3 Going On 70

Just Checkin Out My Rims, NBD.

47 Months

Lovey,

Another Christmas come and gone.  Another year, you insist that Christmas is not over and that it will come again soon or tomorrow or in a few more days. (You also insist that if we take the decorations down that it will never snow and we will never get to go skiing.  Because decorations and snow are directly correlated.) I realized that trying to explain the concept of time to a pre-schooler is utterly impossible.  There is just no effective way to explain what the new year means when you have no concept of time.  I have tried showing you a calendar.  And explaining about how you are 3 now but going to be 4.  Hell, I even went into the Earth turning around the sun.  Yeah, you still don't get it.  But you did ask me tonight, "If the Earth is turning all the time, how come we don't feel it and get dizzy?".  Yes, this is the kind of almost 4 year old you are.

I tried to get you to understand the giving spirit of Christmas this year.  I tried explaining that for every gift you want, you would have to think of a gift for someone else.  This back fired a little.  Because all of a sudden, you were feeling very generous. You wanted to give presents to every kid in your class. And lots of toys for me, Aunt Lizzy and Gammy. Pa always seemed to be on the naughty list (with Cash of course) but I am not really sure why. You didn't really grasp the concept of thinking of a gift that the specific person would like.  Although you did pick out a sweater for Auntie B that she really liked and actually did look like something she would wear.  So, kudos on your fashion sense. I got this idea from Parenting Magazine (like last year) for making gifts of mason jars filled with ingredients to make cookies.  I thought it looked pretty easy and something that you could get behind.  You had a lot of fun layering the ingredients, picking out the type of chocolate, and decorating the mason jars. We had a real blast making them.  But the thing that I loved most of all was watching you give them to your teachers.  You were so proud.  You demanded that they unwrap them and show them what you did. (And was the ONLY kid to bring in something home-made. Pat myself on the back, thank you very much.) You were so happy to give. I am hoping that you learned a little bit about the Christmas spirit.

This Christmas was the first that we got to sleep in on Christmas morning.  For as long as I can remember, we got up at 7 or 8 and had to be out of the house by 10:30.  It was always organized chaos between opening gifts, cleaning mass amounts of wrapping paper, and getting ready.  It was nice going to sleep, knowing that we didn't have to rush anywhere.  However, I was still up at 7.  Excited as I have ever been.  Knowing Santa had visited our house.  Waiting to watch the excitement on your face.  Except you decided to sleep.  The one morning that I can't wait to get out of bed and you slept in past 8:30.  At one point, I was staring so intently on your face, simply willing you to wake up.  Wake. Up.  It was uncanny. It did allow me to just watch you for a while and take in the stillness of the morning before all hell broke loose.  When you finally did open your eyes and found me watching you, the first thing you said was "Let's go! Come on Mom"

Waiting for midnight.

We got invited to a New Years party at a church friends house.  She told me that a bunch of kids were going to be there and to bring you.  I thought this sounded brilliant.  Since you came into my life, New Years has become less about a raging party and more about spending time with the one I love most.  Which is you.  So, I got you dressed in your finest sweater vest and you insisted on your sparkle shoes.  Because, you know, its a party.  And a fire man hat for good luck.  I was slightly nervous that you were going to be a little clingy.  Yes, there were going to be kids but you didn't know any of them.  You asked me on the drive over "Is there going to be any dancing at this party." "I'm not sure, Bud.  Maybe."  I am not quite sure what prompted that but evidently you were in the mood to dance.  You found three other 3 year olds the minute we walked into the playroom and I barely saw you for the rest of the night.  I would search around there house for you only to find you snacking on chips and playing.  At one point, you had a dance party with all of the kids and was trying to do the worm to LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I know It". Kids love that song.  I also found you watching TV, with a girl on each side of you, holding hands.  My friend asked me if she should be nervous about her daughter and step-daughter. Votes not in on that yet.  Around 11, I tried to get you to go home.  You told me that I could leave, but you were staying at the party.  Just before midnight, you found me calling "Mom!  Mom!  Hurry, the new year is starting!"  We went into the kitchen and got pots and pans. I watched the ball drop with you sitting at me feet, itching to go outside and make a lot of noise.  But you were patient enough to give me a hug and kiss before you did.

