Tag Archives: Family

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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Family

Mama Dukes

July 27, 2010 – 2:51 PM

This is a photograph of my mom. It was taken on her 50th birthday last month, on stage at a gig played by her favorite local band. I found it on the band’s website.

Just before this photograph was taken, a set of blondes were on the stage shaking their assetts all over the lead singer. My mom, in her bright red Jessica Simpson stilettos, pranced up to the stage and writhed her way between the blondes and the singer. With the dejected blondes out of the picture, my mother lifted her glass, let out a shout and displayed her beaming smile, and the entire jam-packed bar toasted to her and 50. Later in the evening, the band sang the birthday song to her while everyone looked on, and she laughed and danced some more, and her friends took turns having their photographs taken in the red straw hat my stepdad bought as a surprise compliment to her slinky black-and-white print dress.

That’s my mom; heroic, and cool enough for a band website. I’m so glad I got to celebrate this with you.

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Family

My Mom

May 9, 2010 – 5:43 PM

During car rides, she used to reach behind her from the front seat and pat my knee or rub my arm; her absent-minded way of letting me know she was thinking of me. Much the same way she used to casually play with my hair during conversation. She counted my freckles. She pitied my bee stings. She has eyes like a swollen storm cloud; always brimming with grey and blue and green. So many things I know about my mom, but her eyes are the most vivid in my thoughts. When she’s really mad, she blinks about a million times per minute. When she is deep in though, she can’t hide it because she bites her lower lip. My mom worked full-time and somehow managed to put a good meal at the table every single night. I’ll never forget when I was being bullied in middle school; she marched out onto our back lawn and gave those girls a whole new perspective on proper adult conduct. It was awesome.

My mom has traveled the world, but her strongest attribute is that sweet delivery of soft femininity and strong opinions that only becomes pedigreed when one has been afforded a proper southern upbringing. She was born and raised in south Alabama, a thing about her I would never change. Her mom passed away when my mom was just fourteen, after suffering a grueling battle with uterine cancer.

Lately, I think more about my mom’s past. She witnessed death at a very young age, grew up with a father that worked simultaneously as a janitor, father, and unwitting humanist. My mom came from the kind of grace that bears fruit through hard labor and strong love. She values health because she knows that it is fragile. She values life because she has worked hard to get where she is today. She values her family simply because they are.

Possibly my favorite thing about my mom–besides her trademark dimples–is her will. She doesn’t broadcast her struggles, nor does she dwell on them. She displays will through action, and always has. And she does it with a smile.

My mom will be fifty in June 8th, and she still giggles like a little girl and finds humor in the mundane, the outrageous, and the simple things. She also has a knack for giving everyone nicknames. My sister inherited that ability and adorned Mom with the nickname “Momma Dukes”. It stuck.

I am happy to say that I am still learning lessons from my mom. Only now, they are learned not by her words, but by her example. I appreciate her not only for the mother that raised me, but for the woman; the best friend.

I love you, Momma Dukes.

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Salinas Seven

In Salinas Seven News…

February 9, 2010 – 2:01 PM

Yay! I (by proxy of the other six members of my family) would like to welcome you to my very own website! www.salinasseven.com Some money, some time, and some (very helpful) friends later and bing, bang, boom! We are here. Please visit and comment regularly. I’m hoping wordpress allows me the freedom to blog like an anti-amateur, along with provide me with faster RSS capabilities. We are a work in progress, as I am still somewhat amateur in the division of website design. Stay tuned. I am going to upload my archives from Facebook and eBlogger and, of course, continue to bleed my weirdness into words on a blog. :)

Onward.

My first post will be all about birth plans. Every time I witness someone lecturing a first-time-mom-to-be on the significance of a birth plan, I laugh on the inside. Why?

How many women do you know that have actually been able to stick with a birth plan? Here is how it usually goes: Woman enters hospital a hot, laboring mess, waving around six copies of the birth plan, each numbered for according people–doctors, nurses, cleaning staff, friends and family who may need to refer to it before entering the recovery room. Husband, exasperated, apologetically handing over the photocopied plans to their rightful new owners. The Trapper Keeper they are contained in gets chucked into the closet with the rest of Mom’s belongings.

So the labor commences, but the resting place of the birth plan remains the same in a large statistic of birthing centers: in the trash, on the floor, pinned to some bulletin board where all the nurses look at it, compare it to the others, and laugh. Because they are all aware that really, the birth plan is less an outlined version of your labor and delivery desires than it is a bossy, self-righteous bitch session originated by a very pregnant, pissy woman on a power trip (and I can say that with absolutely no guilt because I have had my fair share of labor and delivery experiences, thankyouverymuch). Don’t get me wrong–I feel you. You can’t tie your shoes, you can’t see your toes and you have absolutely no idea how long it’ll be until you can wear a bikini again.

Here is what it is: Labor and delivery are a means to an end; meaning that when we go in, we are hours from the end of our pregnancies. However we give birth, the end result is the same in the vast majority of families: the baby is born, everybody is overwhelmed with exhalted joy, and your labor and delivery evolve into a distant memory. Then we do it all over again. What does your birth plan have to do with that, exactly?

So my extended unpublished parenting advice for this week is as follows: by all means, develop a birth plan. Be pro-birth plan. Exercise your right to deliver your baby how you wish. Just keep in mind that the birth of your child is not the Super Bowl. Momentous, yes. But unpredictable and repeated in history for, like, the last hundred million years. Trust me when I say that your baby will not be obliged to follow those neat little bullet points you created in Word, nor will the doctors and nurses should something go awry. The birth plan is a great tool, but the amount of lamenting over and importance that is placed on it by so many moms-to-be is, in my opinion, worth a little ridicule. Your birth plan is not your bible.

If you leave the hospital with your brand new, beautiful baby and you are still somehow able to be comsumed with anger that the staff didn’t follow your birth plan to the letter, chances are you are just the type of person who measures the temperature of your latte with a thermometer. In which case I would recommend that you not give any birth plan advice to anyone, ever.

Now, how many people are digging out the baby books to have a look at their birth plan? I am laughing at you.

I got your birth plan right here.

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