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

45 Months

Fireman Wyatt,

I took you to 3 Firehouse open houses. Yes, 3. Because you are obsessed.  The GC one seemed to be your favorite.  You got to ride on a truck then watched as they lit an old oven on fire.  There was a police helicopter that took off and circled the building.  When I put you inside the helicopter, you announced "My dada's helicopter is bigger then this one." and look around unimpressed.  The pilot was a little put off and a little amused at the same time.  Then a fireman repelled from the roof of the building.  But by far your favorite, was when they staged an accident and had to use the jaws of life to rip a car apart. I expected to be there for a hour and we stayed for 3. You couldn't get enough. You have a collection of plastic fire helmets and went dressed in your finest firman coat and boots to each fire station. Whenever I call you a "Silly goose", you correct me saying "Mom, you can just call me Fireman Wyatt." Most of the firemen were so impressed with how much you knew and the one company said you could visit whenever you wanted.

If I ask you what you want to be when you grow up you always say a fireman, however more recently you want to be a fireman and a lego artist. Because you can do both.  You could spend hours pouring your lego's out and designing cars or garages or firehouses.  You are so patient and meticulous, knowing exactly which piece you are looking for.  You have a ton of Duplo's but have expertly moved on the the little ones.  Most of the time, I am buying 5-12 year old lego's.  I use the "menus" as you call them, and put them together for you the first time. Then you play. But almost always, you can put them back together if they break.

We had a playdate adventure with Faetra in Brooklyn.  We found the Prospect Park Zoo, which is an adorably cute zoo (maybe better then Central Park in my humble opinion).  You smushed yourself in these fake egg shells and pronounce "Eggs marks the spot!" You out punned all of the adults around. You found this little pond with fixed plastic lilly pads for jumping, bull frog style. You loved it. We left that area and you kept stearing us back to them. You were jumping when it got crowed very quickly.  Faetra and I were chatting just to look up and watch a young boy (around 6, I think) crowd you and then push you into the water. You got out rather quickly and looked around mildly confused.  I wasn't sure if you were going to cry or push him in.  It was a cold day and you got soaked to your knees. We went to the bathroom and put you under the hand dryer. You went shoeless around Brooklyn for the rest of the day. Then proceeded to the bar to dry you off.  You have been talking about the boy who pushed you off the lilly pad for days now.

You have been spending a lot of time in my bed lately.  Its regression at its finest.  Sometimes you ask me in your sweetest voice if we can have a sleep over in your bed.  Which I know I should say no but sometimes I give in.  If I put my foot down you usually end up padding your way to my door around 1am or so.  Or there was the one time when you went into Gammy's room and got her because I told you to stay in your bed. I know its bad. And I am fully aware, it is a problem with me and not with you.  I am 100% positive that if I stuck to my guns and stood my ground, you would be in your bed from 8-8.  I just can't resist your cuteness. Especially, that sleepy, warm and comfy snuggle fest that happens around 3am. You are so angelic when you are sleeping peacefully.  I don't think I could ever kick you out of my bed.  And definitely not when you walk in saying "Momma, I missed you."

I love you everyday.
Momma

J'Adore la Citrouille

Halloweenie!!

Wyatt asked, some time ago, to be a cherry picker for Halloween.  I thought about it and decided that it might be to hard for me to pull off.  I figured that I could plant an idea of something easier before it came time to start creating.  Thankfully, he changed his mind.  About a month ago, he decided he wanted to be a road. With fire trucks on it.  And maybe something on fire.  And it should probably be Mountain Ave. Easy!  Done!  I can do that! All I needed was a black sweatsuit, yellow duct tape, velcro, matchbox cars, and a street sign.  And Mountain Ave was created:

And because I am super ambitious, I made street signs for the entire family so that we could all trick-or-treat as our town.  And let me tell you, Wyatt OWNED that costume.  He marched for the entire Halloween parade and explained (in detail) to every person who asked about his costume.  He was the only "road" in his class of super hero's.  I am so proud of him that he chose his costume. That he is already owning his decisions and being uniquely Wyatt. He is loving every minute.


Oh and did I mention that he WON first place original costume!!  Oh, yes, he did!  Two years in a row!!  Jeez, there is going to be a lot of pressure for next year.


Wyatt also made a special request when carving pumpkins.  Again, this year, he was less then enthused about the gutting.  But he was very demanding about wanting to carve a fire truck into the pumpkin.  Because there are haunted fire houses and sometimes fire trucks are spooky.  After googling "fire truck pumpkin carving template" drew a big blank, I found a simple outline and we carved a fire truck.



We found this adorable Rice Krispie pumpkin mold at Hicks Nursery.  Wyatt loved it and decided he wanted to make pumpkins for his class for show n' tell on friday. Basically, I made them while Wyatt ate marshmallows.  He did decorate the box we brought them in with "spooky" stickers.  His teachers said he handed one out to each kid and was very excited when the class thanked him. One parent even asked me where I bought them.  Yeah, not so much.  We're rock stars!

Are you Ready Halloween?

Love Fest

Wyatt One Liners - Yummy!

We are driving home in the car around 1pm.  I bought a pack of M&M's and I am trying to keep him awake until we get home. (He has a huge problem with falling asleep with in the car when we are 2 minutes away from home.) I explained that M&M's taste really good but they don't give him energy or make him bigger.
"But they're yummy."
"Yeah, Bud.  But they're not good for you so just a few."  He goes quiet and continues to eat them.  A few minutes later I turn and he's got chocolate dripping down his face.
"Hey. Can Momma have a red one?"
"I found one." He passes a red one up.
"Can Momma have a yellow one?"
"Mom, there not really good for you. You will get a tummy ache."
I laughed; my own logic begin used against me.  After a while I asked again for another one to no response.  When I turned to look, he was sound asleep clutching his bag of M&M's and covered in chocolate.