Gammy and Pa rang in the New Year in Brooklyn so we had the house to ourselves.  We decided to have a big sleep over in my bed.  You hogged the bed, breathing on my neck until 10am.  Pup and Cash took over below our feet.  Snoring.  Because those are our dogs.  Spoiled rotten, snoring, beasts.  All I kept thinking of, on my tiny portion of my big bed, kept awake by snores and body heat, was I love this life.  Wyatt, I love our life.  Every crazy moment.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.  It was a great New Years.  I think 2012 is going to be a really good year.

I love you everyday,
Momma

"When is it Going to Be Christmas Again?"

Things I Learned in 2011

I learned that Wyatt is a phenomenal traveler.  I could take that kid anywhere.
I actually shockingly enjoy cooking but it has to be my idea and in my time frame.
True friends, no matter how long the absence, will always feel like you saw them yesterday.
Funniest Home Videos always gets me laughing. And it seems to be genetic. Wyatt laughs every time too.
Getting your heart broken sucks. But watching Wyatt's heart get broken is devastating.
I will always feel more like myself when I am near the ocean.

I learned that stepping on Lego's barefoot is horribly painful.
South Carolina still feels like home, even after all these years.
My family is not normal. In a good way.
Cash is a great dog, he just hasn't reached his full potential yet.
I hate texting.
Despite my best efforts, Wyatt will pick up unsavory behavior that I will have no control over, ie: phumming, spiderman, ninjas, etc.

I have learned that what will be, will be and there is really not much I can do about it.
I am really going to miss Lizzy when she goes back to school.
We live in a really small town, sometimes I love this and other times I hate it.
I can't say no to a cuddly sleepy child.
Lazer hair removal was the most frivolous thing I have ever done. But I am SO happy with the results.
I love giving gifts but sometimes it is also nice to receive. I need to get better at receiving.

I have learned to let go. I cannot fix everything. I am only human. Sometimes you just have to let go.
I am not Shakespeare but writing helps me get through everything.
Wyatt can find joy in the littlest things. I am going to try and be more like him this year.
Everything is temporary, the good and the bad.
I am proud that I am happy 8 out of every 10 days. I would just rather be happy.
There are no rules in the game of love. I can't help what my heart wants no matter what my brain says.

I will never get tired of listening to Wyatt put Cash in time out.
Life moves so fast, don't blink or you might miss something.
Wyatt's imagination is forcing me to be more creative. I accept the challenge. Let's see what we can dream up in 2012.
I still need to learn to stop being so optimistic and a little more realistic.
I am a sucker for calloused hands and a pickup truck. Works every time.
Long Beach is an instant vacation. I love it there and could never thank Jen enough for introducing us.

I have learned to keep my family and sisters top priority; I will let nothing come in between our relationship again.
Wyatt says the most amazing and hilarious things. I vow to start carrying a notepad to get them all down.
You never know how quickly life can change.
I will never grow tired of being Wyatt's Mom.
My most favorite time of day is bedtime, reading books to Wyatt, and feeling him fall asleep in the crook of my arm. And I am lucky enough that I get to do it almost every night.
I am ready for my next big adventure.

This Has to be Good Luck, right?

Christmas in Pictures

The stockings were hung...

The amount of gifts under the tree seems to be growing exponential every year. I think it is because we have the 3 girls, plus Wyatt, buying gifts instead of just my parents.  Each of us had at least 2 presents for each family member, sometimes more.  It is a little ridiculous and I have to admit to being a little embarrassed about the quantity. One of Wyatt's favorite gifts was a kid's digital camera that Terry gave to him. He took a picture of every gift he got and the tree and almost everything else. He was being very patient waiting for the girls to get up and even took a picture of Santa's half eaten cookies.

I have been talking a lot about taking Wyatt skiing this winter (if we get any snow, none yet).  I think it is best to start them off early.  Most of my skiing stuff I have outgrown or lost through the years.  It has been almost 5 years for me.  I am proud to say that Wyatt and I are now set for the slopes.  I got him a helmet and goggles, that he would try on periodically try on throughout the day.  Becca got me goggles and Mom got me a new NorthFace and snow pants.

