The Babies Are Winning
This week, the babies are winning. Up until this point (we’re 19 weeks in), if you’d asked me how we’re all doing, now that we’re a family of four, I would have smiled and said, “We’re doing really well,” with a semi-surprised look on my face.
We are doing really well, we really are, but it’s hard. And I knew that having a kid would be hard, and I knew that having multiples would be even more difficult. But it’s the unanticipated little things that are hard, not things I would have expected, like nasty diapers (I can deal with those), or piles of laundry (you know how I feel about laundry, but it’s not that bad), but it’s not those things. It’s the things I thought would come naturally to me as a mother.
Feeding is hard, and I’m not even exclusively breastfeeding. Our kiddos get mostly bottles and eat every 3-4 hours, except at night when they can go as long as 6 hours. I’ve spent what feels like the better part of two days trying to feed our kids with big wet tears rolling down my cheeks. Why won’t they just EAT!? Aren’t they freaking hungry? I know I would be. I can usually get through about a half a bottle (between 3 and 4 ounces) with each baby without a problem and in about 10 or 15 minutes and lately, the little man has basically been falling asleep after that and it takes him another 40 or so minutes to finish the rest of the bottle. You can imagine my frustration. And the little lady…well, she’s got her own agenda. After that initial eat-like-no-one’s-ever-fed-me phase, she just refuses. She’ll spit the nipple out, she’ll scream, she’ll cough, unless you walk with her, then she’ll gladly take the rest of it, at a snail’s pace and she’ll finish up right as you’re sure your arm is absolutely going to fall off from holding her for so long. I know she has reflux and sometimes she looks like she’s in terrible pain (which is absolutely heart breaking), but it would be great if she would just take a bottle from me! It’s even more frustrating when I’ve spent over an hour trying to feed either kid and then there’s the inevitable giant vom (that’s short for vomit, we say it so much in our house that we decided it was easier just to use half the word). I thought feeding would be easy.
I wrote the above paragraph in a moment of hopelessness, and things are getting better. We are trying new bottles: change is hard. And I haven’t cried in almost 24 hours. Miraculously, I felt much better after a 2 hour nap yesterday. Thank you Daddy Magic and cousin for letting me take that nap!
Breastfeeding is another story entirely, a story for another day, another blog post.
Sleeping is hard. They say, “Sleep when they sleep.” Yeah, sure, ok. Then when am I suppose to go to the bathroom, eat, do laundry, do dishes, or PUMP! Yes, after every feeding I hook myself up to the breast pump and turn into an absolute dairy cow. I spent a total of 94 hours pumping in the month of March alone. Want to know how much I pumped? Come on, I know you do…13.5 GALLONS. Our babies are not eating even close to that amount, but my goal is for them to have breastmilk until they’re about 14 months old, so I can’t stop now! Hopefully, if they’d stop defying me (see paragraph above), they’ll up their volumes and catch up to me a bit, because right now it feels a little silly to be pumping so much. And not sleeping so much.
I had to share a photo of my pump, doesn’t it look like it’s right out of 1970 or something. And, that’s Stella with the sweet photobomb!
Getting out of the house is hard. It’s my goal to leave the house once a day, with or without the kids. I had NO idea how hard it would be to get out of the house (with our without them). I hate to be late, but since February 25th, we leave the house about 45 minutes after we planned. Some days, I just can’t leave at all. Between the pumping and the feeding every 3 hours, there’s just no time. Physically getting out of the house is hard too! Managing two carseats, dogs, giant diaper bag, and the obstacle course that is our house (so much baby equipment everywhere) is a real challenge!
Accepting the occasional failure is hard. I do not like to fail. My whole life I’ve spent doing things that I seem to be relatively good at (toot! toot!…that’s me, tooting my own horn). I feel like I fail my children all the time, and I wake up each morning, ready to embrace the new day and it’s challenges, but sometimes I fail again. Raising children has made me see the value in the small victories, like, really small, like…10mL of breastmilk small. I have to accept and move on, and I have to tell myself that 10 times a day. Accept and move on. The babies are fine.
So if you ask me this week how I’m doing, I’m inclined to be a bit more honest (not that I was lying, it’s just easier to say I’m OK). There might even be some tears. But really, we are doing OK. This is our first time, and our last time, and we’re getting it done in one fell swoop, of course it’s hard, but that, and every moment they melt our hearts, makes it all worth it.
They are worth every. Single. Second. Love these babies!
Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”
– Mary Anne Radmacher
Life Lessons, Courtesy of Brush Ranch
Growing up at summer camp was an educational experience to say the least. Every person who walked through the gate at Brush Ranch had something to share, something to give, and something to learn. And it seems that everything that happens at camp happens in warp speed. In what other setting could you spend a mere month with someone and be lifelong friends? I hope one day to be able to send our twins to summer camp, but until then, there are some things I hope I can remember that I want them to learn about life that I learned from growing up at camp.
1. Getting dirty is fun.
Twice per summer was a day called “fiesta day.” It began with breakfast “in bed,” always cinnamon toast and OJ…in retrospect, not exactly breakfast but somehow 150 little kids powered through the day after having eaten just that. After breakfast, the entire camp population would meet on the front lawn and be divided up into 10 teams. The two oldest campers on each team, one boy and one girl, were the captains and in charge of all the other kids for the entire day. Each team was named after an administrator, for example, something like Scotty’s Slithering Snakes, or Kay’s Kook Koala’s. The teams would make up cheers (please, if you remember a cheer from your fiesta day team, put it in the comments on this post!), some were awesome, some were less awesome.
From there, the teams would go on their merry way to compete in various relay races all over the property. Some of my favorites were the greasy foot balloon race, egg toss, write your name and where you’re from with your nose dipped in paint, find the gum (illegal at camp except for this day) in the pan of flour with your mouth (holy germs batman!!), and the day ended with the tube race. Back in the day the tube race was held in the front pond. The muddy, fishy, front pond. The staff would all jump in (poor staff) and were the “sharks” and the campers would have to pull each other, two at a time, in inner tubes across the pond while reaching for apples that were floating in the pond. Whoever got across first won, and then each apple was worth a certain amount of points. In the later years, we moved this activity to the swimming pool where things were a bit more clean and safe.
The day culminated with a BBQ on the Timberland front lawn and a western dance, held in the barn. The team who won the most relays would be announced at the dance. Grand prize: getting to choose what kind of candy bar you wanted, while the other teams were assigned a candy bar. I always hated being on the team that got Almond Joy.
This day was by far and away the best day at camp, and the filthiest. There were kids running around with flour all over their faces, stuck to them with tempra paint, egg in their hair, with grease all over their legs. Nasty. But so, so, so fun. This was the day that everyone really got to know everyone else and it was always so much fun to see the older kids interacting with the little ones. I think my favorite part of the day was seeing everyone all dressed up for the dinner and western dance, and then inevitably being covered in BBQ sauce from the ribs, and you know kids, they have no idea when they have food on their faces. Ha.
2. Be prepared.
So this may not be some grand life lesson, but it has absolutely served me well. I remember as a camper having go dripping wet from the swimming pool to ready to ride a horse in the barn in less than 15 minutes. I had to be prepared!
We give my mom all sorts of grief because she’s always asking (yes, still asking!) if we have our hat, sunscreen and water bottle. Well…yes mom, and a bunch of diapers, wipes, a change of clothes for each kid just in case, a plastic bag or two to put the poopy clothes in, two blankets, bottles, a jar of hot water, diaper cream, toys, changing pad, first aid kit, hand sanitizer, mints, lotion, chapstick, wallet, keys, phone. Twin mommies, I used this video to help me figure out what to put in my diaper bag.
Also, being sunburned is the worst. We went on a picnic earlier this week and this is the result of being super short and having jeans that are super long, rolling them to an awkward length, then falling asleep in the park with one leg exposed to the sun.
3. Your actions can have a ripple effect on those around you.
There were several times over the years that staff members were fired for various reasons, usually for drinking or doing drugs…something along those lines. The rules were made clear at the beginning of the summer and so were the consequences.
I don’t think the staff members who were fired ever realized how much of an impression their being asked to leave left on everyone else. Since everything moves at the speed of light at camp, sometimes the ripples would vanish in a day or two, but still…when someone was just gone their staff friends would be upset, their campers would be upset, everyone would want to know what had happened. The rumor mill would fire up and wreak absolute havoc for a bit.
4. Lead by example.
Again, this may seem like a super generic life lesson, and maybe it is, but it’s one I learned well from watching my dad. One of the questions I was asked at my most recent job interview was who has been my best boss. My dad immediately came to mind. My dad is one of the most hard working people I’ve ever met and he never, ever tried to get out of work or have others do the dirty work or the hard work. He was always the first to pick up the mop and jump right in when the floors were dirty, he was the first to start digging trenches when we had a mountain downpour, and was the first to dress in drag when we needed a little humor. Ok, that last one isn’t really “hard work,” but it goes to show that he wouldn’t ever ask anyone to do something he wouldn’t do himself. And, he is a great delegator. He’s forever making lists on his yellow legal pad, and when people show up to get a job done, he’s ready to tell them what to do and, if necessary, show them how to do it! Thanks for that life lesson, dad!
