Category Archives: Salinas Seven

Salinas Seven

Hallmark, Salinas Style

October 3, 2010 – 10:21 AM

Today is Chloe and Hannah’s 3rd birthday. Kyleigh has historically created hand-written cards for her family members on their birthdays and true to form, she crafted one for the twins this morning, incorporating her talent for writing and off-kilter humor.

It reads: “Three means tripel trobel, soooooo, brake avice (advice), coler on the wall, and be a bad sport. Don’t take your punishment! (But that will spoyel the cake)”

I’d say that’s a classic example of Kyleigh Hallmark. She really could start a business.

…..In the midst of filing this card in the Hand-Created Card Collection, Maurice stumbled across a sentimental piece of Joshua’s soul. For those who don’t already know, Joshua’s dad is a police officer. Even with that knowledge, however, most of the time when Maurice is given a hand-made card from a kid, the Crayola-sketched pictures are of him fishing, or riding the horse; I think there’s one in the collection depicting him feeding the chickens, even.

However, it is obvious that Maurice’s most inspirational quality in Joshua’s mind is conjured by images such as this:

So heartfelt. And so hilariously disturbing.

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Family Salinas Seven The Kids The Twins

Little Help From Friends. And a Wet Vac.

August 25, 2010 – 9:46 PM

So I was talking to my friend, Carrie a few hours ago. She and her husband, Kris played care-takers to the twins during our stint with appendix-less Kody at Fairbanks Memorial Hospital last week. They have two daughters of their own: Hannah is five years old, Holly is three years old. All of our kids get on very well, and the Beemans have lots of fun things to do. I was confident Chloe and Hannah would be well cared-for and entertained at the Beeman house.

And the Beemans delivered. They took great care of the twins: feeding, diapering, potty training; all the provisions. I had not spoken with Carrie since being home, save a few Facebook messages, so today I finally got the low-down on Chloe and Hannah’s stay at the Beeman House.

I figured they’d make messes, get glitter in their hair, maybe tag the counter tops with some tempura paint.

What I did not expect to hear — and I don’t know why, because these are the Salinas twins we’re talking about — was how they completely flooded the Beeman’s bathroom. Twice. After having to break out the wet-vac to clean up the disaster, Kris thought to turn off the main pipe into the bathroom sink. After that, they caught the girls in the same bathroom a third time with the water set to full force.

I’m so thankful to everyone who reached out to us during this emergency — friends and family who took such stellar care of our kids. I am especially thankful to the Beeman family, because twins take special care, utmost attention, the patience of a saint, the power of a wet-vac, and the ingenuity of a renaissance inventor. Kudos to you, Beemans. We so owe you a weekend of babysitting.

And do you know? After all of that chaos, Carrie and her girls came to our house on Friday to celebrate Joshua’s birthday with him? All because we had to post-pone his party due to Kody’s extended stay in Fairbanks? Then, she sent me links to pictures taken during the twins’ visit; pictures of them sculpting with home-made Play-Dough, pictures of them outside in the yard, pictures of them eating fabulous vegetarian dinners. Carrie Beeman, you are gangster.

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Salinas Seven The Kids

What Appendicitis Means for Kody

August 20, 2010 – 8:32 AM

*You will sit on your living room sofa in excruciating pain for an entire weekend while your parents assume you have the flu.
*You will not complain too terribly much about your chronic pain, because you are gangster.
*You will visit the clinic on Monday, ride with your dad as he rushes you and your high white blood cell count to Fairbanks Memorial Hospital ER, drink a ton of nasty dye, have a scan, and be in surgery less than an hour after the scan.
*You will be minus one ruptured, infected appendix. Obviously.
*Your mom will get to ride in a beautiful fast car at about 140 mph with an ex-trooper who knows where it’s at. Who also shall remain nameless. ;) She will make it to FMH in record time and be there to greet you when you wake in an anesthesia-induced stupor.
*You’ll have the hottest, sweetest nurses named Stephanie, and Robin, and Sue, and Pat. You will charm them with your wit and humor. (Side note: You are such a rock star.)
*The only time you will become visibly upset is when you begin your usual wise-cracks the day following your surgery, and you realize that laughing — your favorite past-time — causes you a great deal of pain. It will be a sad moment for everyone in the room when you make that discovery.
*You’ll get the good drugs. Then you will laugh about random, unexplainable things, like your hospital lunch of boiled okra (which, in your vicodin-induced state, you lovingly name “Oprah”). But the laughing won’t hurt. And the laugh is so gregarious that it will make your mom crack up, and then the both of you will die laughing for almost half an hour.
*You will revel in the knowledge that, for the first time since you were a newborn, your gastro-intestinal activity is of great interest to those around you. You will rush to push the little red nurse-call button every time you fart.
*You’ll get a new DSI. And the new Zelda game. And two new Bakugans. And a new zip-up hoodie that looks very good on you.
*Your mom will worry that when your siblings spy all your loot, they will be reduced to throwing themselves down the stairs, or punching each other in the gut, in order to receive the same level of accomodation.
*Your dad will deliver stern instructions to your siblings to NOT partake in any of the abovementioned activities.
*You will spend five days on your grammy’s couch, inundated with her health food and your mom’s fussing. She bugs you with stuff like brushing your emo hair, changing your bandages, making you take meds, and boring you with pass n’ play Words With Friends games.
*You’ll make your brother and sisters feel so much better by reassuring them over the phone that you are okay.
*You will have to explain to your 7 year-old brother that, no, the doctor did not save your appendix in a jar; no, you did not get to see it after the surgery; and no, you don’t understand why they would not save your appendix for those who may be curious to see it; and yes, you are sorry for the disappointment this lack of consideration on the part of the doctor has caused Joshua so much emotional turmoil.
*Your family and friends will rally around you because you are awesome. Funny, gregarious, extremely intelligent, considerate, and wonderful; with a ridiculously high pain tolerance. They will all worry about and fuss over you, because you are a bringer of laughter and fun, and nobody wants you going anywhere anytime soon.