Wyatt's last present was a box with a note from Santa inside.  It said "Dear Wyatt, I can't fit your last present under the tree.  Go check on the back deck.  Merry Christmas! Love, Santa"  Lizzy read the note to Wyatt and he BOOKED it outside, ran right past the HUGE power wheels fire truck and looked up on the roof.  Clearly, if Santa was going to leave him a gift it would be on the roof.  When he finally saw the truck his entire face lit up.  It was the best part of Christmas.  We eventually moved it inside so he could really see it instead of sitting out in the cold.  Lizzy gave him an entire fireman outfit that he insisted on wearing while riding in his truck. So worth every penny.

The maiden voyage.  He took driving very seriously.  He would be smiling from ear to ear then put his foot on the gas pedal and go very serious.  I kept on telling him to stay by the curb and he kept telling me "I can't, Mom.  I don't have my divers' license yet. And my sirens are on so the cars will move out of the way."  Did I mention the very loud working sirens? Finally, Lizzy drew him up a fake divers' license.  I am envisioning hours of fun this summer.  Now, if only we had somewhere to store it for the winter.  I told Dad that he might need to build a garage for it.

Traditionally, we have an epic board game the day after Christmas. This year, the board game was over shadowed be the HUGE amount of Lego's Wyatt received.  At one point the 3 of us were building while Wyatt stood by and supervised.  He has got us all whipped.  Dad bought Wyatt and I this sorting system that I just spent an hour organizing.  I am about 1/2 way done.  As I am typing, Cash fell into the whole thing, knocking everything to the floor.  I am listening to this happening right now.  I refuse to look.  That dog will be the end of me.  My bedroom is coined the "Lego Room" that is how many new sets he got.  His train table has been dismantled to carry the load.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

This Christmas was awesome.  As Wyatt gets older, experiencing the magic through his eyes is breath taking.  The spirit, the love, the joy, the excitement of Christmas lives in his every move.  Its contagious.  My Christmas spirit was feed by his.  It makes spending all this money so worth it.  Out of all my Christmas's, all of the wonder of my childhood, this Christmas was by far the best because I got to make Christmas magical for my boy.

Is It Really Christmas Already?

Diary of an Arrested Priest

I am not sure if I am suppose to be posting this.  But I will, because I think my cousin Michael is an amazing writer and the story of his run in with the law is moving.  I hope you enjoy this story and much as I did.  And, Michael, thank you for capturing everything so eloquently.  We are all so proud of you.

“Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?”
-Matthew 25:37-40

"The church is the church only when it exists for others." - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

On Saturday, December 17th 2011, in the third week of Advent, I was arrested in a vacant lot owned by Trinity Church, New York.

Earlier that day, I had visited the flagship Apple Store to purchase a Macbook Air as a Christmas gift for my brother. My wife and I strolled down 5th Avenue looking at the Christmas decorations, soaking in the holiday spirit and window shopping. It was a refreshingly crisp winter day and New York was glittering and beautiful. After some lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant in SOHO, I went to join clergy colleagues at an Occupy Wall Street celebration and rally at 6th Avenue and Canal street.

I became involved in the OWS movement when a visit to Zuccotti Park in September motivated by simple curiosity turned out to be a convicting religious experience. The encampment in Zuccotti seemed to me a post-modern incarnation of the community depicted in the book of Acts. Sharing things in common, working for the common good, wrestling with the fundamental inequities in society. Since that visit, I have spent as much time as I could listening to the prophetic voices coming out of the movement. I have helped coordinate housing and food for occupiers. I have been part of ongoing discussions among faith leaders throughout the city, the country and the world regarding the urgent need for a dramatic shift in the economic and social realities which are crippling God’s people. I have preached about the movement, with the movement and to the movement. Over the past three months, I have come to view OWS as both a catalyst and a first fruit of the change I wish to see in the world as a person of faith. Not only do I support what the movement stands for and hopes to accomplish, I also support and love the human beings who make up this movement. They are sacraments of God’s love, God’s justice and God’s peace among us.