That’s my dad!
5. Make sure you have fun, even on rainy days.
Inevitably, it would rain at camp. Often, during the second term, it would rain from about 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. almost every day of the week. Of course, in the mountains of New Mexico, rain is a good thing and we had to celebrate it as much as possible. My mom was almost always the first to lead the charge to go puddle jumping. What’s puddle jumping you ask? Well…what does it sound like?
Find a puddle. Jump in it. Scream. Repeat.
My mom is a puddle jumping maniac and I’m willing to bet has more fun on rainy days than sunny days sometimes. And, even though she’s not running camp anymore, I’m guessing that with 4 grandchildren, her puddle jumping days are not over!
(I found this super cute video on a blog I read. Not exactly the puddle jumping of my childhood, but this is super cute!)
Those are the camp life lessons for the moment, though I’m sure more will come to me. I would venture to guess this won’t be my last post of this nature.
Happy Easter!
Residency Pros & Cons
Sure, get out a piece of notebook paper and make one column for pros, the other for cons, then decide if residency is for you and your family. Ha! After four long years of medical school and mountains of debt, you’d better hope that the “pros” column is way, way longer than the “cons” column, or else!
Patrick’s residency starts in July, with an orientation period in June, but for all intents and purposes, let’s just say July. I know he’s ready, yes, nervous, but well prepared and ready to start the next phase of his medical training, but am I ready? I think I am, but let’s see…
Cons (starting here so we can end on a positive note):
- The absence of husband.
Patrick has basically been off since the beginning of December. He has had a few rotations, but they’ve been super easy and the hours have been really short. He’s been an AMAZING help at home with the kiddos. I’d like to officially nickname him Daddy Magic (not sure why it’s not Magic Daddy, which makes more sense…but this is what I’ve decided). He has an absolute magic touch when it comes to feeding the Feisty Princess (Neala). She’s a challenge and he’s just the best with her. I guess she’ll have to learn to love me a little more if she doesn’t want to starve because Daddy Magic will be working 80 or more hours a week. Yay.Since our kiddos were preemies, we have to fortify my breastmilk so they get enough calories and extra good stuff (technical, I know) to grow big and strong, you know, like eating the crust on bread. Patrick is the food mixer. I HATE mixing the food for some reason. Maybe it’s that, without a doubt, breastmilk gets everywhere and the superfine formula powder seems to get everywhere too. Or maybe I just hate it. No real reason. But, with him being gone, I’ll have to mix the food so our bambinos get nice and chunky.
See, food mixing is a pain. The other thing I really hate is sterilizing all our bottles and nipples and other baby feeding equipment. Ugh. That’s Patrick’s job too, and he’s darn good at it!Our backdoor has been randomly opening in the middle of the night and it scares the crap out of me. What if it’s an intruder and the dogs decide not to bark to warn me and someone sneaks in and breathes on me while I’m asleep, or worse, breathes on the babies (weird fear, I know)…This is less likely to happen with my man in the house. Guess we should move the bat next to my side of the bed, just in case.
Also, showers. When am I going to shower if he’s gone all the time? Guess I’ll get some of that dry shampoo and some strong deodorant and call it good. - Lots of our medical school family is moving away.
Over the last four years Patrick has made some really good friends in school and I’ve become friends with a lot of them and their significant others. There’s really nothing like bonding over commonalities like partners who smell like they’ve been hanging around dead people in the anatomy lab all day. His closest friends matched out of state and will be moving in the next few months. That makes me a little sad.On a side note, one of his classmates has 3 year old twin boys and is moving to another state and I am so grateful, all over again, and again, and again, that I’m not in that boat! - Impromptu Outings and “vacations” are no longer.
Everything we do as a family that involves any kind of travel will have to be planned way in advance so Patrick can get the time off. And by way in advance, I mean that he’s already had to give the residency coordinator all the dates for the next year that he hopes to have off!The word “vacations” is in quotes because we don’t really go on vacations. I think the last vacation we went on was in 2008 for a wedding in Mexico. We’re cheap. And Poor.
Which brings me to the pros!
