love you and your penmanship. You are also fascinated by volcanos and rainbows and terrified of lightning and tornados. At five, you know more facts about volcanoes than I’ve learned in my entire lifetime and love to discuss them with and draw them for anyone that will give you the time of day. You have finally given into me reading you chapter books with not-so-many pictures and your all time favorite so far has been “The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.” You are beginning to read and it never ceases to amaze me at what words you figure out all on your own. You have a love for learning just like your father which makes you fit in more than you would probably like to admit.

You love to be tickled. You love to be snuggled in the morning. You love vanilla milk, warmed up just a bit. You especially love fruit as long as it is at room temperature and getting you to eat much of anything else is a challenge. You love Nintendo and movies, your favorites being Zelda and Monkey Ball, Jumanji and Madagascar. You love going for walks, spy gear, kettle corn, white chocolate, making crafts especially if it’s slimey or it erupts, frosting, and jewelry. You love flowers, especially your little dandelion weed that grows at the bottom of our stairs because it smells like “honey.” I think that dandelion weed loves you too. You still have a little trouble sleeping at night, but with some lavendar oil on your pillow and our little chant(Abra-cadabra, Alakazam, Sweet dreams for Noah, Sweet sleep tonight!), you fall asleep rather quickly and sleep pretty soundly. You love your warm spot in the entertainment center, right next to the heater and although you barely fit, I have a feeling I’ll be finding you there everytime the heat kicks on, cuddled up in a tiny ball, for years to come.

You have a strong little spirit and an even greater faith. This past Christmas you drew this picture:

Because I loved it so much you immediately started making copies for everyone you could think of that doesn’t go to church, in the hopes of saving their lost souls. You were certain that your portrayal of the Christmas story would move these said individuals to repentance and you bravely and proudly went to work handing them out to the people on your list. I admire your fearlessness and I know you’ll be a great missionary someday. And just last week, upon discovery of a cavity, we had to return to the dentist to have it filled. You immediatley began concerning yourself with whether or not it would taste bad (remembering the last time you had a cavity filled) and worrying terribly that we might have to get an ice cream cone afterwards. So, the morning of the appointment I suggested you have a blessing from Daddy so it wouldn’t taste bad or hurt. You then matter-of-factly said, “Next time I’ll have a blessing but this time I’m testing my prayer.” And sure enough it didn’t taste bad and it didn’t hurt and you didn’t have to have the dreaded ice cream cone afterall.

We just registered you for Kindergarten yesterday. I can hardly believe you are old enough to leave me and that you are excited about it too. My heart pounds harder and my stomach churns at the thought of sending you out into the “real” world. And I wonder are you ready? Really ready? And have I done everything I need to do to make sure you know how much I love you? Have I read to you enough? Have I cuddled you enough? Have we sung enough songs and played enough games? And I guess while I know you are ready and that you’ll do just fine, I think I’m just afraid of how much I’m going to miss you and I hope you know, that no matter how much you grow up or how different you are from the rest of us–I’ll always want to cuddle you and read you books and tickle you and warm you up a glass of vanilla milk and play you a round of Monkey Ball. That you can always count on my sparkly blue jewel.

Okay. . . so he only crawled about not even an inch before he did a face plant all over the carpet, but he crawled! And I’m not sure why I’m so excited because now he can come and find me and pick up every tiny object along the way and shove it in his mouth and I can’t stick him in one place and expect to find him there five minutes later, but. . . he crawled! And that, my friends, is very exciting!

This morning Denver and I were loading the dishwasher together, since that’s his chore for the week. He was busy scrubbing and I was loading and wiping down countertops. After awhile, we came to last night’s pan that was coated in gook and two cookie sheets with baked on cheese. I took over scrubbing and was scraping some of the cheese off one of the cookie sheets. The following conversation then took place.

Denver: “I know how you clean greasy stuff. You need Oxi Plus. . . or BAM. (pause) I know how you use BAM. . . you just wipe, wash and squirt.”

Mommy: “Don’t you squirt, wipe and wash?”

Denver: “Yeah. . . and for Palmolive Oxi Plus you just squirt (pretending to squirt a bottle of dish liquid) and wipe.”