On the 17th, occupiers and various community leaders from New York (and beyond) gathered to celebrate the movement’s three month mark. Several civil rights heroes of mine were expected to speak and I wanted to meet them. I planned to visit the celebration and then return home and rest before Sunday. I thought, “Is it really only one week till Christmas? Where has the time gone? Has OWS only been a reality for three months? Wow...it seems a lot has happened in that time. What a gift to the world!”

The mood at the rally was celebratory. There was a general sense of enthusiasm, happiness and passionate commitment. The Church needs more of all three. As I came around the corner where folks were gathering, I spoke with some other clergy who passed on the word that folks were planning to go forward with an act of civil disobedience. They would be entering the vacant lot which had been proposed as a Winter encampment site for OWS. This made me a little uncomfortable. I had considered participating in civil disobedience on other occasions, but had evaluated each situation and decided that it was not right for me personally to participate. I felt the same way today. I did not think that entering the lot would move the good people of Trinity to change their minds regarding use of the space. I was also not sure how helpful the action would be to the movement and, truth be told, I had not planned to stick around for more than an hour. So, I decided not to participate if any act of civil disobedience did take place. I would be there as a non-violent witness, an OWS supporter and a representative of the Church. Good enough.

As the rally unfolded, I was standing near Bishop Packard (retired bishop to the Armed Services), his wife, other clergy and faith leaders. Suddenly, a large staircase emerged from the crowd and was placed against the fence on the north side of the lot. Was it Jacob’s ladder? People began to cheer. Banners were raised. I watched as Bishop Packard went up the stairs and over the fence in a purple cassock and cincture given to him by the Archbishop of Canterbury. His cassock ripped and he fell to the ground on his back. I lunged forward in fear and concern. At that same moment, the police began to push in hard on the crowd. I could feel the physical pressure through dozens of people whose bodies were pressing on mine. More people began to climb the staircase. Up and over they went into an empty gravel lot. And there was jubilation! Could standing in an empty lot really cause so much excitement, so much joy? They felt completely liberated. I could see it on their faces.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large gathering of police wearing riot gear and carrying weapons. My stomach drops. When I was 16 years old, a police officer hit me hard on the arm with a Maglite on the beach my hometown. It left a painful bruise for weeks. That act of violence was minor compared to what I have seen happen to participants in the OWS movement for simply sitting still.

I look at the people inside the fence and have a feeling which I can only describe as overwhelming love and concern. I must decide, in an instant, where to place my body as a priest. It is no time for sitting on the fence. I climb the stairs and enter the lot. People are cheering and chanting, some are crying, some are silent. I see a sign which read, “Trinity Church- Hero of 9/11. Be a hero again!” I turn and flashed a peace sign to the crowd and to the cops. The same thing I do with parishioners whose hands I can’t reach from the aisle on Sunday. Where are the Trinity clergy? The work of non-violent peacemaking is not best left to the quasi-military NYPD. My iphone vibrates in my hand as I dash toward someone who has fallen over the fence. On the phone is a reporter from the Episcopal News Service. “Michael,”she says. “Are you there? What’s happening?” I tell her that occupiers have entered the lot and I have entered with them. My attention is with the fallen women. “Are you ok?” I ask. She nods and brushes herself off. I say into the phone, “As a priest, I have to be with my people and these are my people. I am here in solidarity with them.” Full stop. I have a deep and overwhelming sense of responsibility that cannot be overcome by reason or logic. It this what it feels like to be a parent? Is this what the incarnation really means? Damn it. What have I climbed into?

This may sound like overstatement, but the option of not going over that fence felt roughly equivalent to abandoning Christ on the cross. I kid you not. I felt the pain and the courage of the occupiers viscerally. I could not let them go alone. Not with the risk of violence which I saw mounting. Not after I had stood with them and they with me in so many other places. My conscience as a priest and as a human being took over and I knew which side of the fence I had to be on. It was obvious. As someone whose spirituality is deeply rooted in the liturgy, I heard the words spoken by my Bishop on the day of my ordination,“You are to love and serve the people among whom you work, caring alike for young and old, strong and weak, rich and poor...My brother, do you believe that you are truly called by God and his Church to this priesthood. Answer: I believe I am so called.”

