Dear Parks,

Yes, I am aware that I didn't post for say...four to fifteen days (remember that whole counting thing we talked about earlier?). Mama's been busy shoving things you want to chew on between the couch cushions and "hiding" them in creative places that she later can't remember. As a side effect of that, I now can locate around 1,348 pieces of oversized colorful Lego blocks you take pleasure in hurling at the walls, but the remote control to the DVD player and two hair clipees? Still missing in action.

"Hurling" was last month's developmental skill. That's a fun one, right? I don't get any "milestone" about which we are supposed to get excited that involves you throwing anything you might be holding as hard as you can at the wall. I mean, its not like we give you Bic lighters and bottles full of gasoline on a daily basis, but if we would have known you were going to develop this "hurling" skill we maybe would have rethought the decision to teach you to wash the crystal wine glasses. They are expensive and Mama's already broken three.(If you have any questions about this, please refer to previous post regarding your mother's skill level at walking)

You turned 11-months-old on Sunday and your father and I celebrated the occasion by attending church. No, it didn't fall down, burst into flames, or get struck by lightening. And, well, "technically" we didn't "attend" church. We attended a class required by the church for you to be baptized.

After much and lengthy discussion, your father and I have decided that you will be Catholic. My argument? It's MUCH easier to be born into the Catholic faith than to become one later. The Methodists that your father claims rights to will take anyone, at anytime, with no pre-required courses or class work whatsoever. Wanna be Methodist later? They'll practically ride over to the house, dunk you in a bathtub, and announce you a believer post haste. They're like the Mormons-except they believe in something that actually exists. Plus, Catholic people are cooler. I promise. (Just look at your mom and Uncle BT.)

Although, I will admit the Catholics are almost throwing around baptisms like the Baptists these days. It was MUCH easier to get you baptized Catholic than I thought considering you were conceived in sin, born into a marriage not blessed by the church, and quite possibly (due to your recently aquired ability to voice your displeasure at being removed from a enjoyable activity in such a way as to alert neighborhood raccoons) a messenger of the Prince Of Darkness himself.

But don't worry, we'll get rid of him this weekend. Your father and I (and your Auntie EB and Uncle BT-as your godparents) have to promise to "reject the glamour of evil and Satan, The Prince of Darkness" in your steed at the baptism.

Your Auntie EB asked if "rejecting the glamour of evil" meant she could no longer watch "True Blood". I informed her that was something she'd have to take up with a man more well-versed than me-the one upstairs. If he says "yes" we both are going to have some hard, hard thinkin' to do. We aren't giving up Sookie for just anyone...even though you are super cool and stuff.

My favorite part of the abovementioned phrase is the "Satan, The Prince of Darkness" part. I like how they qualify his title...you know, just in case you didn't know. Just so you won't get him confused with "Satan, The Director of Cruise Activities" or something like that.

Also, I love the COMMA. "Satan COMMA The Prince of Darkness".

PAUSE RESPECTFULLY, PARKSIE.

But, after Saturday, if "Satan, The Prince of Darkness" comes after you, you will have "Jesus, The Savior of Mankind" on your side. (That and your father can do a MEAN Daniel-Larusso-style crane kick in a pinch)

I'm really nervous about your baptism as the church normally dunks six-week-olds into fonts while they are sleeping-or at least halfway milk-drunk from feeding. You, my dear child, no longer sleep or exhibit any signs of "milk drunkeness". In fact, your walking skills exhibit all the signs of "alcohol drunkeness". The priest suggested "timely scheduling" of the baptism as for it to be "conducive" to your compliance. I had to stop myself from helpfully suggesting the age of 35. I really dont' know any 11-month-olds who "schedule" their compliance. In fact, I've known you almost a whole year and the only thing you really "schedule" is your 8pm high pitched request for someone to dump you in bed with a bottle of Jack-spiked Good Start and a new episode of "Bones" on the television. (Wait, that might be me.)

I'm taking his statement to mean that he wants us to dose you with Benadryl, or heroin. Whichever is more readily available. I informed him at the "pre-meeting" that I could not promise you wouldn't dive head first into the baptism font upon its first appearance. That you might have a few requests...Like, could he let you toot into it and then giggle? Maybe have a few rubber duckies floating in it? A full body massage with Burt's Bees baby lotion when you were done? You are used to this over-the-top spa treatment at home whenever there is an activity with water involved. There is also usually lots of splashing...and maybe some pee (I can't SEE the pee but I just assume you get the same urge everyone else does immediately upon sitting in warm water).

I've been racked with anxiety all week wondering what we are going to do about this whole “pouring water on the head” thing. Eventually, I realized I was just going to have to hand it over to God. How freaking ironic, right? So, Parksie, I hope Jesus makes you act right this weekend. Please don’t fart in the baptismal font.

Your GG bought a cake and everything.

Love you Tooter Bug,

LG, The Mother Of Parks