We were at a restaurant and the waitress asked Wyatt's name.  She mentioned that her nephew is also named Wyatt.  Wyatt prompt yells out "Two Wyatt's? That's crazy!"  I don't think he has ever met someone else named Wyatt or had heard of anyone else.  It took me a long time to convince him that there was only one him but others with his name.  He still thinks its crazy.

While in Colorado, we were having tiramisu for dessert that was artfully crafted into a pyramid.  Also, it was absolutely delicious.  The chef placed one in front of Wyatt, then asked what I would like.  "I'll have the tiramisu too, please.".
"Mom!  You're getting the pyramid too?"
"The tiramisu.  Yes."
He turns to the boy sitting next to him and says, "She's having the pyramid too!!"

We are playing and Wyatt rips this huge fart. "Mom, get out your gas mask! I did a big toodles!"  Another classic Wyatt-ism is when the dog farts and he implored us to "light a candle in here."

I was making dinner, a honey hosin chicken thing, that was smelling pretty good.  Wyatt was upstairs playing with his trains.  He comes barreling down and smashed into my legs by the stove. "Mom!  What is the yummy smell?"  I explained and he went back upstairs without a word.  He didn't even try it.  I had to make him fish sticks.

Brass Rings

44 Months

Bud,

You have been pretty obsessed with YouTube lately.  At first you loved watching fire trucks in action.  Tours of fire trucks, trucks rushing to fires, bizarre montages of companies trucks set to music.  Then it was garbage trucks.  Then it was adorably cute british cartoons like Peppa Pig, Postman Pat, and Fireman Sam.  Then it was the crazy expensive, totally awesome toys from Rokenbok, that you want to put on your Christmas list.  Unfortunately, I don't think even Santa can afford them. Just when I thought we couldn't find anymore bizarre things on YouTube, you out did yourself.  Your latest fascination has been with Lego videos of police stations and fire trucks.  These are mostly stop-motion videos of people building Legos.  But you also found some silly videos of Lego mini-figures farting.  Yes, farting.  You are currently obsessed with farting Lego men.  Even mentioning "Lego farts" in your presence sets you off in a fit of giggles.  Clearly, you have turned into a 7 year old over night.

We took a mini-hiatus on Columbus weekend for a trip to visit Mia in Boston. We got stuck in traffic on the way there.  It took us an hour to go 6 miles at one point, for a total of 7 hours in the car.  It was my first time taking a trip like this by ourselves. I perfected the art of putting on your dvd player with one hand while driving and looking forward; memorizing the buttons on the blessed machine.  We sang, did silly seat dances, ate snacks, and played I Spy.  I asked you about 12 times to take a break and pull over and you insisted that we keep going.  "We're almost, almost, almost there." Your voice raising octaves on each "almost".  I am impressed at your ability to sit in the car happily for that long.  Not many adults can do that besides three year olds.

Mia had a extravagant fall festivus with pumpkin soup and apple crisp.  We attempted a corn maze at a local farm.  It was my first time doing a corn maze and I was not sure what to expect.  It was harder then I anticipated.  I guess I thought we would always be able to see above the corn.  You can't.  I think we were in there for about a hour before cheating, cutting between the rows in the direction of the music and the smell of popcorn.  At each fork, you and Brody (a fellow 3 year old) would stop to check your map and choose a direction.  You wanted to pick up the corn off the ground to bring it home and eat it.  Over the last 10 minutes you needed a piggy back.  At that point, I think I could have used a piggy back.  The funniest part is I guess another family actually called 911 because they got lost that weekend.  I didn't think it was that bad.

We also made a trip into the city for a night with Hayley. We drove to Auntie B's and took the subway into the city. You were a classic country child, narrating everything the train was doing.  "Look mom!  People are getting on.  Its stopping.  We're going down.  That man is reading his book.  Hold on you might fall."  I ask a MTA guy if I had to pay for you and he looked at me like I had 12 heads.  I guess I was a classic suburban mom.  At one point another boy sat down next to you and was baffled that you were so excited about doing something as mundane as riding the subway.  I left your stroller at home and make you walk.  Such a champ.  I think we ended up walking a good 3 avenues and 10 blocks.  The city is just so interesting.  The trucks, the crazy people, the buildings, and OH MY JESUS the Biggest Toys R Us you had ever seen.  We rode the ferris wheel and spent way too much money on Legos.  I told you you couldn't get anything and walked out with $80 less.  However, the Legos provided a needed distraction at dinner to allow me to drink some wine and chat.  Bonus.  We took a cab back to Auntie B's and you were fascinated with the touch screen TV in the back. Its always the little things that hold your interest the longest.

You got sick this month.  Classic change of seasons, back to school nonsense.  Because you are not feeling well you have been extra cuddly.  You told me I had to sit with you and help you eat your breakfast on the couch because we are "bestest buddies."  Really, how can I possibly say no to that?  Then when you had a bad fever and I asked you to take a sip of water and you responded with "It's OK mom.  I'm a fireman."  I am not quite sure what being a fireman has to do with drinking water but its still 100% cute. Then when I had finished reading you books and as you were falling asleep you say "Mom, you're the greatest."  Can I have a collective 'awww'?  Its a phrase that I usually reserve for you.  Because you are the greatest.  And we are best buddies.  And I think we make a pretty good team.

I love you everyday,
Momma