Some clergy and I begin to sing, “Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming” as the police enter the lot in force. We’re attempting to calm the tension and embody a non-violent, peaceful presence. I realize that I still have the Episcopal News Service on the phone in my hand. “I have to go,” I say, and put the phone in my pocket. The police come in fast and hard. I raise my hands. Was I blessing them? Was I trying to slow them down? Was I showing them that I had nothing in my hands? I can’t say for sure. Maybe all three. An older male officer in a white shirt throws a young woman next to me to the ground and jams his knee into her back with his full weight. I lunge forward and shout, “This is not necessary! She’s not resisting you! Just calm down!” He looks up and I see him glance at my collar. “You calm down!” he shouts at me as he gets up, moves toward me and brings his pointer finger within an inch of my face. Then he turns to another officer and shouts angrily, “Start collaring people!” Are we having an ordination?

A younger male officer, as gently and kindly as a mother touches her child, takes hold of my arms and puts plastic cuffs on me. He does so, dare I say, lovingly.

The officer in the white shirt moves on to another young woman wearing a pink Tutu. He flings her around roughly and onto a makeshift bench face down. Her bag goes flying. He twists her arm dramatically behind her and shoves it upward toward her shoulder as he pushes her off the bench and onto the ground. Her stockings rip and her knees begin to bleed. I can see the pain on her face. Not just physical, but spiritual. “Stop it! You’re hurting her!” I shout. Is my voice audible? The officer man-handling her turns and looks at me again. His face is red with rage.

The gentle officer holding me appears to be upset. “Are you ok?” he asks me.“I’m fine,” I say. “But I am concerned about these other people. Can you stop him from being so rough?” The officer shrugs and raises his eyebrows dispassionately. I see sadness in his face. He sees the concern in my eyes.

I look around as action in the lot comes to a stop. Who is here? A humble bishop in ripped vestments, a group of ecumenical clergy, a Roman Catholic nun, students, hunger strikers, parents, grandparents, and others. What crime have they committed? Stepping onto church property as a statement of solidarity with the poor, the least and the lost. This motley crew has hurt no one and is hardly threatening. No personal property has been destroyed. In Advent, we celebrate the in-breaking of God and they call this trespassing. We better be careful with our theology.

I cannot make sense of this situation. I cannot get past the fact that I am an Episcopal priest standing in a vacant lot owned by an Episcopal parish, performing a priestly duty and I am under arrest. Wow. I think about my wife and how she is expecting me home right about now. I’m sorry. I did not plan to climb any fences, but here I am.

In John’s gospel it says, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.’ Nicodemus [asked], ‘How can these things be?’ Jesus answered him, ‘Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?” (John 3:8-10) There are so many things that I do not understand, and I am supposed to be a teacher of the faith. Lord, help me to understand.

As we are loaded onto the police bus, people sing, “We shall Occupy” to the tune of, “We shall Overcome.” I sit silently on the bus and stare out the window as people stop their cars in the middle of traffic, get out and cheer. People on the sidewalks down Canal street pump their fists in the air. Some on the bus feel encouraged. I am overcome with sadness as the brokenness of the world floods my soul. Where is the greatness of God in this season of Advent? Be still and know that I am God.

As I am having my mugshot taken, the flash of light reminds me of the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary in the gospel I am not yet ready to preach tomorrow morning. “For nothing will be impossible with God.” (Luke 1:37) God grant me courage and wisdom in these troubled times. Grant me strength of heart and mind and soul and body to say alongside Mary, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; Let it be with me according to your word."

One by one we are processed, separated male and female and locked into large holding cells. Inside, we talk about the movement and how desperately we want peace, justice and equality for all God’s people. Clergy speak one on one with occupiers. The bishop convenes a General Assembly. We talk about the experience of being arrested. We get to know one another and share our stories. Several occupiers remark about how much better they have been treated during the arrest. They reckon it is because clergy are present. I find that small bit of good news gratifying. A supervising officer brings us bread, cheese and milk. It reminds me of being in kindergarten and having snack delivered to the classroom. Someone asks, “Can I have two milks?” Response: “Don’t push it.” Fair enough.