A few minutes later. . . “When can we get some Palmolive Oxi Plus?”

I know, I know what you are thinking: they watch way too much t.v. But all I can think is: Man, I love this little man with dishpan hands and isn’t he smart for figuring out that Palmolive Oxi Plus is the better choice because it requires one less step.

Yesterday, Hunter was playing Brood Wars, his latest addiction. Mark and I try and play a game or two with him every weekend, which thrills Hunter beyond his wildest dreams, but during the week he’s left to his own devices. (So Uncle Michael, if you want to come out for Easter and a Brood Wars Marathon, Hunter would be entirely delighted!) Anyway, while Hunter was playing, I was making dinner with Caleb on my hip and Noah and Denver wrapped around each ankle. Hunter would occasionally call out some detail about his present game and I would “uh-hum,” letting him know I had heard him. During one of those occasions, he said something like, “Did you know you can watch a movie at the beginning of Brood Wars?” I said “no” and he said, “Come and see.” So, when I got to a good breaking point, I wandered in and sat down next to Hunter to see this “really short movie” that I just had to see. Now, Brood Wars is a war game, so of course, there is going to be some violence. Fortunatley, the violence is mild and I’ve never worried about it ruining Hunter’s innocence or his future happiness. So, the movie began and there were aliens and fighting and big explosions and I started wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be watching this short movie afterall. But Hunter assured me he wasn’t scared and that he’d watched it a million times before and it was no big deal. So, we continued watching and Hunter said, “There is a smoking part, but we can skip that part.” Smoking part, I wondered. The movie continued and then, all of the sudden Hunter clicked the mouse and it was over. “Hey!” I protested. “What happened?” Hunter then, non-chalantly said, “That’s the smoking part.” “What smoking part?” I asked. “Well, there’s just a guy smoking and he throws his cigarette out the window.” Oh, I thought, thank goodness he understands that smoking is bad but aliens and war is a-okay! At least he’s got the important stuff.

We had Noah’s birthday party this afternoon. Since he doesn’t go to school and he’s not best of friends with his primary class, he’s low on buddies, so we just had a little family gathering. Noah was thrilled just knowing his cousins were coming and Uncle Nate, the all-knowing Zelda champ. Anyway, we had a little craft party and a silly little treasure hunt. The whoopie cushions were the favorite of the day, especially Ben’s. Then we had cake, which Noah designed completely on his own (pink, yellow and green flowers because those are his favorite colors, and a flower on each slice because he LOVES frosting!) Uncle Nate let him fire up the chocolate fountain (which was filled with white chocolate–another favorite of Noah’s) and everyone enjoyed dipping their fruit in the extra fat. Then Noah opened up his presents and received Madagascar, Jumanji and Wallace and Grommit on DVD, all the spy gear you could ever imagine, a “real” doctor kit from Aunt Kak and cash from the grandparents. Everything ran relatively smooth, except for the part where Mark and Denver spent 45 minutes at Party City waiting for them to find the whoopie cushions and came home empty-handed and I sent Mark back to the store because we just HAD to have a prize for that leg of the treasure hunt and when he returned to Party City, there were the whoopie cushions, right there! I’m sure Mark wanted to punch a few faces in, including mine, but he managed to deal with it all and stay in a good mood. Noah had a wonderful time and I think we got him to five, happy and satisfied, which is no small feat.

Noah got one of these Spy Voice Traps for his birthday. It’s a handy little contraption that allows you to record a message and then hide it somewhere. It has a motion detector on it so whenever you walk in front of it or get close to it, it plays the recorded message. Anyway, as we played with it today, I decided it is a toy every mother needs about a hundred of. Cause then you could leave one in the bathroom, reminding the kids to flush or wash their hands or put the seat down. And you could put one in their bedroom reminding them to put their dirty clothes in the hamper or to make their beds. And you could put one in the toy room, reminding them to pick up their toys or turn off the lights. And one in the kitchen reminding them to kiss the cook. Or. . . if you have a wiggler like Hunter and you get sick of constantly reminding them to sit still, you could point the sucker on them while they eat or do homework and let the voice trap do the reminding for awhile. The possibilities are endless and the amount of nagging it might save you is priceless! It’s definitely a toy worth your investment.