about something totally different...

I haven't posted in...a long long time. And since I last posted, Facebook has stopped doing auto-uploads of every publication. So I'm feeling freer to post, even if I haven't taken the time.

So this post is for posterity, mostly. I have things--thoughts, occurrences--that I need to record before they are long gone (with my sanity).

Almost a year ago, the Lord answered a big, broad, long-standing prayer of mine: send me on mission. As a teen, I was sure I would be a foreign missionary; it just made sense. So I eagerly prepared my heart to GO. My freshman year in college, I fell in love. Hard. With a man who was just coming into his faith. With time, Jarrad began to seek ministry of his own. But my [now] husband's idea of "mission" has been much less narrow than mine. And so we stayed. I have never felt such an internal paradox than the years when I felt we were embracing comfort and convenience at the expense of REAL mission. Of course, my head knew all along that, as a follower of Christ, I am on mission wherever He places me, and that there are people who need Him everywhere I turn. But it just felt easy, and comfortable. And that made me ill-at-ease, and uncomfortable.

Still, when I mentioned making a dramatic move of some sort, Jarrad never felt that the Lord was leading our family in that direction. I prayed God would change his mind.

So I worked at a normal job. And then I had a baby, so I quit my job in the school system to stay home. And those were some years of feeling aimless. Sure, I maintained relationships with people for whom the Lord gave me intense love--a little boy with lots of special needs and his family, neighbors with a VERY different cultural background than my own. But yet, I felt aimless. And fruitless. And even though people were constantly saying that my children are my ministry, it just didn't feel complete.

Finally, a couple months after my third child turned one, a supernatural thing happened. I had been thinking through the ministry of adoption. Adoption is another God-thing that I've wanted to do since I was a teenager. And again, Jarrad and I never seem to be on the same page. As friends around us began to submit their dossiers, and as I read of families welcoming new members by way of adoption, and as my envy for all of them rose, I began processing the scripture that speaks to adoption. I was feeling like we, as Christians, have taken a huge interest in the orphan, but have ignored the widow. I began to ask questions: Who is the orphan? Who is the widow? Many dictionaries define "orphan" as a child who is without one or both parents. The "fatherless" child would be considered an "orphan," especially in Biblical times, as the child of a widow had no provision unless the Church stepped in. And so, we might consider that, all around us, we have functional widows--women who are single moms--and their functional orphans--fatherless children. What would it look like to really care for these functional widows and orphans--the ones who live next door and shop at our same grocery store? Would it be merely offering financial assistance to bail them out of the current month's expenses? Would it be looking at them with scorn and offering advice on how to "fix" their "situation."

It is difficult, as a human, to accept the thought of purely caring for the needs of another person--someone who may not do the things they "ought" to do, or who makes one dumb decision after another. It's hard to watch, and even harder to partner with that person. But maybe that's what the Lord wants us to do, in our modern society, with our modern widows. After all, we cannot truly care for these fatherless children without benefiting their single parent. And if we refuse to do that, because we see it as "enabling" or just plain annoying, then we must not be surprised when the cycle repeats itself. Over, and over.

So anyway, the Lord gave me all of about three weeks to process this predicament. And then we found out that a family we knew was being evicted from their apartment. Again. It was a mom and her two daughters--6th grade and 9th grade. And even though I'm a sucker for helping the helpless, I did NOT want to help. We knew this family well enough to know that the mom was a perpetual victim and completely self-absorbed, and that they would be homeless as a direct result of her irresponsible decisions. This would be the second round of being homeless in just a few months. The first time was during summer vacation, and they just kind of hopped from one friend to another or slept in their car, and the younger girl stayed out of town with her father most of the time (a man who never bothers to contact her, though she was extremely excited about the time she got to spend with him). But this time, school was in session. And I felt burdened for the lack of stability in the girls' lives.

Driving home from church after a few days of thinking through the situation, and as the date of their eviction grew closer, I finally worked up the nerve to say something to my sweet husband, being sure he would say, "Over my dead body."

"Soooo..." I began, "I've been thinking we should ask [the family] to come stay with us." Jarrad slowly replied, "I had the same thought." Wait. You did?? Oh, no. This is going to be a lot of work.

So I texted the mom. And since she's not in the habit of turning down an offer like that, they moved in the following week, right before Thanksgiving. They stayed with us for six weeks, while the mom started [another] new job and saved up some money. She found a landlord willing to cut her a LOT of slack to rent to them, and they moved out shortly after the girls started their second semester of school.

During those weeks, I thought MANY times that I had never ever worked so hard in my life. Every single day ended in exhaustion. James was at that laborious age when I had to watch him like a hawk, I was trying to figure out how to homeschool my own 5-year-old, I was cooking every night for eight people, I was helping the older girls with homework and trying to encourage them academically, and I was trying to speak into their mom's life as much as she would allow. I could barely keep my head above water, but, at the same time, it was a most fulfilling sort of exhaustion.

Once they moved out, the girls continued to ride the bus to my house. At first, it was just two or three times a week, but it quickly became the daily routine. They were with us almost nightly until their mom got off work, which was sometimes at 10 o'clock. We all got used to each other and the dynamics, and the girls seemed to thrive with the consistency our home provided. By the end of the school year, though, I was feeling pushed on many levels, the most superficial of which included the 6th grade girl challenging my authority on several occasions.

Summer rolled around, and I was determined to be intentional with the girls. I encouraged them to continue coming over (rather than being left alone at home while their mom worked). We registered them each for a week of camp. We worked out a system through which they could earn money--by reading books, doing manual labor, working through a math curriculum, etc. We set parameters on how much internet they could use each day, how much snacking is allowed, who would be responsible for kitchen clean up after dinner, etc. There were weeks during the summer when we saw the girls a lot, and there were other weeks when we saw them none (whether we were traveling, or I was sick in my first trimester of pregnancy, they were with friends, or just for whatever reason). I was looking forward to school starting--to having a routine. I was also determined to see the girls achieve academically. They hadn't really been encouraged academically, and it felt like an uphill battle. But this time, we'd be starting at the very beginning. I intended to get all the information up front so I wouldn't be working blindly. And that's what I did. We took both girls to their school's orientation nights the week before school started. I met their teachers and got on their email lists. I wrote down websites and memorized their schedules. I bought remaining supplies they needed and made suggestions on ways to organize, especially for the now-10th grader. In the interest of establishing routine, I planned to start our own homeschooling on the same day they started school, but I had much more anxiety about their start than ours.

