Friday we had to take the car in for a little check up (meaning the novelty of the clunking grating sound in the back when we turned was wearing off) and on the way back we heard this song. I was loving it. We rolled down the windows and I told G that it was our song of the day (I always like to have a theme song for anytime we go anywhere or do anything, it makes every event much more official, especially thrilling things like getting the car fixed). I told G that Colorado was going to be a better life and he said that our life depended on what we do not where we go (of course he said something like that) but agreed that maybe we could change the lyrics to a "better place"since he's super excited about Colorado too.
I love moments like that where you feel like you just get infused with a bolus of hope in your blood and you just know and feel like your life is so ridiculously blessed and that things are going to get even better.
"Daily hope is vital, since the "Winter Quarters" of our lives are not immediately adjacent to our promised land... Those with true hope often see their personal circumstances shaken, like kaleidoscopes, again and again. Yet with the "eye of faith," they still see divine pattern and purpose."
--Neal A. Maxwell, "Brightness of Hope", Ensign, Nov. 1994
This is not just any ordinary box you're looking at. This is a moving box. Why? Because we are moving. Soon. We be permanently resigning our West Virginia citizenship in less than a week and I am so excited. I'm trying to think of things that are a bigger hassle than moving and I can come up with very few. Maybe having a baby while crossing the plains in the middle of a blizzard with a bonnet on or having motion sickness on the Santa Maria with Columbus but other than that, all I can come up with is moving. It is what we call tremendously inconvenient in every way. We have started the process that should have been started weeks ago.
Part of this process includes us desperately trying to hold on to our deposit by steam cleaning the carpets while watching the US Open of course.
I love the Rug Doctor. I love remembering what color our carpet is supposed to be. I love that if I was loaded I would probably hire 50 oompa loompas to come in and pack and clean this whole house because the thought causes my unorganized brain complete overwhelment to the max. I guess overwhelment is not a word because the spell checker is questioning me but overwhelment is the state of feeling completely and totally overwhelmed. If anyone wants to drive with Liv and I for 28 hours or help G drive the big bird truck or feels inclined to pack or clean....you are more than invited, right now.
Saturday night was G's night off in a long time which meant we needed a little something to commemorate. We decided to try out the driving range and we are not sorry we did.
This was no Riverwoods. We went to this big shed where a man that could easily have qualified for bingo night at the nursing home without showing any ID was waiting and thrilled to have some business. The man goes out and hand picks up all the balls for his job. I don't know if he thought G was the next Tiger Woods (minus the cheating on his wife part) or what but as soon as we got our bucket of balls, he set up his lawn chair and watched him while saying, "There ya go!" after every one.
Liv and I set up a picnic blanket with our cheese-its (PS why do they spell those with a "z"?) and soaked up some summer sun.
Liv is into using her mouth lately. I think she thought she could fit a whole golf ball in but she fell short. I hit a few and then let the master do his work with his Father's Day driver...
This is the man in action and the bag of cheese-its/cheez-its in case you were wondering. The broccoli forest behind is typical West Virginia. It really is one of the most beautiful places on Earth even though I can't wait to kiss it goodbye. I think golf is growing on me. Slowly. But growing.
Pa day. Basically a really great excuse for G to get some new golf toys and breakfast. This year I attempted "rounds and rounds" which are basically a Seibold family tradition of glorified pancakes made with fancy beaten egg whites and cooked in a spiral shape. If you can't cook rounds and rounds, you don't deserve to marry a Seibold and can never hang your head high in a Seibold kitchen. This year I decided to attempt and it turned out more like "blobs and blobs" than "rounds and rounds" but G was very gracious about my efforts. Liv loved them.
(I made sure to remove the actual rounds and rounds so that I would not have to be embarrassed prior to taking this photo)
Liv even kept her hair bow on for the special occasion except for it was so high it looked like she had flowers growing out of her head. Oh well.