A hunger-striker who had not eaten for 15 days as part of “the ask” for Trinity to grant use of this empty lot to the movement rises to his feet. He does so slowly and unsteadily from a bench in the corner of our cell. A tear runs down his face. "It is an honor and a privilege to break bread with you today, my friends." The hair on my arms stands up. I cry. Others do too. This is one of the clearest experiences of “church” in my life. Christ is palpably present in this cell as sure as you’re born. I could have reached out and touched the wounds if I wanted to. My middle name is Thomas, after all. We embrace the breaker of bread and each other.

As I recount this Eucharistic moment to my congregation on Sunday morning after my release, I weep in the pulpit. Sweet sacrament divine. As I end my sermon and walk to my stall, people stand and applaud. They are not applauding me. They are applauding the presence of Christ in the midst of brokenness. I can feel it. I cry all the way through the Nicene Creed. That’s got to be a new one. I look around through my tears and members of my choir are crying. As I distribute the Body of Christ to my parishioners as I do every week in almost exactly the same way, something is different. People grab my hands and hold them. Not one person, but many. One man who always keeps his eyes down looks me straight in the eyes. “The Body of Christ,” I say. “In the name of justice,” he says. I lose it and begin sobbing. I almost drop the patten. Another parishioner approaches with tears in her eyes. “The Body of Christ,” I say. “Thank you,” she manages while holding my shoulder and squeezing. Tears hit the Host. “The Body of Christ,” I say to one of my wardens. He says to me, “I want to shake your hand.”

At the end of the service, I raise my hands which were cuffed behind my back the night before. “Life is short, and there is not much time to gladden the hearts of those around us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind. And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit be with you and remain with you always.”

Forgive us, Lord. We know not what we do. I did not mean to trespass on your holy vacant lot. But I did, and now you’ve broken into me. How can I keep from singing?

Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah 'twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
Mary we behold it, the Virgin Mother kind.
To show God's love aright, she bore to us a Savior,
When half spent was the night.

The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger they found Him,
As angel heralds said.

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
And lightens every load.

The Kingdom of God is inside us and all around us. The world is a mess and yet the beauty of community is springing up in the most unexpected places. In an empty lot. In a prison cell. God is building staircases into our hearts this Advent. Sacrificial love is rushing up those stairs. It is the most powerful force on earth and it cannot be stopped. “We are unstoppable,” says God. “Another world is possible.”

What happened on the 17th of December will be forgotten pretty soon. The media cycle will move on. People and institutions will move on. I’m out of jail now, but I am still arrested. God’s Holy Spirit has placed me under arrest. It’s troubling and comforting and overwhelming. I feel completely alive and scared and hopeful. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief. Help me climb your staircase one step at a time and meet me on the other side. For you promised,“I will never leave you or forsake you.” Be with us all in this season of brokenness and mending.

That's My Boy

46 Months

My Wyatt,

As always, you are pretty stoked for Christmas.  Not quite getting the whole gift giving thing though. I told you that for every present you ask for you have to think of something to give someone else. You want to give a light up amblance to Aunt Lizzy, I am getting some Lego's so we can play together, you want to buy your friend Max a Power Wheels police car, and Emme almost every girl toy in every catlog.  Its more about toys that you want and then you arbitrarily gift them to someone else. Aunt Lizzy, Auntie B, and I bought Gammy and Pa a new refridgerator for Christmas but had it delivered early to avoid confusion and craziness. Of course, you came with us and we all had to explain about surprises and secrets about a million times. You were doing so well and then you totally spilled the beans to Pa.  Also casually asking Gammy "when is the refrigerator being dropped off?" I would tell you its a secret and you would whine, "But I wanna tell them." You picked out (INSISTED that I buy) a lovely sweater for Auntie B which you promptly told her about on the phone.  Clearly, you can't keep a secret. 

I have to touch on a few things.  First on Thanksgiving, you helped me in the kitchen making these amazing baked mashed potatoes.  You mashed them all by yourself then was convinced that everyone was going to hug you because you "are the campion masher." I told you that I was sure you were going to get hugs anyway.  Second, you went Christmas tree cutting with the family, unfortunately I had to work and was unable to go.  (I was very upset about this but redeemed my day by spending hours at Nana's assembling your Power Wheels. I was smiling the entire time, no joke. Just anticipating seeing you on Christmas morning is making me smile.)  There is nothing more heartbreaking then hearing your sweet little voice on the phone telling me you miss me. It never gets old.