But once school started, it became quickly apparent that, even though it seemed like the obvious and easiest route for me to take, academics is not their focus. And now I'm figuring that's not exactly my calling here. Duh.

So what is? All last school year, I was so worn out, that I just kept telling God that I trusted that the little bit I felt I was giving them would be exactly what God wanted them to have. Now that I'm used to feeding so many mouths and juggling all of it ALL the time, I feel like I can give more. Last night, I heard a testimony of a young guy we know, who spoke fondly of his upbringing and of his parents. They were leaders in their church, and he loved church and youth group. But, he said, his parents don't really talk a lot about Christ in their home. And he earnestly seemed hurt by that.

I get it. These girls are at a critical stage of life. I should be able to pour the Word into them. It should be ready conversation. But somehow, I feel paralyzed. I don't know how to bring it up, or what to say. Which is dumb, because I actually do know what to say. I am completely faithless in sharing Truth with them on a daily basis. I do my best to impart "values" without actually talking to them about the Gospel. How weak.

So what do I do? I continue to trust that exactly what I have to offer right now is exactly what the Lord desires for them and for our own little family. At the same time, I have to become more diligent in my own prayer life and study of the Word, so that I have something substantial to share with them. After all, how can I share Truth, when it feels like old news to me? It sounds terrible to say, but it's the ugliness of my heart right now. I have spent months feeling like I'm drowning, and I'm starting to come up for air. The truth is, I never needed to drown in the first place. But in the Lord's timing, that's where I've been. I can't stay, though. Lord, please don't let me stay.



[Friend, if you are reading this, and it is about you, please forgive me. This is the honest out-pouring of my heart. It isn't always pretty, but it's real. I would love to talk it through, face-to-face. I want better for you. I want the best for you and for your family. I don't always feel free to share honestly with you, but if you would welcome that, I would want that, too. I love all three of you dearly.]

for the record

James was determined to make mischief yesterday, and I'm not so sure it's not a trend, but anyway..

I was in the kitchen yesterday afternoon (as I am many many afternoons), and James came in and spotted the unlocked pots cabinet. He shrieked (he has this great alarm-like scream that he reserves for when he spots something he has access to which he knows he should not have access to) and went right over to open the cabinet. I caught him in time, of course, since I was right next to him. So he quickly gave up that fight and ran over to the cabinet under the sink, which contains all of the chemicals. I keep it locked with one of those plastic cabinet-locker-thingys that slides around the handles. James, with all of his 16-month might, rips open the doors, busting the lock into two pieces. He was so pleased. Sweet Rachel ran right to my bathroom to get a ponytail holder so I could tie it shut...phew! He then went right to removing my pans from their drawer. He later disappeared briefly, and I caught him running around with a stick of butter (but that was on the counter...he's not tall enough...is he??). He thought he was such big stuff on that one. Then later, when I was removing the freshly-baked brownies to a plate, little James was pitching an absolute fit--tantrum--to have some brownie. I had given him a couple of bites, but then I said no more. He was throwing himself around and scream-crying--so dramatic was he. He got over it fairly quickly, though, and I thought to myself, "well that didn't last long...I'm glad he got over that!" I finished filling the plate with brownies, and then I glanced over to see my boy stuffing his face with a brownie that he apparently was able to swipe from the plate!! He was in a ZONE chowing down on that thing, so when I said, "JAMES!" it startled him good-fashioned, and he looked up at me, as guilty and he could be! Today, the child pushed a chair over to the fridge and commenced playing with the ice/water dispenser, right behind my back while I was doing something else! STINKER!!!

*sigh* He sure is cute...

inquiring minds

Rachel: Mimi, do all firefighters love Jesus?

Mimi: No, not all firefighters.

Rachel: Well if they don't love Jesus, than why do they go into fires and save people?

the birthday--the big ONE

My baby boy turned one last weekend. It's a little hard to take when people start remarking, "He's not really a baby anymore, is he?" "YES HE IS," screams my soul--but I know he isn't. I sure do love this kid.

Since I've failed to post more than, oh, say, twice regarding my third-born, here are a few milestones and things-I-wanna-remember:

• True to form for our Giles babies, he took his first steps at 9 months, and really started walking well quickly.
• Unlike his sisters, who had only their 2 bottom teeth at their first birthday, this kid had 7.
• He ate baby food for a brief few weeks before he began to refuse it, demanding--in a very communicative fashion--table food. The girls did not care a thing about any of that, and continued to eat baby food for a few weeks even after their first birthdays. He also LOVES meat, which the girls still don't care much about.
• "Mama" was James's first word, which is a nice contrast to the "Dada" I never heard the end of with the girls (hehe). HOWEVER, he seems to have forgotten that sweet-sounding word. He now says "Dada" aaaaall the time, but he calls me "AAAHHHHHH!" Yes, he yells at me. And I suppose I respond, and so that's why he keeps doing it, but whatinthaworld should I do? Anyway, like Carly, he has swiftly figured out how to get his point across by pointing, yelling, grunting, and generally making his wishes known. And, like his sisters, he is a tough one to convince when my ideas conflict with his.
• He disobeys a little more readily than I remember his sisters doing. He turns "no touch" into a big game of "dodge-the-swat," which he finds hilarious.
• He's bigger than his sisters. Although he's been in size 12 month clothes since the age of 6 months, he's still adequately taller--as in, he can reach things that I never remember worrying about Baby Rachel or Baby Carly reaching.
• Rachel and Carly's first pairs of shoes were size 3. James's little sandals are size 5. And his toes already hang off the ends.
• He is content and quiet as long as he is walking around carrying something he thinks he shouldn't have.
• James likes Rachel well enough, but he is most interested in Carly. Carly didn't pay James much attention for many months--until he started walking. I guess he became a peer at that point, and she suddenly fell in love. He thinks she's so funny, and he knows exactly how to push her buttons and make her squawk, and he does it ALL day long.
• He's lovey, and he offers a forehead-bump and a coo to anything with a cute face (stuffed animal, doll, Carly). Sometimes he offers these sweet exchanges to me and to others, and I cherish those sweet little moments.
• He's not much into snuggling now that he's a big one-year-old. I used to rock him every night, but now he just squirms and fusses when I try, until I finally just toss him in his crib and bid him farewell. He goes to sleep without a hitch, thankfully, and he sleeps quite well all night.
• He takes two naps...er...sorta. He WAS taking two great naps, but for the last month (and I've been in denial about the trend, but anyway), he has had more one-nap days than two-nap days. I don't know what he's thinking, but he plays/sings/yells through one of his naps at least 3-4 days EVERY week now. HOW could he POSSIBLY be even THINKING of dropping a nap. I won't have it. :)
• He also seems to be disinterested in nursing, which is earlier than either of the girls. Sad.