Pros
- A Paycheck
Patrick will start earning a paycheck. Before I retired and became a stay at home mom, I was the only one earning a paycheck, and working for a non-profit meant a pretty tiny paycheck. Then I quit working and now we’re poor. That will all change once residency starts. Residents don’t make a ton of cash money, but his starting pay will be more than I’ve ever made, so, I’ll say that’s an improvement. - Less Laundry
I really despise laundry. All the parts of the laundry: getting the clothes off the floor, putting it in the hamper, putting it into the washing machine, moving it from the washer to dryer (I especially hate this part because I’m so short that I have to hang over the side of the washer with both feet off the ground to get the freaking socks out of the bottom of the machine), taking it out of the dryer, folding, and the WORST part…putting the clothes away. Ick.But, now that Patrick will be gone quite a bit, and wearing hospital issued (and laundered) scrubs I’ll be dealing mostly with only my own laundry and that of two little babies. So, I’ll say 1/3 the laundry I’m accustomed to? That’s an improvement! - More Visitors
That’s right, I’m going to take full advantage of people feeling sorry for me because my husband is working 80 hours a week (they should really feel sorry for him), and invite anyone and everyone over to visit. And by visit I mean hold a baby, fold laundry (yessss!), do dishes, let me nap or shower (boom, problem solved!), or throw the ball for Stella, the world’s dustiest dog.I’m a very social person and it can be a bit isolating to be at home so much, so yeah, I’m looking forward to people just showing up. When will you be here?You’re uninvited if you or anyone in your family is sick. Bonus points if you bring food! - Guilt Free TV Watching
I can binge watch all the TV dramas and trash reality I want (assuming the kids sleep at some point)! Patrick and I have a few shows that we watch together and I try not to watch the other shows (that he mostly despises) when he’s around. So many programs to catch up on! - Breakfast for Dinner
I love breakfast, like, really, really love it. Sweet, savory, salty meat, how could you go wrong. I could eat breakfast for every meal, but not Patrick. He’s not into breakfast for dinner. I forced some waffles on him the other night and he was not a fan. He was happy to eat them the next morning, but that night I got the, “are you serious?” look and the text after I told him what we were having that said, “are you sure you don’t want me to stop and pick something up?” I’ll be able to eat breakfast whenever I want, yessss! - Holiday’s at Home
For the past umpteen years (since that’s how long we’ve been together), our families have expected us to be in about 10 different places during the holidays. Everyone is just close enough that all the driving is do-able, but certainly not all that enjoyable. (Don’t get me wrong, I love our families and our various holiday traditions, it just gets to be a bit much sometimes.) Patrick will likely not have holidays off, and we have two kids now…guess the party will have to come to us! And, another “con” solved–no need for those pesky roadtrips! - I’ll be in amazing shape.Since I’ll be doing most of the lifting, heaving, and pushing of two growing babies, I’m going to get HUGE. No need for a gym membership. Thank you babies!
The dude, hanging out with mom in the moby wrap for the first time…why have I never used this before?! - The biggest pro of all: When daddy is home, it’s going to be awesome and we will take full advantage of those times!We love you Daddy Magic and are so proud hand happy you’ve managed to do everything in your power to keep us here for the next 5 years!
Daddy Magic chillin’ with his homies.
And there you have it! The pros outweigh the cons of residency and we are ready to take on the next 5 years. Let’s do this. Boom.
As Long as We Have Our Health
There were moments when we were in the NICU with our twins that I really thought they would never let us bring them home. I thought we’d be one of those families that spends years in the hospital with babies who never knew anything different. The challenges our little ones faced seems so huge to me.
Little Neala contracted medical NEC (you can read a bit more about this in my earlier post). She had a PIC line placed and was being fed only IV nutrition for around 14 days and had full body x-rays every 6 hours for 3 days. We were lucky enough to have a nurse who was hyper-vigilant and saw the signs and symptoms right away. And we were even luckier that little Neala was strong enough to pull through with only medical treatment and no surgery. We met a mom who’s son had contracted NEC several times and undergone 4 surgeries.
This photo was taken just hours before Neala was diagnosed wtih NEC.
Even when we were moved to the ICN (intermediate care nursery) I didn’t feel like our kids were out of the woods. Neala had a terrible time gaining weight, and still does…though she looks more like a baby and less like a plucked chicken these days! She suffers from terrible reflux and is still on medications to treat it. Her liver and gall bladder were slightly damaged by the IV nutrition she was on for so long because of the NEC, though both seem to have recovered. Her head is also growing at a rate faster than the docs are comfortable with, but an MRI last week came back with nothing of note.