There really couldn't be a better father. I know moms have the stereotype for being the most nurturing and concerned and naturally a caregiver but I am afraid that is not the case in our home. When Liv was a newborn, G wouldn't even leave her car seat out in the living room in case a spider crawled in it. G checks on Liv on a 5:1 ratio while I drool during the night and Liv never fails to shriek with delight and her legs quiver and shake the second he walks through the door each day. He instantly hits the floor the second he gets home because even though he's not as expressive and flaps his arms and shakes his legs, I think he's just as excited to see his twin too. Fathering to G isn't a side job or something he does after he's done studying or watching ESPN highlights, it's who he is and what he loves more than anything else. I think G should write a parenting book and then we could pay off our student loans.
After the dinner of his choice and a Father's day dance (thank you Everclear, "Father of Mine") it was time for all glory, laud and honor and gifts of adulation. Since G's driver was bought last month, his tokens of appreciation to open were quite meager. Liv was the most thrilled with the uptown "Axe" deodorant since the Old Spice that I bought on sale is like lighting a match in your arm pits. After the Father's day Spa, I brought in G's pillow which was cooling in the natural West Virginia breeze outside (cold pillows are one of G's favorite items)
I was just relieved that the squirrels respected G enough on his big day not to poop on his pillow....
Liv has a new love. It's what we call the timeless summer classic...popsicles. Whoever invented them was a summer genius.I visualized me holding it and her gingerly licking it like a timid deer. False. What happened is that as soon as she grasped the popsicle, she was in love. Complete love. If only I could appreciate food as much Liv appreciates popsicles.
The stick was irrelevant. What was relevant was shoving that juicy melting sugary mess into her mouth as fast as possible while squealing with utter delight.
It was so delicious she had to close her eyes to enjoy.
We're off to a great summer start. She doesn't even know about otter pops yet. She has no idea what's coming....
Let me tell you about one of the most NOT awesome diseases your child can contract. It's called hand foot and mouth. It infects your stomach, ears and eyes. I'm kidding. It is just as awesome as it sounds. Cool little pustules and dots all over your hands, feet and mouth. It's especially awesome for children who can't even talk because who wants to eat or communicate when you have blisters on your tongue? Let's just say it was not our best 3 days.
Poor Liv was not loving her life, her hands, feet, or mouth. We lived off of juice, reading pokey little puppy, watching Baby Einstein on repeat (she should be genius level after this week) and sucking on Popsicles. Popsicle introduction was one of the only highlights of this week....
Last week I taught the primary class with kids ages 8-11. Before we walked in, one of the members of the primary presidency said, "Are you ready to meet the cannibals? That's what they are you know." I was expecting them to be screaming like the boy above. I thought I would not love it and feel like I was having to babysit kids in ties and tights for free. I was so wrong. I haven't laughed so hard at church in months. They are ridiculously teachable and so full of love. In sharing time the teacher was talking about the word of wisdom and held up a picture of cigarettes. There was an audible gasp through the crowd and a boy on the front yelled out, "Those are cancer sticks! If you use those, your legs will fall off." Ha. I always wondered why some people were missing their legs...
After the cancer sticks moment, it was time to separate into classes. The second I walked in the room and sat my chair down they instantly
scooted all their chairs around me so tight that the chairs were
overlapping and I could smell their not so fresh breath. I loved it
because they still think the opposite gender is repulsive, they can
still entertain themselves by playing with the hymn books and their
hands with their vivid imaginations and are not old enough to know how
to be bratty or disobedient. I felt like a celebrity and I hadn't even
pulled out the MnMs.
The lesson was on prayer and I asked if any of them had a prayer answered before. Every single one of their hands shot up like a NASA rocket off a launch pad in Florida (back when NASA employees were not getting unemployment). David started to tell his story in such a somber voice I felt like even his 23423 freckles were looking serious. He recounted the following:
"I went upstairs with my favorite stuffed animals, the first is named brown bunny and he is a bunny, and Froggy who is a frog and Pumpkin who is a dog (I was trying not to laugh at these exceptionally creative names and thankful he was clarifying their phylum in case anyone was lost, I was just curious how Pumpkin got an actual name and escaped being "doggy"). My brothers and I were launching them from the top upstairs window into the field below. (Sidenote: David lives on 80 acres with cows and land that looks as undeveloped as the day Pocohontas and John Smith discovered it on their honeymoon, I digress.)