That's all I can think of for now. This boy sure does make our days more fun, and I can't wait to see the man he turns out to be. In the meantime, I'll keep babying my baby boy!

breakfast chatter

At the breakfast table this morning with Rachel (5yo) and Carly (2.5yo)...

• Mommy: The Bible says we should do everything "as unto the Lord." How can we do that?

• Rachel: Praise God!

• Mommy: How can we praise God in everything we do?

• Rachel: Pray and read the Bible.

• Mommy: How about when we do other things? How do you play when you play with your sister?

• Rachel: Be kind!

• Mommy: YES! That's one way we can do everything "as unto the Lord." When we are kind to each other, God feels that we love Him, and we always want God to feel that we love Him, right?

• Rachel: But we can't always be kind. We can't always make good choices.

• Mommy: Why not?

• Rachel: Well, because, we always sin just a little bit. I can't always make good choices.

• Mommy: That's true! But we can always try, can't we.

• Carly: But someone taked away our bad choices. Someone did.

• Mommy: Yeah? Who did?

• Carly: Jesus did.

• Mommy: And how did He do that?

• Carly: He died on the cross.

• Mommy: Yes He did! And He rose from the dead so that we can have eternal life!

Thank you, God, for these precious children and their sweet faith. Thank you for the simplicity of your Gospel--that my children can know it and understand it. I pray that they own it and know that it was for THEM that you sent your Son--that you, Jesus, died for Rachel and for Carly and for James. What good news!!

oh the wonder of my wandering and wondering mind

I am 30 years old. I've birthed 3 babies in the last five years. The clothes that I keep shrinking back into are out of style now, and too young for me anyway. And I can't imagine a day when I will ever be alone and not preoccupied with the whereabouts and goings-on of my family. Life is different.

I catch myself thinking that my best days are behind me--that my window of opportunity to do the fun things in life is gone. I have been realizing lately that there is a list of things I long to do. I miss playing team sports: basketball and soccer. I wish I had had the opportunity to roller derby when I was freer to do that kind of thing. I want to go to an open mic and play my guitar and sing my heart out; I didn't do it enough when I had the chance, and I want to get better at it, too. I wish I had learned to dance.

But there's a duality here. I miss those things and I want to do them. On the other hand, I know full well that if I step onto a soccer field tomorrow, it would not be fun--at least not the fun I remember it being. I know that I could not compete well enough in basketball to make myself happy. I know that roller derby would ache my aging body. And I could go to open mic, but my mind would be racing with all the things being neglected at home, not to mention the fact that I had not had time to practice my singing/playing, which would also render it not-as-fun. And I just feel too old to learn to dance.

How did I get here?? Maybe it's true--that my best days are behind me. Or maybe I am moving to a new stage of life. Hmmm... Maybe I should be finding new things from which to derive pleasure and enjoyment. Is it sewing? Maybe sewing is my new fun-thing-to-do. It's just not the same, though. I like it, but it's just not the same.

My firstborn, Rachel, just turned 5 years old. I've never wished her to be involved in any organized sports or activities until recently. She suddenly seems old enough--ready. Where should we go with this? Tae Kwon Do would teach her self control and spacial awareness, which she definitely needs. So would dance or gymnastics. She would love a team sport, because she's so social. I look online for dance studios nearby, and I find one that seems great. Even greater, is that they have a horrible website, so I begin thinking that Jarrad might possibly be able to work out a barter with them so it's not so expensive. There are some youtube videos on their site, and WOW there are some dancers doing some amazing things! They look so athletic and precise. I watch the same video several times, and show Jarrad.

The images from that video stay in my mind, and as I daydream in the following days, I suddenly realize that I'm not wishing I could do that. I'm not imagining myself in that studio, learning choreography and excelling as a dancer. My daydream is not of myself, but of Rachel.

And then it hits me like a gust of wind that takes my breath away: my new fun-thing-to-do is to watch my children grow, learn, mature, achieve, and excel. My new best enjoyment is their enjoyment. I will henceforth be most delighted when they are delighted.

I can see now that my best days are ahead. And as my fun will be their fun, I anticipate that my heartbreak will come when their hearts break. My saddest moments will be when they are sad and I can't fix it.

And so I stay tuned for a richness of life I have not yet experienced. I imagine that the happiness and pleasure and enjoyment that I experienced in my youth might pale in comparison to the happiness and pleasure and enjoyment I derive from my children's experiences. I know I have already learned so much more from these little ones than I could possibly have learned as a student--even when I was at the pinnacle of my formal education. All of those lessons now have flesh, and they teach me and re-teach me every single day.

I'm a mommy now. And suddenly I feel freer than ever to embrace my new(er) role in life. Thank you, Jesus. My freedom is in you, and you alone. I know my selfish pursuits will leave me empty. Thank you for giving me new joy every day. Thank you for the reminder that I am not made to live forever or to be stuck in the same place forever. Thank you God for your promise to make me whole again--the perfect version of me--when you redeem me to glory one day, to sit with you and to sing praises to Jesus forevermore. Amen.

i like my kids part deux

I have thought many many times over the last few months about how much I'm missing out on recording memories. Right now, the kids are all sound asleep, the hubs, who is usually burning the midnight oil doing work, is also sound asleep, and I have the quiet house. So here goes:

Rachel. This girl drives me nuts, no doubt. From the time she was a tiny little thing, she has been so intense. As soon as she figured out the whole language thing, she was talking. Nonstop. But I don't need to recount that, because I used to write a blog post every. single. day. But, hey, that's how it is with the first, right?!? Anyway, I was entirely hopeful that she would snap into some reasonable level of maturity when she turned four, but this last year has had its own trying times. But by and by, I see glimpses of that big girl I've been hoping for. She's definitely not a baby anymore, and we've had to cross bridges of unchartered waters this year--like explaining that she can't be lovey dovey with every man she meets (only family, please), and that it's just not cute when she fake laughs or acts wild around new people. Seems like common sense stuff, but I suppose we were taught it once, too (thanks, mom and dad...seriously). She's growing up. But wasn't she just a baby??

