The Scrawl Vol. 1, No. 9


Stephen, turning one of the crêpes too soon: Aw, crap. That’s why they’re called crêpes. It’s just crap with a French accent.

On Saturday, we made a last-minute decision to get our oil changed after we left church. I had been hoping to get some housework done, but since Maria had started to show signs of cutting her fifth tooth (hey, at least she got a tiny break after the fourth one! Poor baby), I knew it wouldn’t amount to much, anyway. We made the most of it and walked along, looking into the windows of the upscale shops (or should I say, Shoppes), and even venturing into a couple that were big enough that we might not be not be noticed and recognized as the lower middle class tramps we are. It’s crazy how rich some of the neighborhoods here are, but maybe that’s just the small town girl in me coming out and goggling at the fact that Not Everybody is Just Like Me. Anyway, Maria loved the walk, as always, and it was juuuuust long enough for her to fall asleep. Nothing like a sweet sweaty baby sleeping snuggled against you. ❤


Sometimes, Maria helps me hang out the wash. It gives her a chance to watch airplanes.


And hang out.


And throw clothes onto the ground for me to reach more easily. (So maybe her logic is a little flawed, but she’ll learn).


On Sunday, Stephen did his first house blessing. I didn’t get any pictures of the procession, because I was too busy comforting a baby who had just discovered that the dog barked more loudly than she thought it would, but it went very well. Afterwards, we had the most amazing beef bourguignon ever, and talked theology for hours on end, while Maria played, barricaded away from the dog until she realized it was actually an amusing creature. She finally got so tired that no distractions could keep her interested, and she fell sleep, sprawled across me and the couch.


So, this has nothing to do with zucchini bread or the mixing thereof, but the lessons yesterday morning were on manna and the Bread of Life. As I watched our daughter crawl across the floor, pick something up, look at it, and pop it into her mouth, I realized something: all food is manna to babies. They see a food and think, What is it? Because of course they don’t know. So it is manna. And they eat it. The end.

In honor of World Breastfeeding Week, here’s a nice chunk of common sense about nursing (whether you breastfeed or not). Note: if you are like me, you will need to refresh your memory on these bits of common sense pretty regularly. I should start compiling a list of postpartum articles to read toward the end of my (God-willing) future pregnancies and during the first couple years of each baby’s life. I get way too ambitious way too easily.

Some worthy thoughts from a mom who has two sons with SMA. Our lives are as joyful as we let them be. Don’t cheapen them and shut out the joy!

Envisioning a world without abortions, means you have to envision a world in which you sacrifice so that women’s health needs are better met, so her future shines with brighter possibilities, so her dreams grow with wider and deeper hope.” Thank you, Ann Voskamp. There are so many quotables in this post. Please, read it.


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