After we launched them we ran outside to the field and we couldn't find them anywhere. We looked and looked and looked for a long time, I mean a real long time and we couldn't find any of them. We said a prayer and after we found Brown Bunny, Froggy and Pumpkin at the same time so I know that Heavenly Father knew where they were and helped us find them".
That simple example made me think. Does Heavenly Father really stinking care about Brown bunny, Froggy and Pumpkin? In all his cosmic creating, economic crises and starving war ravaged children in 3rd world countires, did He really just happen to have a few spare minutes and was in the neighborhood of bluefield helping freckle face find his stuffed dog named Pumpkin? The best part about it is that He did. I'm always in awe by all that Heavenly Father creates and is. How the heck did He think of black holes? Seahorses? Antartica? Parting entire seas? It's mind boggling. Even more boggeling to me than how infinite He is, is how intimately aware He is.
I remember in my glory days of 8th grade when I had bangs that looked like someone glued a large brown cauliflower to my forehead and I wore a braided black belt and zits with my teen spirit deodorant that I diligently applied to fight the fatal puberty effects. I had a blue glitter retainer that had a glow in the dark moon. My dad explained very clearly to me that if I lost it I would owe $175 dollars to replace it. I could think of a thillion things I would rather buy if I ever even had 17 bucks so I was determined not to lose it. Well, I lost it. I was sick to my stomach. When you can't even drive, your options are to sell millions of cups of lemonade or work for under child labor law wages doing chores at the house. I knew I had to find it. I went in the bathroom and prayed like crazy. I felt like I should go in the auditorium where we had an assembly that day. I did and there under some of the seats was the glitter blue moon retainer in all its glory. I was stunned. I was stunned not by the fact that I had found it, but by the fact that if Heavenly Father helped me find that retainer, that means He knew were Canyonview Jr. High, was, He knew that had braces, He knew that I had a crush on Robbie Blake and didn't wear my retainer in front of him. If he knew where my retainer was, what else could He know about me? The obvious answer was everything. It was a very big 8th grade epiphany to realize that the same God who created worlds without number and obviously wasn't bored, had time to help me find my retainer. Somehow, since that day, it was always been easier to pray to a God who I know, knows me. Everything about me, including the fact that I worse a blue glitter glow in the dark moon retainer.
It was a long day yesterday. The kind of day that feels like 4 days
in one but not 4 days at Disneyland. More like 4 days straight at the
dentist with no laughing gas and nothing is funny.
G
was working a long day, Liv was sick and had been up at least 6 times
in the night and I was just feeling bugged. The kind of day where you
feel like your insides have lice and you just feel frustrated even if
nothing wrong is happening. I shattered my favorite goblet while trying
to put it away (yes, I have a favorite goblet that I like to drink
juice out of) and the shards flew into the cake I had just baked so
dessert turned into a throat shredding danger booby trap dessert. Liv
was consistently whining for the entire day and I was not feeling Mother
Teresa like patience with anything. I was feeling mega stressed about
moving because I stink at organizing and moving, we don't even have any
boxes and we leave in 2 weeks. Not to mention my stomach jiggles, and I
was just feeling like sometimes being a stay at home mom is the same fate as when Edmond Dante was sent to solitary confinement at the Chateu D'If including the need to scrape tally marks for each day of successful motherhood completed (ok, this is a little extreme but you get the point).
By the time G finally
got home I was ready to throw the whole day in the trash with Liv's
putrid smelling diapers and my pieces of smashed glass cake. G of
course came home as pleasant as a songbird even though he had been up
since 5 and asked what I wanted to do. I replied with dragon smoke
coming out of my nostrils, snarling,
"I want to go to bed."
He said, "Ok, that's great, it's only 6:30 though, are you tired?"
"No I'm not tired. I'm just tired of this day. Some days are just so
lame it's like a horse with a broken leg, there's nothing left to do but
just take it out back and shoot it. That's what I need to do with
today. There's no point in letting it just limp along in misery, I'm
taking this take out back and putting it down by going to sleep because
the sooner I sleep, the sooner there will be a new day. It's too late
to salvage, this is a day like a horse with 4 broken legs and needs to
be put down."