There are two things about Rachel that I am fascinated to watch and encourage. One thing is that she loves--and I mean LOVES--to do things with her hands. If it's a craft, she's all over it. Glue, scissors, stamps, stickers, markers, paint, fabric, beads--these things are not safe if she's around. A few weeks ago, Jarrad gave me flowers (I know--sweet, right?). I cut them down a bit and pulled off some of the leaves so they would look nice in my vase. Before I had a chance to clean up after myself, Rachel had created a picture for each kid in her preschool class using those discarded items. She glued one leaf and one stem to each piece of paper, colored a little, and wrote her friends' names. She was sure to take them to school the next day and handed them out so proudly.

And that brings me to the second fascinating-thing-about-Rachel. The girl loves loves loves giving gifts. Oddly, "gifts" is one of my love languages, which is quite handy (they say you speak your own language easiest, so I assume that the fact that Rachel loves to give gifts reflects that that's how she also feels loved). Last week, she came into my room one morning before school, and she asked if she could please give each of her friends an animal. Bear in mind that Rachel loves her stuffed animals and dolls. She plays with them more than any other type of toy. But I will be the first to admit that sometimes I feel like the stuffed animals might attempt a coup d'etat and completely take over, and so I did not object to her idea. I had no hand in the process whatsoever (I had my hand in other daily preparations), and she took it upon herself to find a bag and loaded up ten of her favorites. I was aghast at which ones she chose, and [sadly] I had to repress the urge to talk her out of some of them (why would I do that?? but I was still oddly bothered that she wanted to get rid of some of those animals that she loves so much). I reasoned in my head, though, that our friends and family who have gifted her with so many lovely toys and animals do so because they think those things will bring her joy, and, well, if they will bring her joy by giving them away, then I most certainly should not stand in her way, and I most certainly should encourage her. Do not hold onto things of this world, Child. And so she happily took all of the animals to school and handed them out, one-by-one, each child receiving the particular animal Rachel picked out for him/her. She was so happy. "Do you know why I want to do that, Mommy? Because I love people." She really said that. And I was so proud and thankful. And it's so odd, too, because she really has trouble (like any kid) sharing her toys when friends come over, or even especially with her sister. I guess that's different, somehow.

I really can't wait to see how these things grow with Rachel. Will she always love to craft? Will giving always come so naturally to her, or will she become jaded? Maybe we were all like that once, who knows?

Well, that's Rachel. I think I'll end here and join the rest of my family's snooze time. The next chance I have to sit and ramble, I'll spill all about Carly--the sweet-faced one. That little girl definitely keeps me on my toes..

i like my kids

I mean, ain't they cute?? :)

from the other night

Carly (holding a toy stethoscope to my heart): I'm gon check you email, Mommy.

Mommy: um...okay...

Carly (listening intently in the apparatus): You got chocolate milk, orrrr oatmeal?

Mommy: I...uh...well...oatmeal?

Carly (pretending to use the end of the stethoscope as a spoon and scooping imaginary oatmeal): Here you go, Mommy.

Mommy: I am so confused.

death and a caricature [Osama Bin Laden]

the man is dead
caricature that he was
distorted version of creation

justice has won
historical murder
let the parades begin

questions of sadness
a human being slain
from life to death--done

the man is dead
vanity to party
vanity to grieve

you cannot kill a caricature.

thoughts on the Resurrection

I woke up today, excited. Today is EASTER. It is the best day of the year. I felt a big sense of accomplishment and relief. The anticipation of this day has been building, and here it is.

These have been my feelings for the past couple of years at Easter. It has gradually become a realization that today, Resurrection Sunday, is by far the biggest reason to celebrate--my only reason for joy. I know, Christmas is big--I mean, it's Jesus's birthday and all. But today--TODAY--we celebrate that He yet LIVES!

You know that feeling you get after a big exam that you've studied for and anticipated? That feeling that you are FREE? That's how I felt today. Jesus's life built up to THIS day. His 3 1/2 years of ministry was for THIS.

He worked hard. He did not rest. He taught deep spiritual Truths. He loved the unloveable. He toiled, and He sweated. He shifted the paradigm. He was hated. He was spat upon. He was mocked, tortured, beaten, stabbed, and rioted against. He was HATED. He was killed. He was forsaken. He was innocent.

But three days later--TODAY [as we celebrate it]--today, he lives. Today His tomb was empty. Today darkness and sin and evil and death were defeated once and for all. ONCE AND FOR ALL.

This was the end that began the HOPE that lives because of Christ. Because Christ Himself LIVES.

"Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him, all creatures here below.
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen."

carly kaboom

I couldn't NOT record this conversation with my {ahem} stinker of a 2-year-old, Carly...

Backstory: Historically, we have never allowed the children to take things with them into their class at church--no toys, no blankies, no lovies--nothing. And they have really handled that just fine. Neither of the girls have ever been attached to any particular thing, so I that certainly helps. However, a few weeks ago, Carly's teacher hunted me down and asked for Carly's "ducky," the one she was begging for over and over and saying was in her mommy's bag. So I relented. "After all," her teacher (who happens to be a dear friend of mine) reasoned, "a lot of the kids bring their lovies in, and she was seeing them all with their things..." Her teachers told me that she never set Ducky down even once, and, sure enough, he was wholly intact and in her grip when I picked her up. Since then (it's been a few weeks), I have allowed her to take something with her every Sunday, provided that her something is a small something.

So this morning, as we were all getting ourselves ready for church, she was on the hunt. "I'm looking for something wittle," she said. She decided on several options, but her favorite choice was a [large] pink doggy/lovey blanket. Half-engaged in her decision-making process, and half-focused on my own preparations, I reminded her that she needed something little. I believe I remarked several times, "No, honey, he's not little," as she repeatedly requested to take the dog.

Continuing in my own tasks, I didn't pay much attention to her. I was only half-listening [again] a few minutes later, when she said about her dog, "Mommy, I want to name him 'Little.'"

"Oh, good, honey. That's a good name for a dog," I mumbled.

"Mommy?" she said.

"Yes Carly?"

"I wanna take him to chuuurch."

"No honey," I sighed, "remember, he's not lii..." :|

She got me. She got me good. She just looked at me and blinked those big blue eyes, as if to say, "Was there something you wanted to say, Mommy?" I grinned to myself but tried not to let her see, and I ignored the conversation. That stinker knew what I was saying, and I need not say it again.

