Spaniards do this really well

unisex baby clothes.
they usually come in sherberty colors - - greens, oranges, yellows . . .
While this is wonderfully practical (think - -easy transfer from your first baby girl to your second baby boy, or easy gift stock up for all the pregnant ladies in the neighborhood when you can't remember who's expecting a baby girl and who's expecting a baby boy), it can also be terribly confusing; just this past week, I mistook a baby boy dressed in peach for a baby girl (Arg! why didn't I check for earrings?!)
When Selma was born I scored this cream unisex outfit from my neighbor/friend Maite. Sooooo . . . if you like it, and are expecting either a girl OR a boy, let me know and I will set it aside for you (see, practical, huh?)
p.s. look, mom! Selma is wearing the little hat you knit for her! doesn't it do a nice job giving her outfit a feminine touch?

Malachai, on brown rice:

it's like rice candy!

the one in which Selma gets her passport and I get scolded by an Italian stewardess

we learned our lesson with Malachai - - when you go all the way to the US embassy in Madrid to get a passport for your newborn, don't wait till you get there to try and get passport pictures in the photo booth - - your baby ends up with permanently screaming legal identity.

So this time around, with Selma, we did it right - - we actually went to a photo studio and got her passport picture taken by a pro-fesh-o-nal. yep. it was perfect. she was facing the camera straight on, here eyes were open, there were no parent hands or shoulders sticking in the picture, all six already pre-cut to passport size . it was perfect.

well, we showed up to the US embassy with the perfect picture, and apparently, standard Spanish passport photos are smaller than US standard size passport photos. so off we trudged to the infamous photo booth. here's what we got:
we actually used that passport as we traveled last week, and had no problems making it through passport controls (probably because she was crying as we went through most of them, and she looked just like her photo).

Selma's socks came off as we made a plane change in the toasty warm Milan Airport , and before we reboarded I searched my pockets for her socks. (five years in Europe has taught me enough to know that I shouldn't be too long in public with a sockless baby) I checked all my pockets; no socks. They ushered us down the walkway into the airplane (Joshua doesn't have the socks, Rachel doesn't have the socks . . . ) There was the stylish little Italian stewardess welcoming us all onto the airplane - - and I didn't didn't understand a word she said, but I know perfectly well I was chastised for my sweet baby's cold feet.

a trip downdtown and public transportation evangelism with a four year old

we took the bus to (and from) downtown this afternoon. On the way home our bus slammed on its brakes to avoid hitting a pedestrian and consequently hit another vehicle. we all unloaded from the bus and squeezed into the one that was behind us - - and there we all stood, with our shoulders pressed into each others backs, eyes averted, trying to have as little contact as we possibly could with the stranger beside us.

and then my sweet Malachai begins to work his magic . . .
"my mama is from California" he announces to the hostile crowd "but not me! I'm from Spain!"
the crowd begins to soften . . .
"what's your name?" someone asks
"Malachai Elijah - - I was named after a prophet, you know. BUT I'm not a prophet, nope. "
"oh no?"
"Elijah was a prophet that had to run away from an evil king, and then God sent birds to bring him bread; ha, ha! can you believe it!?"

We chose Malachai's name because it means "My messenger", and we pray regularly that God will use our Malachai to proclaim his truth to the world around him.

I don't know, my little man, I don't know . . . you may be a prophet after all (a little "p" prophet, mind you!! but a prophet nonetheless!)