I got pulled over the other day.  It was my first time since 2006.  We talk alot about getting pulled over by the police, and getting tickets, and red light cameras.  They are all very interesting to you.  So, when I got pulled over, lights and everything, I thought your head was going to explode.  At first, you were a little nervous just because you didn't understand what was happening and then it was all questions.  By the time the cop got to me, I was hysterical laughing.  He said that laughing at a ticket wasn't something he had experienced before.  I told him that I didn't even care about the ticket but could he pretty please talk to you for a minute.  The ticket would have been so worth your amazment.  You chatted for a while and the cop said he was going to let me off but ONLY because you were so cute.  Then demanded that I be very good to you for Christmas.  Best part is now you are telling everyone "Momma almost got arrested but she didn't because I am so cute."  Yes. That is exactly what happened.

You have been doing this thing lately where you come up to me and touch my face.  Lightly brushing your finger tips across my cheek and forhead then always landing on my nose.  I honestly can say I have no idea why you have been doing this.  I thought maybe it is because I rub your head or run my fingers through your hair (its getting long and you don't want a haircut).  Its endearing and totally random. You will be in the middle of playing, stop what you are doing, look up and jump on my lap.  I give you a hug and a kiss and send you on your way.  When I told Gammy about it, she said that you just love me.  That you can see how much you adore me.  Well, my love, the feeling is mutual. I can't stop myself from covering you in kisses.  I hope Gammy is right.

I love you everyday,
Momma

W-Y-A-T-T

The List of all Lists

Wyatt has been writing his Christmas list for a long time.  Mostly it consists of trucks, Lego's, and more trucks.  He just rearranges the order of importance.  When we were finalizing the list to send to Santa, he threw me a doozie:

Can you read that?  That little bitty request at the bottom.  Well, if you can't, it says A BROTHER.  As in, another human.  Oh shit you guys. Can I pee my pants now?

I can't say that this is ENTIRELY a surprise.  He has been asking a decent amount about brothers.  Just a lot of questions really.  Which of his friends have siblings?  How is Aunt Lizzy my sister?  That kind of stuff.  I think it started when Gammy was opening peanuts with Wy. (Do you see how easy that was to blame Gammy? Ha!)  She would open them and ask if it had a brother or not. Wyatt started doing it. Then he started asking if he could have a brother.  I told him maybe someday but definitely not any time soon.  Then we were shopping in the mall and the "All I want for Christmas is a Brother" song came on.  Yeah.  I had never heard of it either.  It was as if a lightbulb went off above Wyatt's head.

"Santa can bring me a brother?"
"Bud, I'm not really sure that Santa can bring you a human.  Santa only deals with toys."
"But maybe I could ask him for one."
Ok, different tactic.  "Are you sure you would want a brother?  That means you would have to share your toys and your Momma."
"Well, maybe I want a big brother.  So, he could have big toys."
That's when I let the conversation drop because I was pretty confident I was not going to win any arguments.  I have a hard time out-smarting him sometimes, especially when he gets something in his head.

So, a few days later when we are writing his list, I am wondering if he is going to bring it up.  We got so close to the end and then he throws out the brother card. And just to clarify, he goes "A REAL big brother.  Not a toy." Then watches to see if I wrote that down.

What to do?  What to do?  Clearly, it is at the bottom of his list.  I am sure once he finds the Power Wheels Fire Truck (that has already been purchased and fought for at ToysRUs!  So Excited!) he will forget all about that pesky brother business.  Can I adopt a big brother somewhere?  Or maybe just borrow one for a day or two?  I am sure that will curb his need for a sibling.  Robot siblings, anyone?

God Bwess AmeriKa

I have never sang this before to Wyatt. My dad used to sing it to Wyatt when he was a baby. See: Wyatt's Singing Debut.  Then, one night at dinner, Wyatt busted out the entire song.  He said he learned it at school.  We make him sing it all the time now because it is too damn cute.  Hey, at least I know they are teaching him something!  Love, Love Love.

Lego's Farting