Is it foolish for me to hope she won't get any more clever than this?

Valentine's day

I haven't seen fit to post on here since November--until today. Apparently, I have strong feelings about this day.

Valentine's Day. I know there are significant lessons to be learned if we take the time to look at the history of this day, and of St. Valentine, etc etc etc, blahblahblah. But really, I think this day in our culture is just fun. FOR THE KIDS. I love Valentine's Day because we encourage our children to show a little love and appreciation for their peers by giving them a VERY small gift. We ask them to think about their friends and what will delight their friends. And I love that.

Rachel is finally to the age where Valentine's Day is fun. She's in preschool, with eight classmates. I had so much fun helping her make customized, homemade valentines for each of her little friends. We bought little buttons instead of candy, and Rachel thought through each child, and which button each child would like best, and then she used colors she thought that child would like to decorate his/her valentine. Very special.

And I love hearts, and the idea that pink and red and white MATCH for a day. I had a lot of fun making some little Valentine-inspired clothes for the girlies, and just generally anticipated this day for the pure fun of it.

ON THE OTHER HAND, Jarrad and I celebrated Valentine's Day only once in our own 12-year history, and it was when we had been dating a mere four months. It was fun, but we swore it off the following year, and every year since (after all, we reason, there are PLENTY of other gift-giving opportunities in the year without adding this one). Don't get me wrong--I appreciate romance. Just give me romance on some day when Hallmark is least suggesting it. But I do enjoy half-price chocolate day, which falls on February 15th! I'll take a day-old Valentine's box o' chocolates anytime!

2 years. 2 months.

It has been awhile, oh Blog o' mine. Many moments since July 31 have warranted a post--some marker to later remind myself of these days, but I just haven't done it.

But today is special (not that every other day isn't). Today is my middle child's 2nd birthday. She's beautiful. She has crystal blue eyes and hair that is growing these sweet little baby curls in the back. Some days I want to just freeze time. She's affectionate and snuggly, and very very opinionated. Over the last couple of weeks, she has most certainly reinforced the "Terrible Two's" reputation--temper tantrums that can only be left alone, a ready "NO" regardless of the question, and a general contrary spirit that is immensely frustrating to all of us. But she's so cute.

The girl talks. A LOT. She's anxious to communicate, and you can almost hear how hard she works to put words together into the complex sentences she's surprisingly able to construct. "Mommy...I want...go...Rachel's room...Rachel...say...noooooo," in her tiny little voice, with her most serious expression, wagging her finger and nodding her head all the way. It's cute. She repeats Rachel without letting her even complete her own sentences sometimes (Rachel says, "Carly! Don't coffee me!").

We tried to move her to Rachel's room a few nights ago. It didn't go well. At all. We even pushed the beds together so it would be like she's sleeping WITH her sister, but to no avail. I was anxious, because we need the nursery for my growing fat baby boy, but we will just have to figure out something else for now.

AND speaking of my fat baby, I never have posted about him! Yesterday was his 2-month birthday! I can't believe he's that old, but at the same time, I can't believe he's that young! The kid was 9 lbs 5 oz at birth, and he has not slowed down at all. He's so much bigger than the girls were at this age that I forget how young he really is (I find myself picking him up like he's a 4-month-old and then remembering that he's not quite so steady yet). He's a cute one, too. I think he looks a lot like Carly did, but I can see Rachel in him often, too. It will be fun to watch him grow and to see who he resembles most. Of course, like the other two, it seems he will have blue eyes like their father. But I'm in love with those blue eyes, so I consider it a good thing.

Labor and delivery were not so different this time. I thought he would come a little faster, but he didn't (of course), and, as providence would have it, he was born in the 8:00pm hour, just like my other two. Weird. He was 9 days late--9 extra days of a pregnancy that could not have been slower.

I struggled emotionally after Carly was born. For the entire first year I struggled. But I feel great this time. I can attribute that to many things. For one, I am in a better place spiritually than I have ever been. When Carly was born, I was at a low. I struggled with bitterness and resentment toward my husband, and it took that year for the Lord to reveal truths to me that ultimately humbled me and allowed me to experience real love--from God and from my husband. Secondly, my little fat baby is SUCH A GOOD SLEEPER. I think getting adequate (or anywhere close to adequate) sleep makes a really really big difference in my (anyone's?) psychological health. Carly nursed all night long (almost) for her entire first year (almost). Once I put her down at night, I never knew when or how often she'd be up again. But James (did I say we named him James?) has been a sleeper from the beginning, and already he has a lovely routine of taking a good, hard, solid 3-hour nap every single afternoon, and going to bed (sleeping HARD) sometime during the 7:00pm hour, not waking again until 2:00am at the earliest. Even if he wakes up for some reason, he has no interest in nursing, so I'm totally off the hook. Neither of my girls have been this way. Rachel was a great night sleeper, but not daytime. Carly slept just okay during the day, and terrible at night. James...I prayed for you, dear sir--that you would just SLEEP. Praise the Lord!

And finally, I think the biggest reason I feel great is because I felt so HORRIBLE during this last pregnancy! Almost from the day I found out I was pregnant, I felt awful. I didn't have morning sickness, thankfully (and I know some of you probably stopped reading right there because of how unfair that is), but this boy killed my back. I had sciatic nerve pain the whole time (to the point that walking reduced me to tears at times), and by the end, I thought my pelvis would shatter and my hips would be permanently dislocated. I felt completely debilitated to do the simplest chores around the house. I didn't cook dinner. I never cleaned. It's a wonder my family survived. Of course, my husband was the hero--I think he barely survived.

I cannot capture all of the joyous details I've skipped over the last 3 months, but I can definitely say that, while I am a tired mommy, I am blissfully tired. This has always been my dream--to be a mommy. I work hard. I have learned to be more organized and more productive. I feel accomplished to accomplish what would seem so simple, were I not juggling three little kids along the way.

And while my kids make me crazy most of the time, I try to realize how quickly time passes, and how I will long to return here, if only for a day, when my kids are grown, and I try to cherish the everyday moments and freeze them, if only in my mind's eye.

countdown

Well, it's official: I've been pregnant for a really long time. This pregnancy has seemed to last forever. I wanted to get my thoughts out about all of it before Baby Boy gets here, lest I forget (isn't it weird how soon we forget?...definitely a God thing--why else would I ever do this again??).