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Politics, Culture, Religion, and Society Salinas Seven

Dear Kimberly Guilfoyle,

July 23, 2010 – 10:56 AM

I admire your success, I really do. However, when I am stuck on my living room sofa recovering from surgery, and my husband leaves the channel on Fox News during his trip to the grocery store, and I have to look at your talking head as you spew rhetoric about proper ways to deal with criminals, I am reduced to fear. Fear that you are an alien, or wearing a mask, or are a wax figure of some sort.

Kimberly, honey, lay off the botox. For the love of God. I mean, I’m pretty sure that He and the general population of the world are not opposed to you owning a few wrinkles, or a crinkle in your forehead, or any kind of facial expression that convinces us you are, in fact, human. Give it a shot, is all I’m sayin’.

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Random Salinas Seven

Highlights

July 3, 2010 – 12:12 PM

We exercised one of those marathon whirlwind day trips to Fairbanks yesterday. All five kids, one red Armada, and lots of errands, a doctor appointment, et cetera. We’re not the Beverly Hillbillies, so a trip into the city is neither rare nor momentous for us, but these trips — especially when they include bringing the kids — usually produce great conversations during the 6 hours of total driving time. Of course, there are always a few satirical moments worthy of repeating, as well. Following are the highlights from our quick trip:

*I hate when RV drivers get all prideful. Listen, dude, you are in a freaking bus. If you are on an incline, you will go slower. Please do not try to race me as I pass you. Save it for your Harley that I am sure you have parked in your driveway somewhere in Florida.

*Joshua, after a particularly reflective silence, told me from the back seat that he believes rain is like pee from the clouds. After which Kody, in his enablement mode, suggested to Joshua that perhaps it was the people in heaven emptying their bladders. To which Joshua responded (horrified) that only the dogs in heaven would have the audacity to pee on us earthly beings in such a manner. (Well, that’s not verbatim, obviously. It was more like, “Ewwwwww, that’s so gross. People in heaven do not PEE on humans. It has to be the dogs.”) …. To which Kody responded, “Well, we are in some real trouble when Bosley (our St. Bernard) gets there, because he pees on EVERYTHING.”

*As we were waiting in a monstrous check-out line at Old Navy (where I found a really cute sport bra for $6.94, I should add. When you have no boobs, any ol’ sport bra will do the job), Kody was criticizing the sleeping mask Kyleigh picked out. It is really cute, and has an applique of two plump-lashed eyes, one winking. Kody thought she should have gone with her second choice of pink flip-flops, and his choice phrase for her choice? “Totally ridick. TOTALLY RIDICK, I say!” The guys in line in front of us thought that was pretty awesome, and I spent the remainder of the day trying to come up with a new favorite abbreviated phrase for “ridiculous”.

*On our drive home, Maurice decided that during his upcoming work leave, he will be growing a full goatee. I cannot. tell you. how excited I am about this! He is gonna get so much, um, attention.

*In that vein, I bought a pair of running shorts that are pretty asstastic, and I know for a fact that it was totally vanity that got me through today’s 7 mile run. You gotta do what you gotta do.