G's response is reason 6 thillion and 2 why Garrett Seibold is the perfect
person for me. Instead of over reacting about my over reacting, he just
nodded and said, "I see. But I don't think that the answer is always to
shoot the horse or the day. You just sit right there for a minute. I
have a little something for you to watch."
He went over to the
DVD's and put on "Seabiscuit" which I had never seen. I starting rolling my eyes. Watching some cheesy horse show was not really want I had in mind for a consolation to my caustic mood but it was humorous to me that rather than feed into my mood, he chose a horse movie. He went to a specific scene where there is a horse with a broken leg and some old guy is
fixing it and says, "Just because a horse gets banged up, doesn't mean
you always need to take it's whole life."
Ha. I was laughing at G
using Seabiscuit as a teaching moment for his cantankerous negative
virus spreading wife. The funniest part is that after the cheesy scene, I
decided to keep watching. It's basically a cross between "Mighty Ducks
2" and "Black Stallion" with some feel good music and moral at the end
but I actually really liked it.
After
it was done, I apologized for my attitude and
how I was acting that day. I asked what would be a sufficient
compensation and he said, "Chel, let me explain to you a little concept
about marriage that I don't think you quite grasp. There's no need for compensation. Sometimes you get
grumpy. Sometimes I get grumpy. Sometimes it's on the same day,
sometimes we pick different days. Sometimes there is a reason and
sometimes there is no reason at all. It doesn't change a single thing.
It doesn't change our love, it doesn't change what we have, it doesn't
mean things are going to be bad permanently, it just is a rough day.
That's it. One day. Everything will work out. Everything is great."
You know. I think he's on to something. Sometimes I think a bad
day transforms in my mind as the marital apocalypse, that eternity is forever horrendously ruined, that all the negative thoughts and feelings are preserved in formaldehyde and will never improve or disappear, and the day is evidence that I am the worlds lamest human
being breathing on the planet but the truth is that all of that is
false. Sometimes it's ok to go to bed early to put a day out of its
misery, and sometimes it's even better to watch a scene from sea
biscuit, realize that the day was crappy and be excited that tomorrow is
a brand spanking new start to it all. Thank you G and Seabiscuit for that little lesson.
“You are good. But it is not enough just to be good. You must be good
for something. You must contribute good to the world. The world must be a
better place for your presence. And the good that is in you must be
spread to others… In this world so filled with problems, so constantly
threatened by dark and evil challenges, you can and must rise above
mediocrity, above indifference. You can become involved and speak with a
strong voice for that which is right.”
-Gordon B. Hinckley
If you are creeped out by the dolls' eyes on the left, you are not alone. Liv however, is the opposite of creeped. She sees the the doll for its inner beauty and her infant mother instincts suddenly blossomed full force. On the way home from the fair there was a garage sale. I love garage sales. Love. At the sale they were selling 2 babies for .75 cents. I brought the new additions home and disinfected them and then added them to her other babe. I had no idea the reaction they would have. Liv turned into a mother hen and I started to believe the dolls were real by how she took care of them. Anywhere she crawled, she would drag 2 and then go back for the third so that they were surrounded under her protective care at all times.
She would put them on a circuit of feeding them her bottle and then burp each one. When one was done, she would set it down next to her and then pick up the next one and do the same thing. I was fascinated. I felt like I was watching Naitonal Geographic. How the heck did she know to burp her babies? Who is teaching her these mothering skills? She doesn't even walk and is not even graduated for over a month from the suckling child nursing club.
When I tried to take a baby, she would put them in a pile and then lay on top of them and kiss them. All three of their plastic heads were dripping with drool.
I know you are probably sick of these but I've never seen her so excited about any toy. Ever. It proves the theory that women have a natural nurturing that is innate...I just had no idea how early on it developed!
She insisted on dragging them all over to the car seat that we were cleaning and sitting with them for a good 15 minutes.
I would say that was the best .75 cents I have spent in a long time....
I know you're wondering why Liv is wearing overalls. I will tell you. Saturday G was working all day (like the previous 7 and the next consecutive 14) and so Liv and I decided to go to the county fair. It was 82 degrees and a perfect sunny fair like day. I did not know what to anticipate at a West Virginia fair, but I knew that I would not be disappointed. Since you most likely missed the fair this year, I will post my personal favorites high lights:
One dollar goes a long way. There are multiple things to buy with a dollar but a fried bologna sandwich is not at the top of my list. They probably didn't have any left anyway because the line was so long. I'm not joking. Welcome to West Virginia.