Almost since Day One of this pregnancy, I've had terrible back pain. Baby has bothered my sciatic nerve the entire time, and I have required a lot of help from friends and family (some times more than others, and completely unpredictable from one day to the next). My sweet husband has been more than willing to help around the house, and I'm so grateful to have several family members (including grandparents!) closeby and available, too. All-in-all, it has been a humbling nine months for me.

My sweet girls have grown up during this time, too. It is incredible to watch the rapid change that happens in a kid between her first birthday and her second. Carly will be two at the beginning of November, and, as much as she delights my heart, she is definitely coming into her own. Her big sister is an incredibly intense, persistent, and perceptive child, but Carly has made it clear that she is able to--and will certainly grow into her ability to--match wits with Rachel. I often hear friends remark on how different their children are from each other, but I am here to tell you that I have a set of identicals on my hands. There are differences, of course, and I think Carly would be a bit calmer than Rachel if she weren't trying to keep up with her sissy. Carly is much snugglier than Rachel ever has been. Rachel is very physical, but not snuggly. And Carly is a Mama's Girl, whereas Rachel has always always been a Daddy's girl--a few nights ago, at bedtime, she said to me, "it's just...it's just...it's just that I love Daddy just a little bit more than you" (and besides that, she looks and expresses herself JUST LIKE HIM). As much as they have grown to be so similar, Carly at least resembled me a bit more in the beginning. But, as with her little personality, her little face has morphed into one that very strongly resembles that of her big sister, and there is no longer any question that the two are closely related.

Rachel was a late talker, but once she got started, she has not stopped talking. She asks questions incessantly, and seems to feel the need to know every detail of every goings-on around her. With her non-stop talking, Carly speech and language have been incredibly accelerated (at least compared to Rachel's). At 20 months, she is readily putting words together into complete thoughts and having full conversations with us (albeit, simplistic and repetitive ones).

And one of my favorite things right now is listening to Rachel and Carly converse. The two are definitely getting to a fun stage where they entertain each other, and I get to listen to cackles and squeals from the two of them as they play (along with regular intervals of fusses and whines). But Rachel enjoys banter, so she is always prodding Carly with ridiculous conversation. Here's an example...

• Rachel: Mommy, I'm hungry. Can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?
• Mommy: Yes, it's lunch time, we can do that.
• Carly: Mommy, I hungy! Peanut butter!!!
• Rachel: Carly, I'm hungry too, can I be hungry too?
• Carly: NOOOOO!
• Rachel: Carly, can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich too?
• Carly: NOOOO! NO! NO! Mommy, peanut butter!
• Rachel: Carly, I want one, Mommy can I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Mommy?
• Mommy: Yes, Honey, I've already said you can.
• Rachel (whiny voice): Carly says I can't.
• Mommy: (sigh)

It's funny to recount, but, as it happens many times a day, it can become rather wearing.

Rachel turned four in June, and she's grown in many ways. I had been holding out for four, hoping she would settle down some (as promised by some friends with spirited children). Her birthday came and went without much change. Just as we were rounding the corner to July, though, it happened. I still would describe her as "spirited," but she seems significantly more malleable now. She is more willing to hear us out and to concede to our authority over her. She is easier to discipline (I was at my wits end with disciplining her because she did not respond well to anything we tried--it was all like a game to her) and [usually] seems genuinely humbled when she makes a bad choice that leads to action from us. She is also displaying more discernment, which is a relief, and I don't feel the need to keep my eyes on her at every second for fear of where her impulses will lead. It is a nice change to send her upstairs with her friends to play by themselves, or to let her swim around the shallow end with her floaties and not worry that she'll slip out of the pool and run to the other end. I long for a fence around our backyard so I can send her out to play there! Although, she does not usually choose to be alone, so I'm not sure she would go out by herself anyway...my little extrovert.

And as Rachel rounded the corner to 4-year-old maturity, Carly passed her by, rounding the corner in the other direction. Almost on cue, she became contrary and determined, easily-frustrated and not easily-convinced when it comes to doing anything that isn't her idea. It's all so familiar that it's eerie. She's still cute, with all her baby pudgy, those piercing blue eyes, her funny little antics and the way she talks. But because she is so similar to Rachel, I know where it leads, and it makes me nervous and almost dreading her third year (she's not even two, and I'm dreading her third year...how unreasonable is that?). I am hoping that, having come out on the other side with Rachel, I will be able to have a better outlook the second time around. I am also praying to enjoy this sweet season with her now, before the storm really hits, and that God will give me wisdom to handle it better when it comes.

And Baby Boy. We cannot wait to meet you. We cannot imagine how our lives will change. I have tried to imagine snuggling up with a baby boy (all my friends say boys are the cuddliest and that they do so love their mommies), but it's hard to envision it being the same with a boy. Baby girls are little, sweet flowers--delicate and feminine and dainty. It is just difficult for me to anticipate what having a boy will be like. I'm intrigued and excited to have a new experience on our third time around. I'm also extremely curious about how different this child might be. The first two sure look like their daddy. This one might look like me. My labors were identical with Rachel and Carly (17-hour labor, 30-45 minutes pushing, both born around 8:30pm, perfectly healthy, both weighing 7lbs 12oz, no meds), and neither were earlier than predicted (in fact, Carly was seven days LATE). This one might really surprise us and come early, and he might come fast, or we might need interventions we've never had to have before. Who knows?? It would be very surprising if it all happened the same a THIRD time, so I'm expecting the unexpected, knowing all the while that I cannot prepare because I just don't know (neither from experience nor from my imagination) what will be.

So, looking at my ticker, I am at 36 weeks and 3 days today. The house is a wreck--there's so much that needs to be done before Baby makes his debut. We need to settle on a name. As long as this pregnancy has seemed, this date has surely crept up on me. But I remain fairly relaxed. I guess I feel as prepared as I'll ever be and as unprepared as I've ever been.

a race-y post

I can honestly say that I am a prejudiced person (and I hate it about myself). I can honestly say that I believe everyone is (because we are all so incredibly flawed). But I can honestly say that I have never ever ever been racist. I seek to love all people as Christ loves all people--equally and with a servant's heart. I can honestly say that I fail at this regularly, as my heart often chooses to believe lies instead of Truth.

I have been so very bothered about the video included in this CNN article.