Poor little Rylan had to have bilateral inguinal hernia repair. When they whisked him away (I say whisked because he was in a moving isolette and they walked fast, my legs are short so it seemed like they were running, not because it was an emergency) I thought I’d be totally fine. Everyone assured me that it was a very standard operation that the little ones recover from quite well. I couldn’t hold back the tears and spent the next hour and a half terrified that the docs would come out of the operating room with that look you only see on TV shows like Grey’s Anatomy… ” We’re sorry, he didn’t make it.” But he did make it! And did great! And recovered well! And is totally fine and his scars are almost not visible anymore! Again, it could have been so, so much worse.
Rylan recovering from his hernia surgery.
The most terrifying thing that both kids suffered from were what we all affectionately called “bradys,” short for bradycardia which was defined as their heart rates dropping below 80 and usually their respiratory rate would drop too. Every time the brady alarm would go off I would cringe and try to act calm, but it was so scary, so, so scary to think about my little baby’s heart slowing down so much that it might cause permanent damage. Sometimes they would require stimulation to bring their heart rates back up. Neala’s reflux caused bradys and there were several times that we were feeding her when she would brady and then turn totally purple and basically stop breathing. It was horrifying. We had one nurse who would give us the daily report as, “No A’s, B’s or D’s! It’s a good day!” A’s in, no apneas (when the baby stops breathing), B’s as in no bradycardia, and D’s as in no desaturations of oxygen level in the blood.
But still, with all of this, and feeling like the doctors were just keeping the babies in the hospital to keep them company, I feel lucky. I know the doctors, nurses and all the support staff did the very best by our children and we are so, so, so lucky. So many people have it so much worse. Seventy eight days flew by, though it’s still crazy to think that to date, our babies have spent more days in the hospital than they’ve spent home with us.
In the few months they’ve been home, I’ve been so thankful that they are healthy, and that the rest of our family is basically healthy too. Many people commented on my last post saying how sorry they were for us and the loss of such a great piece of property and history. There is nothing to be sorry about, the Rice family had many, many amazing years at Brush Ranch, and the most important thing is that we all still have each other and our memories.
I hadn’t intended this post to fill the white space of the page with semi-sad ramblings, but that’s how this reads to me. Please put on a happy tune and re-read (I do not personally recommend Pharrell’s “Happy,” as I can’t stand that song, but here’s another of my favorites from summer camp days…this particular version I find especially hilarious with the suggestion of singing such a beautiful song in rounds). We are happy and healthy and feel so, so lucky to be alive with our amazing family at our side! I now know where the term “miracle of life” comes from!
Sweet grandpa with Neala and grandma with Rylan…chowing down!
Brush Ranch: A Brief History
On to the 3rd major event, and the event that actually really pushed me into writing this blog: the history and memories of Brush Ranch Camps, Tererro, New Mexico. The line between historical fact and my memory is a bit blurred, so I apologize in advance for any chronological mistakes or other bits and pieces that I may get a little wrong along the way.
I would like to take a moment to apologize for the lack of photos in this post. Most of the things I’m mentioning in this post should and will have longer posts dedicated to them and I will include photos at that time. Plus, I don’t know where they are right now and since becoming mother of twins, it’s all I can do to get dressed each day, much less search for photos. Yes, it’s nearly 4:00 and I’m not dressed yet. I did remember to brush my teeth!
In 1956, my grandparents, Newcomb and Kitty Rice purchased the Brush Ranch property, 11 miles up the Pecos Canyon, from the Old family. It had previously been owned by Lyle Brush and everyone seemed to thing the name was perfect so it stayed through multiple transitions. The property had been running as a dude ranch for a number of years. It had, at one point, also been called Irvin’s on the Pecos. So the story goes, Newcomb didn’t have “two pennies to rub together” but Mr. Old sold him the property anyway and somehow, over the years, Newcomb was able to complete payments on the property.
Newcomb and Kitty started Brush Ranch Camps for Girls. The original idea was that it would be a performing arts camp that focused on dance, drama, and music. My grandfather came from a performing arts background (I’ll dedicate a later post to his history and how he and my grandmother met) so it seemed a natural transition for them.