I don't know why we don't add a little face painting in with our scripture study. What a great incentive to read the bible...(I'm joking).
After they finished their song the white haired sax player in the middle said, "Now it's time for some heathen music!" Who knew that senior citizens had such a rebellious streak here. You would have thought everyone was a jr. high girl at a Justin Beiber concert the way everyone was packed around this band. I had a good chuckle outloud. The only tragedy is that this picture doesn't come with audio.
I have never understood the point of owning cars that you don't drive but there were plenty for the ey to behold. I personally think Liv's toes are the best part if this pic.
Apparently we aren't the only church with a prayer roll...
This is not a set from a 1920's movie. This is the real downtown. I'm saying that nice pink and blue optical shop is still in operation. I honestly feel like I transported myself in a time machine whenever I go downtown.
I personally won't be visiting the restaurant to the left, or the church to the right but I'd be happy to take you on a tour of either if you're interested...
Liv was sweating in her overalls and very contemplative after our fair excursion. There was plenty more treasures to see but it will have to wait for another year....
Liv inherited the Seibold red face gene. I think she has extra sweat glands on her head because every time she wakes up from a nap her hair looks like she just finished a triathlon, specifically the swimming portion. I never have to wonder if she's hot because even if it's slightly warm
or I don't have the air conditioning on full blast, she instantly turns a
deep Valentines Day pink. She is like Veruca Salt on Willy Wonka except for red instead of blue and she's not spoiled.
I don't like sweating. I think it's gross. Mega gross. Whenever I sweat it usually indicates that I am doing something not fun or I'm uncomfortable (ie in our taurus with no air conditioning or on a miserable hike where I feel like licking a cactus to get it over with and end my misery) I also think I don't like to mentally or emotionally sweat, meaning I don't like things that require exertion or make me uncomfortable. I like things to be fun...all the time. G sometimes has to remind me that this is not possible. I think it should be possible.
I would have been the worst pioneer alive. I would have stuck my neck under the first wagon wheel at Rocky Ridge. Let me remind you that I got an epidural before I was even in labor because the thought of even one contraction is one contraction too many, why? Because labor didn't sound fun. See my problem? I wouldn't have cut off my own arm like that guy trapped by a rock in Southern Utah, I probably would have just bashed my head purposefully on the rock to put myself out of my misery. I always pay extra for laughing gas at the dentist, I wait way too long to rip off my bandaids and thought pulling out a loose tooth as a child was a death sentence. I like bum warmers and air conditioning in cars, a down comforter on my bed, and the Glide brand of floss because it leaves a good minty flavor instead of the cheaper western family waxed floss because that has the potential to get stuck between my teeth and could possibly be uncomfortable.
It's embarrassing but true. I would have lasted about .00004 seconds in a concentration camp or any other survival situation. Liv and I babysat on Wednesday for a family that has 3 severely autistic children and when I came home I felt that there is honestly no way I could live with that challenge. So often I look at people with soul stretching trials and think, "Yea right, I could never, would never be able to handle that for even a minute." I feel like people have massive Appalachian sized mountains of opposition in their lives and I start complaining the instant there is a golf ball sized opposition pile in my sandbox. Yesterday during scripture study I read Elder Eyring's conference talk and it blew my mind when I read this quote:
"There are great challenges ahead of us, giant opportunities to be met. I welcome that exciting prospect and feel to say to the Lord, humbly, 'Give me this mountain, give me these challenges." -Spencer W. Kimball
I don't know why but the thought of not whining and and fighting against anything that could possible make me sweat or be hard was mind boggling. I realized as my West Virginia bondage is coming to an end, that I had the complete wrong perspective. Instead of seeing something hard as an opportunity to grow and become a little more refined, I just became very sarcastic and complained about living in the middle of nowhere, hush puppies and accents I can't understand. I wrote the quote on a index card and taped it by the sink because it is an attitude that I I want to have. Most likely I will not feel that way until I'm around 87 but it's a good thought.