Bear with me, here, but...where is the control group? To what are we comparing these children's answers? All I see here is a study on color. Not skin color, mind you, but color. The child in this video, as admitted by her mother, has not been exposed to much ethnic diversity in her short life. She probably has, however, watched hours upon hours of Disney princess movies and the like, wherein darkness is always, always associated with evil. What conclusion must she draw?

This study is reality. People with dark skin have a plight, and this is it: since the beginning of history, obscurity is bad and light is good. If the study had shown children pictures of identical children wearing dark clothing versus light clothing, I venture to guess the results would be the same.

There are also emotions associated with every color of the rainbow (anyone who has taken a marketing class has been taught this basic idea). Yellow is happy and blue is calm. Perhaps CNN should do a study showing identical children with skin tones or clothing of every color, and asked the questions, "Which is the happy child?" and "Which is the calm child?" I imagine the results would largely reflect how each child's mood affected by the colors represented.

I think I am most bothered because this little girl is Rachel. She's fair and innocent, about the same age, and having lived in a sort of protected bubble so far in her sweet little life. I felt preyed upon by CNN. This mother--presumably intentionally chosen for the interview because of her blond hair and southern accent--was upset to the point of tears, and then badgered (in my opinion) about her daughter having a "healthy ego." She was put on the spot and made to feel as if her child is racist--race being a subject that has probably never even occurred to the child.

I can't quite get my bearings on what point CNN is trying to make through this study. In the article, it seems as if black families talk with their children about race--because they have to. Their children automatically face obstacles that white and fair children do not--the darker their skin, the bigger and more frequent the obstacles. How can white people help? I think we must give our children opportunities to interact with people of other ethnicities. We must find ways to build relationships and to love them and serve them as equals and superiors. I truly don't think just talking about it will remedy much, because everyone has a fear of the unknown. We can talk ourselves until we are blue in the face (ha!), but until our children know through experience that it's okay, they will fear other races.

Practically, this can be challenging. Most of us live and work and play and socialize with people who are like us. And that's understandable. I think minorities do the same thing. It's comfortable. It's easy. The plight of dark-skinned people will never be reversed, in my opinion. But those of us who don't experience it can surely do something to remedy the problem, to aid in their course, to help them overcome--obstacles and fears of their own--and to display love and compassion, understanding and empathy. These are people, who live with a sort of inborn oppression that I can never understand. I simply pray that I don't add to it, and that, most of all, they see a glimpse of the character of Jesus in me, so that they will be drawn to a Savior who cares and understands and wants to carry their burdens for them, and who ultimately died for each and every person: "...and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation" (Revelation 5:9). Praise and glory to the One who is the very embodiment of unconditional, unwavering LOVE.

she's eighteen...months

Oh, sweet Carly. I have so much updating to do on her growth and goings-on. She adores her big sister, and she's learned to push Rachel's buttons, too. She's opinionated and full of personality. Life is so much more fun with her around.

Last Monday, I started her in big girl undies. ...well, to her, they are big girl undies. They are really the teeny tiny padded Gerber training undies, but they are definitely not diapers, which is the key. My plan was to wait until the weather got warm enough, and then let her run around in undies and a tee for a few days until she figured things out. Thankfully, I don't have to worry one iota about poopy, because she hasn't done that in her pants in MONTHS...I honestly cannot remember the last poopy diaper I had to change. So, I've waited on the peepee. I started Rachel in undies much earlier, and it resulted in much frustration. Looking back on our EC experience with her, it was just a silly mistake on my part--I needed to be comfortable waiting until the child could clearly communicate her needs. With Rachel, I was left guessing (does that mean potty? does she need to go? is she going to go in her pants??). Carly can say everything that needs to be said, and clearly has a grasp of all of it: potty, diaper, undies, dry, wet...she gets it.

So last Monday and Tuesday were full of puddles. She did immediately start telling me when she had wet (she was always so concerned with "peepee...floor"). By Wednesday, we could have let ourselves become quite frustrated, but, I held onto hope that she'd get better. By the weekend, she was making it to the potty much more often, and yesterday, we were accident-free! AND, the best part is that we aren't having to prompt her at all--I think that is key to knowing she understands (I remember constantly asking Rachel, mostly out of fear that I would miss her cues). She even woke up Monday morning, calling "potty, potty, potty" and her diaper was DRY! That hasn't happened again, although her morning daipers have been significantly less soggy. I'm certainly okay with that taking a little longer (Rachel was almost 2 1/2 before she stayed dry at night).

At any rate, it appears we're pretty well there--with a potty-trained baby turning 18 months old yesterday. And I could not be more pleased with our journey this time around. We started on Day 1 with EC (Elimination Communication) this time. It sounds like a long time to work on something, but it has become a lifestyle around here. Was it worth it, knowing that I might could have gone this route (that is, potty training by way of training pants in 2 weeks or less) even without all the preliminary pottying that happened over the last 18 months? YES. A thousand times--YES. I cannot ignore the fact that she has always pooped in the potty as the rule, not the exception, and began doing so consistently around 7 months (whenever solid poop showed up and she began sitting up). No, she didn't tell me, and yes, I changed many poopy diapers too. But what mommy wouldn't give up a little extra effort to have to deal with LESS poopy?? By about 10 months, I probably only had to change one poopy diaper a week (give or take), and by 12 months, hardly ever. For THAT, and that alone, it's worth it to me. And I can't help but think that our week-in-undies has been made easier by EC.

Other things I love about Carly:

• She loves hugs, and, although she's on-the-move all day, she regularly checks in for a good snuggle.
• She also loves to snuggle with stuffed animals, and, anytime she snuggles, she says, "awwwwww" when she hugs one of her little friends, or one of us. It's very cute.
• When she's having fun, she says, "BEEEEEEEE" instead of "weeeeee!"
• She says "peeba" for "pizza" (which she loves).
• When she nods affirmatively, her entire torso nods enthusiastically.
• She LOVES to communicate, and gets so very excited when we understand her. She has lots of words, and sometimes will rattle them off, just to hear herself be understood ("knee...knee...knee..." "Yes, Carly, that IS your knee." ).
• She's very ambitious, and is into climbing, jumping, and running. She is expressive when she falls ("woah!" she squeals).
• She thinks Rachel is funny, and she seeks her big sissy's approval. She also knows how to get a rise out of Rachel, which is funny to watch, but it quickly creating points of contention throughout the day. Rachel's a tough cookie, but it appears that Carly will be giving her a run for her money. I love that.
• She is the easiest to laugh. Just a tone in my voice or a sideways glance can get a giggle out of her. And she has the best giggle I've ever heard; it's impossible not to smile or laugh along with her.