As time went on, they added more and more activities, including, at one point, until the insurance world had a fit I’m sure, trampolining! How fun would that be?! They also added horseback riding, arts and crafts, synchronized swimming, and several more traditional “camp” activities to the program. In the mid 60’s, they began to allow boys into camp. They built a separate “boys camp” area just north of the main Brush Ranch property that included one very basic cabin and eventually several tent platforms and a wash house. It was MUCH more crude than the girls cabins that were complete with running water, heating, fireplaces, and even carpet (in some cases). With the addition of the boys camp came the addition of several more activities: shooting, fencing, archery, ropes course, and fishing.
As you can imagine, summer camp is not lucrative all year around, so the Brush Ranch School opened in the 70’s. The school focused on middle school and high school aged students with learning differences and was a boarding school.
At the time, my dad was living and working on the Brush Ranch property doing various odds and ends and my mom had just graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in education. She worked for a few years in Corpus Christi and was then hired as a teacher at Brush Ranch School. One thing led to another, and in 1976, my parents were married in the booming metropolis of Quanah, Texas, where my mother had grown up. They lived for several years in what was used most recently as the nurses cabin, right down by the gurgling Pecos river. They eventually built the house I grew up in on the north end of the property with the help of several of their friends. From what I’ve heard, it was quite the group effort.
Dad living in what eventually became the nurses cabin.
Somewhere along the way, my grandparents purchased another bit of acreage north of the boys camp area with a giant lovely house, guesthouse, and old rickety other building (no idea what it was but I LOVED exploring in there when I was a kid and finding all sorts of really old junk). This was the Timberland property. Eventually, the ropes course for the camp was built on this part of the property.
All in all, the entire property was around 300 acres right on the river with a winding dirt road that connected everything that ran along the back side…think over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go, because that’s exactly how it was!
In the late 70’s or early 80’s, my parents took over full operation of the camp business and expanded it quite a bit, adding various programs throughout the years. At some point, they were involved in the business operations of the school as well, but after a bit of a family feud, they became completely uninvolved in the school and the camp and school ran as two completely different entities.
So, things cooked along like this for the 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s. In 1996 another piece of property was purchased and used for various camp activities. This property was much farther north up the canyon and was know as Rosilla Peak Ranch.
My parents lived full time on the main property in the house I mentioned earlier. My older brother was born in 1980, I showed up a little over two years after that, and then our youngest brother was born in 1988. We grew up at summer camp, and it was awesome, I can only assume, every little kid’s dream! We had all the playmates we could ask for, plus we had super cool college kids (counselors), as our mentors each summer! We had a blast. (It’s worth mentioning that the winters weren’t too shabby either, with tons of snow and great sledding hills!).
A bazillion kids and staff from all over the world (literally), must have come through that stone front gate, where a bazillion more memories were made, many of which are still cherished today. Of course, there were ups and downs, most of which I was sheltered from since I was a child during a lot of this time.
Brush Ranch Camps staff photo, 1989 (courtesy Barbara Cohen). My parents are on the bottom row directly under the “ch” in “Ranch. And there I am, clearly a staff member, bottom row, far left.
Beginning in the late 90’s, Newcomb and Kitty spent less and less time at Brush Ranch and more time at their second home in Santa Fe. As they grew older, the drive and the weather became too much for them. Newcomb passed away in 1996, and Kitty died several years later in 2001.
After Kitty’s passing, another sort of family feud ensued between my father and his sister. Eventually, my parents decided that the best course of action for everyone in the long run would be to discontinue camp and school operations and sell the majority of the property. Neither the camp or school had been profitable in the years leading up to this decision, and my parents did not want to work their fingers to the bone for the rest of their lives. The last summer of operation was 2004.
They sold the north end of the property (including Timberland, the house I grew up in, and the boy’s camp area) to a couple from Texas. They sold the south end of the property with the majority of the cabins and gathering spaces to a family who owns a large insurance firm in Albuquerque.
They kept 12 acres that they named Rancho Compostela that included the barn and a building that was built in 1994 as a classroom for the school. They hired an architect and a contractor and remodeled and added on to the classroom building and made it into an amazing home. (Meanwhile, they lived in the dining hall for the camp, which only caught on fire once while they lived there!!) They spent lots of time improving the grounds of the property, and did some major work on the barn as well, including chopping it in half and pouring concrete floors. It was a great space for a big party (this is where we had our wedding reception)!
A portion of the 12 acres my parents kept after selling the other parts of the Ranch. This is taken looking from the house to the barn, north, up the Pecos canyon.
