The Scrawl Vol. 1 No. 7

 Dancin’ with my books, oh oh oh!


Folks, it’s humid here. And this is the cutest sweaty baby I know.

I managed to make my hair look decent! That is a huge challenge at this stage in growing out my hair.

Silly picture of me, but when the golden sunlight is foaming through the new Big Girl Hair Fountain, does it really matter? Grandma H got Maria ponytail holders when they were visiting this week, and they stay in much better than bobby pins do. And Maria is grateful for having the hair out of her eyes.


So I didn’t take many pictures this week, but I did remember a story from a couple of weeks ago:

Me: Is the curry too strong in your [chicken salad] sandwich?

Stephen: Are you kidding? This is almost perfect. The only way you could improve on it is if it was lamb instead of chicken. And rice instead of bread.

Me: Not naan?!?

Stephen: Yeah, rice and naan.

So. Now you know how to make chicken curry sandwiches to Stephen’s liking.


On Friday afternoon, Stephen offered to turn on music and asked what I wanted.

“Something with a beat since I’m kneading bread,” I said, secretly wanting the sappy comfort of winter tunes, but wanting to be Realistic and Grown Up and especially not ask my husband to do something he doesn’t like when he was being so kind to me.

I must admit I got pretty teary when I heard Michael Bublé’s Christmas come on. And Stephen ended up with a fistful more of Romantic Husband points.

On Saturday, we got up stressed and exhausted. I ran a load of diapers down to the washer so that they would get done in time for me to hang them on the line before time to go to church. I poured the soap, splashed the lavender oil, dumped in the diapers, placed the coins in the tray, pushed it in, and…it stuck there. No amount of wheedling, gentle or otherwise, could persuade it to reconsider its position. As it was getting late, I let our landlord know of the problem, and we hustled off to church. He reminded me that I could use the washer in the other building, so when we got home and I discovered that the tray had dumped my coins and sprung back out without starting the wash, I pulled the diapers out of the washer and trudged over to the other building. I poured the soap into the washer, splashed in the lavender oil, dumped in the diapers, placed the coins in the tray (5 quarters this time, not 6), pushed it in, and waited as it unloaded the coins and sprang back out. And waited. And waited. And nothing happened. So I pulled out my load of diapers, trudged back, collected 5 more quarters, and went back downstairs again. Who knew, maybe it Had been fixed! Ha. All I can say is, I’m glad Maria can wear panties, or, if necessary, go commando around the house, and that my husband can make good chocolate pancakes. Plus we have a landlord who not only puts up with my desperate texts about diapers and quarters, but also fixes the problems. Well, as many as he can.

This pretty baby sits/climbs/stands/crawls/jumps with me at church and makes eyes at everyone (who are all enchanted, naturally).


With our Sunday morning faces on.


Her third nap for the day. We were all exhausted!


After being two and a half months without a couch, we finally got desperate and improvised…the week our couch is supposed to arrive.

Good preparation for marriage can give you great tools to deal with problems, but it doesn’t take away the problems. If you weren’t given many tools or need to sharpen the ones you have, a good marriage enrichment program like this one can save you a lot of heartache and help you to improve your relationship with your spouse and others.

A good reminder for NFP Awareness Week: have grace. For others, for yourselves.

My brave right now is fighting for joy and having grace for myself when I flunk every. single. time. I’m given the opportunity to surrender my plans and accept God’s instead. What is your brave?

This was me this week. I’d given in to stress, which means life sucked for me and my husband (baby didn’t seem to be affected). Taking a deep breath and starting again. (P.S. Read her ketchup post too, ‘Survival Mode’. Maria giggles uncontrollably when I cry, but when Stephen read it, he laughed so hard that she became Disturbed and Anxious).


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