I wish there were two of me...

Wyatt sits on a guest bed in Arizona with his grandmother, his baby cousin and me.

"Momma, I am not going wif you when you leave. I am gonna stay here in Erinzona."

I looked at Grandma questioningly, who told him he could stay?

"Daddy, did tell him he could stay," Grandma whispers.

I realize I have to be delicate with this situation, as Wyatt is not good with change of any sort. If he is there he wants to stay, regardless of whether or not he cried that he didn't want to go to get there in the first place.

"No, Baby. We work in California, so that is where we have to live," I hope he will agree.

But, no such luck. He looks defeated and puts his head down on the bed. I look at Grandma wondering how this will play out. Wondering if there is a small storm brewing in that tiny body of his.

"Momma?" he says.

I look over at him. He is on his stomach with his hands pressed together. He looks like he is playing that game, how does it go? Here is the church. Here is the steeple.

"Momma, I am praying," he wants me to ask for what.

"What have you been praying for?" I ask.

"To God." he says through squinting eyes.

"What were you saying to God," I ask, wondering who has taught him to pray.

"I wished that I could live in Erinzona and California," he says.

I pause, waiting for him to continue.

"But, I can't split myself," he shakes his head and shrugs.

All I can do is cry. I didn't think that my three-almost-four-year-old would be grappling with the same issue his father and I have everyday. Wondering how to be in two (or three) places at once, and how to spend time with our loved ones who are so far away.

I hope God answers his prayer. I hope he can split us all.