Mom and dad were living the life of a retired couple and were settling in nicely. All that changed on April 1st, 2009 when their money manager committed suicide by way of fiery car accident. As weeks and months went by after his passing, it became evident that the money made in the sale of the Brush Ranch property was tied up in multiple lawsuits. I won’t go into too many gory details here, but the short story is that a large portion of the money was lost in what was basically a ponzi scheme, and the rest was tied up in lawsuits and court fees. The Rosilla Peak Ranch property was taken as a part of a settlement, and just this spring, my parents sold their 15 acres to a lovely Albuquerque family so that they can officially get out from under the black cloud of 2009 and MOVE ON!
I won’t pretend that this hasn’t been difficult for our family. It has been. Really, really difficult. The sale of the last piece of property was especially bittersweet, as it means the end to an era for our family, but it also means the beginning of an exciting new era. And era that I have high hopes for, one that includes improved health and happiness, lots of grandparent time, impromptu family get-togethers, and much much more!
I truly believe that Brush Ranch had a major impact on many lives and I intend to share more detailed memories, funny stories, sad stories, traditions, songs, and whatever else comes to mind. If there’s a specific story you’d like to share, please go to my contact page and send it to me or email me at alden@youretheheartofus.com . I just might post it on the blog! Please include any photos you have that might accompany your story!
I cannot guarantee that I will post your story or when it will be posted, but I will do my best to alert you if/when it is posted. I reserve the right to edit stories as I see fit and will do my best not to change any hard facts.
The Match
Again, if you’ll recall from my very first post, there were a few major life events that shaped my vision for this blog. Event #2: The Match. You had better sit down. This is a long story.
The Match (yes, I’m going to capitalize it as if it’s a proper noun because in my mind, it should be) has been this thing, this sort of indescribable weight that has been following us around for almost 4 years now. In the last year or so it’s gotten increasingly heavier and weighed on us almost as much as the 40+ pounds I gained when I was pregnant.
Patrick, world’s best husband and dad, decided after a trip we took to Asia (that’s a story for another post), that he wanted to be a doctor. This was, obviously, a decision I was ready to fully support even though he was neither my husband or father of my children at this point. Unfortunately, a degree in psychology will not do much to help one get into med school. And so the schooling began again. Patrick started taking preliminary classes in 2006 or 2007 (the years all blur together) and worked in surgical services at one of the hospitals in town. He completed the prelims and took the dreaded MCAT for admittance into med school and got a great score. He applied to tons of different schools and was granted an interview at the University of New Mexico.
His interview was scheduled for 7:30 one morning with a doctor named Dr. Goodluck. We thought for sure that with a name like that the guy might be a genie in a bottle or something and that Patrick might actually receive some good luck from him. Not so. The interview was terrible. First, the location where the interview was scheduled was under construction so Patrick had to figure out where to find the doctor. Then, the doctor asked some really silly questions. I won’t repeat them here, Albuquerque is too small and I’d hate to put the rest of Patrick’s career in jeopardy. Well, that’s being a bit dramatic…but the actual questions don’t matter anyway. A few weeks later, the rejection letter arrived. I thought it’d be a good idea to throw Patrick a surprise birthday party around this time. Sorry babe, in retrospect, that was probably a bad idea.
This is what it looks like to “celebrate” rejection. That’s Patrick on the right. Boys, you’re welcome for posting this picture. I knew there was a reason to document this moment, otherwise, I wouldn’t have any photos for this post!
So, here we were again forced to decide if Patrick should retake the MCAT or not, reapply to med school or not, keep working at the hospital or not. Luckily, Patrick picked himself up, dusted himself off, and reached out to several people who have since become his champions and mentors. He built a sort of team to help him increase his likelihood of being accepted if he applied again. Which he did. Thank goodness.
Rejection or acceptance letters were scheduled to arrive in the mail on or around March 17. I remember this because it was St. Patrick’s day…how’s that for good luck (of the Irish)?! I came home for lunch that day hoping to get the mail and deliver some good news, but I had just missed the mailman and there was a notice in the box that our certified mail would be available for pick up at our local post office the following Monday. This was THURSDAY!! There was no way we could wait all weekend to find out for sure one way or another (apparently, there was no such thing as email a way back then…). I immediately hopped in my car and commenced driving around the neighborhood looking for the mailman. Believe it or not, I found him, approached his truck, scared the living crap out of him (because I’m so scary, ya know?), and asked him if he could give us our mail. He handed me the certified letter and I went on my way, trying to keep my excitement from showing. (You see, the year before, when we received a rejection letter, it was not certified mail, so I had a good feeling about this one).