——————–

Of course, no trip to Fairbanks with the family would be complete without a stop at Wal Hell. This was no exception. Let me be clear: I avoid that place at all costs, but that’s because usually, I am without kids in The Big City. Let’s face it. Wal Mart has toys, snacks, hair ties which I needed anyway, among other various necessities. It’s one stop shopping / the outer circle of Hell. Hence my affectionate term. Don’t even get me started on that place. Implications of social class division, slave labor, generic atrocities, and imprisonment to bulk shopping Hell all exist in abundance at Wal Hell. That’s a whole new blog post, or perhaps even a thesis paper…

I will say that I’ve seen some items at Wal Mart that I will never see anywhere else except “Sold on TV ads” or a hoarder’s front yard. This particular visit was no disappointment, and yielded a few items that either raised an eyebrow or just made us chuckle:

*The Shaker Weight for men. If you don’t know it already, google. It’s ad should read, “Old-fashioned fitness: Jack your way off into rippling tris, bis, and pecs!” I tried to get Maurice to take my picture with one of them, but he said no. The funny part? It was the last one on the shelf.

*Electric fly swatters. Literally, a tennis racket that, once batteries are installed, pulsates with wattage to kill those pesky bugs on contact. I can see my kids now: “Okay, okay. Your turn! Your turn! Don’t be chicken!”

*Sparkly deoderant. Sparkly deoderant? WTF. Yes, as if men are going to be staring at womens’ underarms long enough to give a shit about their sparkliness.

*This item we actually bought: A slip ‘n’ slide, complete with landing pool for five bucks. Oh, and I also bought a tube of Stiletto Lash mascara, because I am somehow on a subconscious (or perhaps not) quest to try every mascara known to man. Then I spent like thirty minutes trying to choose between two slightly different shades of nearly-clear pink nail polish. I don’t even wear nail polish. I was in the Wal Mart impulse-buy trap. I wonder if they pump oxygen into that place, like in a Vegas casino, to keep shoppers aware and alert for all their Rollback pricing and impulse crap. I wouldn’t be surprised….

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Salinas Seven The Kids

The Salinas Show

June 25, 2010 – 8:46 AM

Last night after the twins went to bed, Kody, Kyleigh, and Joshua put on a live “dinner” show for us. Set up in Joshua’s room with his bed as the “stage”, there were paper mugs and a paper coffee canister, paper salt and pepper dispensers, even a paper creamer canister; coffee filter plates and a cardboard menu. A bath towel acted as our tablecloth.

Kyleigh sang her own acapella version of “Viva la Vida” and put on an impressive mime show, with the final act being breaking out of her mime box with explosive vigor and landing on the floor with a thud. Joshua break-danced to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”; his signature move being the worm, taught to him by his older brother. Kody played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on his guitar. Self-taught and with a twist! He was bent over his guitar, his left foot resting on his right knee, looking so grown up. He had a captive parent and sibling audience; and if we’d had one, he would have enjoyed a swooning pre-teen girl audience, especially now that he has Justin Bieber hair.

When it was all said and done, they presented to us a bill for $14.50 for our coffee, Oreo cake, and french fries (creatively formed out of cut-up shoe laces). I was pretty impressed with their attempts to hustle us, but I must say, the performance was at least worth an extra ice cream cookie sandwich for dessert.

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Personal Salinas Seven

Great Men and Outdoors

June 22, 2010 – 11:59 AM

So I was FB messaging with my friend, Angie this morning. We were discussing a particularly metropolitan group of girls we both attended high school with, and Angie recounted the following story about her husband, Jason. I will chuckle about this every time I think about it.

————————————————————————

“You’ll get a kick out of this then!!
About 3 years ago Jason’s very metropolitan Aunt visited from the lower 48. She’s over the top rediculous, freaking out about being dirty, and everything that “Alaska” is, with crazy hunters (she’s a vegan), and all the mean trappers and blah, blah, blah…
So they stayed in Ron and Marshas motorhome, and we stayed in our motorhome, both parked in their yard in Tok. Jason had of course been working till late at night and was exhausted, so when a squirrel started it’s incessant chattering he was not super excited. The Aunt and her bratty, high maintenance kids, were also just waking up, to come outside and gaze at the wonderful, cute wildlife just outside their sleeping quarters. They were standing there looking at their new friend Rocky, when my husband, in only his boxers, stumbles out of our motorhome with is .357, blasts that squirrel out of the tree, mid chatter. The squirrel flies up in the air. Or rather, what’s left of the squirrel, and comes hurdling towards Earth, only to land, bloody intestines and all, on top of their motorhome. At which point he does his best dirty hairy, blows on the end of his pistol, winks and me, and says “That’ll teach him to chatter when I’m trying to sleep!!”…and walks back in to promptly fall asleep in the next 2 minutes again.
I thought I was going to pee my pants I was laughing so hard…..his Aunt couldn’t pack soon enough, and we’ve seriously never seen her since.
Ahh…..can’t beat a Tok man. :) ”
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In case you were considering telling yourself that he must be some sort of jobless, toothless hethen nick-named Bubba, you can refrain. Jason is a bridge engineer and Angie is the toughest, hottest sheep hunter and Chilkoot Trail hiker I know. That’s the thing about Tokites: we are full of surprises.