There are so many things, every day. I can't count how many times I whisper under my breath, You are so stinkin' cute.. The twinkly in those clear blue eyes, and those squishy chubby, thighs and the little curls that are growing in the back of her hair...her random assortment of teeth, the way she'll crawl or scoot on her bottom just to be funny, the way she's beginning to pretend and form her own opinions. I think we'll keep her.

lackluster

At my doctor's appointment yesterday (feeling pretty rough):

• OB: How are you feeling?
• Me (hoping for sympathy): Okay, but I had a terrible stomach virus over the weekend.
• OB (totally monotone, not looking up from chart): Mmm, but it ran its course?
• Me: Well...yeah...
• OB (still looking at chart): I see you were able to maintain your weight gain.
• Me: Yeah...

YES, I've been sickly. Last week, Carly got it--a 24-hour stomach thing. She threw up all night last Thursday, and she's still recovering. Saturday afternoon, just when I thought we were all in the clear, I came down with it. Thankfully, some friends were coming over, and they were just in time to entertain the girls while I lay down and tried to decide if it was all in my head, or if I was really sliding that fast. Sure enough, before the afternoon was out, I had handed my oldest daughter off, not caring what she'd be up to, I was praying that the littlest one would take a long nap (which she graciously did), and I was hunched over in the bathroom with the worst stomach virus I ever, ever, remember having. Of course, I'm sure being pregnant only magnified the effect. Hmph.

On the up side, the whole situation has made me so grateful. Grateful for my husband. He took such good care of Carly when she was sick (his mildly-paranoid nature leads him to be extra caring when our babies have sickness or injury or...anything). And when I was sick, my dear, wonderful husband was at my bedside, while at the same time juggling our ever-dependent children--feeding them, entertaining them, washing dishes, giving baths, vacuuming, calling on friends to pick up my medication (wonderful, good medication)...everything. He's the best.

And grateful for my health. Over the last three months, my health has been up and down. This pregnancy is kind of taking its toll on me. I've had terrible sciatica pain. It started early, and I didn't recognize what it was for weeks. It sloooooowly and gradually got worse, until standing to walk sometimes brought me to tears.

In the meantime, I was an emotional wreck. I casually mentioned the problem to my midwife, who casually suggested a chiropractor. I casually made an appointment, not really confident it would work (and not really confident I had a problem worthy of that sort of attention). For about two weeks leading up to the appointment, I was in tears, crying hysterically over nothing situations on a daily basis. I felt out of control, worthless, and...dramatic, anyone??

Finally, I went to the chiropractor--several times. And it helped--a lot. And, almost immediately, my perspective and my outlook did a 180. I did not realize how much my physical state was affecting my psyche, but it clearly was.

Which brings me to my point--so so many people live in constant pain. Some of you might be reading this right now. I don't know how you do it, but my heart hurts for you. I have no other words, because I have no idea what life is like for you.

Last night, I mustered up the strength to clean the kitchen for the first time in 4 days. Jarrad actually mentioned to me later that he felt he should have done that for me. I couldn't accept that, though. I was feeling so blessed just to be able to do it myself. When did I stop believing it was a blessing to have the capability to do things for myself?

So I'm thanking God for His little reminders of His blessings--the ones I miss every single day.

Easter dresses

I've missed out on posting a lot of fun stuff on here, but I wanted to at least make a point to post the dresses I made for the girls to wear on Easter Sunday. I actually went to JoAnn fabric store and BOUGHT brand new fabric for these. I intended to also buy patterns, thinking perhaps I could learn something if I tried to follow a pattern. However, patterns that involve anything complex are ridiculously expensive, and I just couldn't do it. So, after perusing my favorite blogs and googling everything I could think of, I made these dresses, using several brand new techniques...and, hey, I did learn a few things (or a LOT) by the end!

tutorials that inspired me:

• made - shirt dress
• indietutes - yoke assembly
• make it and love it - bubble skirt
• made by lex - bubble dress

fun fun funny fun

I made birthday presents, and a couple of bonuses for my girls!

After reading a few tutorials, I did a reverse applique for the initials: I pinned the contrasting fabric behind the front of the shirt, and a letter stencil (hand-drawn, thankyouverymuch) to the front, sewed around (but not on) the letter, then cut inside to expose the contrasting fabric. After washing, the edges look nicely ragged. I LOOOOOVE it, and it was really fast and easy. The best part is that I started with clearance shirts from Old Navy...$1.74! You can't beat personalized birthday presents for $1.74. The 'L' is for Lyssette, who also received a cutie tutu, and Brighton got a pair of pants made from the sleeves of a sweatshirt that never fit me quite right.

But the following is my fav-fav-favorite. I started with a hot pink shirt (like Carly's 'C') but I didn't want to do a grey E for my girly little niece Emma. SO, after much thought and consideration, I decided to use a fuzzy black velour-type fabric for her E. I had already finished all the other shirts...this was the last one...and I messed it up. On the final stretch of the 'E,' the whole thing got caught in my machine and ripped a hole in the shirt. When surveying the damage, I noticed that the whole thing turned out wonky (that velour has a lot of stretch...hmph). So back to Old Navy I went, not hopeful at finding another shirt, since they were mega-clearance to begin with. But what I found opened the door to a beautiful little outfit of which I am proudest, to date. I used the back of the messed-up pink shirt as my contrasting fabric. Then, I noticed that a skirt I've had in my stash for awhile, waiting to be repurposed, was the perfect shade of over-dyed denim to create a little matching skirt for baby Emma. I hacked it up and considered how to create it, when the faux wrap presented itself as an option. Serging the edges with contrasting-but-coordinating thread gave it that unfinished-finished feel, but it still seemed incomplete. And so I embarked on my first-ever embellishment, which fringed nicely in the wash. Still not satisfied, I decided to attempt leggings for the first time ever, as well. The sleeves of the pink shirt were perfect for a 3/4 length style, but I did have to piece together scraps from another pink shirt to have enough for the leggings...I'm super happy with the cuteness of the extra stripes on the bum. I sewed it all together to make one-piece, so the skirt stays rightly-oriented on our wiggly sweetie, and, VOILA! hands down, my favorite project yet!