Sure enough, we opened the letter and Patrick had officially been accepted to the University of New Mexico School of Medicine, class of 2014! Yay!!
The last 4 years Patrick has worked harder than I could ever imagine working. He studied non stop, he was admitted to all the right honor societies, scored really high on all his board exams, he made great friends, faced some major challenges, and is almost finished and ranked toward the top of his class.
About the time I got pregnant, he had to seriously start thinking about what specialty he wanted to go into and schedule the next year in such a way that he would be set up to be accepted into a program that he liked, in that specialty. And so that match process begins (sorry for the epic back story!):
Around July or August of 2013, Patrick decided that he wanted to be an orthopedic surgeon. Applications for residency positions were due sometime in October and Patrick applied to over 50 (!!!) programs just to be sure he’d secure enough interviews and to secure a spot! This is not backed up by any research, not even internet research, but I’ve heard that there are something like 1200 orthopedic residency applicants for 600 spots all over the country. Pretty soon, the invitations for interviews started coming in (believe it or not, they came via email).
Patrick interviewed at 8 different programs around the country including UNM. I think he enjoyed traveling for the interviews and seeing some of the other programs. While Patrick was in Vermont, the twins showed up. Silver lining: Patrick had something very unique to share with the people conducting the interviews–he had twins that were literally only hours old and a wife who’s liver had threatened to kill her. He finished up his interviews and then it was time to submit his “rank list.”
We hemmed and hawed over what would be the best place for our family to move and decided that either Ann Arbor, Michigan, or San Antonio would work best for us if we didn’t end up staying here.
We even got these onesies, just in case.
And then it was that Tuesday night I told you about where the crazy people at the hospital sent us home with two kids. His rank list was due the very next day and all those programs listed above were immediately bumped down a spot and UNM was placed at the tippie top of that list after a night of no sleep!
Each student ranks their choices of where to go (people typically only rank programs where they’ve interviewed), and the programs rank their candidates and they throw them all in a hat, each student walks up on stage, puts the hat on, and the hat tells them where they’ll be going for the next 5 years. Oh, wait, that’s not right, but it might as well be! Some sort of computer algorithm (is that even a thing?) matches students to programs, using the best match first. Based on this system, you can see that we didn’t have much of a choice. Whatever the computer comes up with is what it is and there is no choice in the matter. The student goes to the one program that the algorithm decides is the best possible match based on the rank lists of the students and the programs.
My favorite question: Where do you want to go?
My favorite answer: We won’t have much of a choice. Do you know how The Match works?
And then I’d spend the next 30 minutes explaining the process to someone. So if you are ever confused about how it works, reread this post and take a few deep breaths because Patrick and I are so sick of explaining it that we might just refuse to next time you ask.
Match day was Friday, March 21st and the Monday before that, all the 4th year med students across the country received an email letting them know if they matched. Patrick was in an anatomy lab practicing sewing people up when his email came and he called me immediately–he’d matched! My husband was/is going to be an orthopedic surgeon. Or is it orthopaedic? Whatever. I won’t go into what would have happened if he didn’t match, though there were several people in his class who did not.
We spent the next 4 days wondering where the heck we’d end up. That Friday, we went to a brunch where everyone opened their match letters. There were lots of tears of both joy and sadness as Patrick and his classmates learned where they’d spend the next 3 to 5 years of their lives. As you already know, Patrick matched at the University of New Mexico and we’ll be staying here, where we have an amazing support system, a great little house, lots of friends, soccer teams, and no polar vortex!
Here’s a terrible picture of all of us on match day, in case you were having a difficult time imagining what people in a banquet room in a hotel look like.
Up until yesterday, every single person we’d talked to about the match would say something like, ” Oh my gosh, aren’t you glad you’re staying here?!” or, “It’s so great you don’t have to move.” Then yesterday the mom of one of our childhood friends asked if there was a small part of us that was disappointed that we wouldn’t be moving. The answer is yes, for both of us. We had spent a lot of time considering moving and had even poked around the interwebbings looking at homes for sale in the places we might end up. The prospect of leaving was exciting and there is a little twinge of disappointment that we aren’t making an epic cross country move with 2 dogs and 6 month old twins. And then we think about it again and realize that we are EXACTLY where we’re suppose to be.
That cross country move? That polar vortex? That selling our house? That buying a new house? Yeah, I can do without all of that. We are thrilled to be staying. UNM has a great program with great surgeons, our kids will get to grow up with their cousins, and we’ll have tons and tons of support–it takes a village!
Let the residency begin!