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Holidays Salinas Seven

Easter In Retrospect

April 4, 2010 – 9:48 PM

I would like to pose a question.

Since when, in the history of the land, has it been an acceptable practice to dose your kids up with chocolate and jelly beans on Easter morning and then send them on their happy way? I mean, I’m pretty sure that in the history of religion, there is no scripture that goes, “He has risen! Time to break out the Peeps and Cadbury eggs!”

I’m just sayin’. In my house, if you allow the children to eat chocolate marshmallow bunnies and Cadbury cream eggs and Jelly Bellies for breakfast, this is what you will end up with:

This is hot pink nail polish. It did not end on her feet, her outfit, or her hair and torso. We have a hot pink happy trail all throughout the carpeting upstairs. This Easter will go down in history as the one where we discovered that Easter candy is relative, and that denying your kids that sweet, yummy goodness may not be the meanest thing when you consider that you could be up til midnight scrubbing hot pink madness out of your carpet.

Next year they’re getting fruit snacks.

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Salinas Seven

Leggo My Eggo

March 24, 2010 – 6:36 PM

There are (corrected) 10 waffles in a bag of frozen Eggo waffles. I bought the economy sized box yesterday, mindful that tonight I was to be in class, catching up on homework, and therefore not in any way equipped to bother with dinner and dishes.

It takes three bags of 10 waffles to feed my family of 7. There are only six bags of waffles in an economy-sized bag. Also, forget heating them in our four-slot toaster. Naw man. At that rate, I’d constantly be heating, buttering, syruping, and cutting someone’s waffles. I am currently heating a batch in the oven, one in the toaster oven, and yet another batch in the toaster. So my easy, quick dinner for seven is actually quite the tactical event. That’s just how I roll.

This is in no way another one of those, “Oh my God, can you believe how insane my life with five kids is and don’t you just feel so much better about your circumstances now?!” blogs. Why? Because, my friends, I did not give up liquor for Lent.

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Salinas Seven

Unpublished Parenting of the…Month?

March 23, 2010 – 8:41 PM

Don’t wait until your kid is two and a half to tear her away from her bedtime bottle. Okay, so maybe I promised this piece of weekly (so, not so much weekly these days, due to things like…life?) advice would never sound like a parenting book. I know that opening totally sounded like something from Bottles Are Evil. So I will jack it all up with some very un-parenting book style commentary on how exactly I reached this staunch opinion.

Suffice to say that my decision to take away baby bottles was based not on insight or knowledge or revelation. I didn’t read any books or articles or get any advice from friends that I didn’t already know. I mean, duh, baby bottles can cause caries, which I fretted over but obviously not enough to take the bottles away. Until today, my sanity was more important than their dental health.

No. My decision to neglect the routine of pouring, warming, then serving their milk to them at night was based solely on my desire to emit any type of complete bullshit routine from my schedule. Let’s just say that today, there were incidents involving climbing in the fridge and the consequential mess, the plunger and the toilet and the consequential mess, my smoky eyeshadow palette and the consequential mess (I swear, that is not a black eye Hannah is sporting), and my self tanner and the consequential mess. Oh yeah. There was the toilet (again) and half a box of my tampons, and that consequential mess, too.

So, I could totally ride the Good Parent wagon and say that my decision to take away the bottles was due to the fact that I was faced with many consequences today, which brought on the revelation that I should deter future consequence–starting with the consequences of bad bottle teeth. But the truth is, as I was taking the milk from the fridge and just about to pour it into their bottles,I looked around my taco mess kitchen, felt the aching in my back and feet from crouching over the toilet in tampon-removal mode, and remembered the sight of my lovely eyeshadow crumbled, wasted, on the carpet, it occured to me:

My toddlers have reached the age where they live and breathe to create destruction. Their adventurous learning discoveries are my subsequent messes, and spare time is basically consumed by cleaning up in their wake. Thus, the two words that flashed blatantly in my head as I realized I wasn’t even going to be enabled to begin my homework until the two hours of cleaning was finished: Fuck it.

So they are in their cribs now. After the screaming fit of “NEEEEEED BABAAAAA!”, they are singing to each other peacefully. I am feeling no guilt, going to remain strong, and sort of excited about the future of no-bottle preparation.

I sincerely hope that it does not take another apocolyptic day of messes involving toilets for me to finally potty train these two. Knowing me, though, it is very, very likely.

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