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Leaving the faucet running
So my aunt’s comment about having an overactive maternal drive, wasn’t exactly something we were unaware of. Unfortunately or fortunately, as it turned out - infertility runs in my family and I was barely in my 20s when I hit an early menopause just like my mother had after I was born when she was 24. We consulted doctors and tried lots of different medical approaches, and then we entered a pet shop with a little trifolds on the counter that said November is adoption month. Greg‘s mom and both her siblings and my cousin and my younger brother were all adopted and we realized we were very open to that idea. It took almost 2 years of meetings and driving 90 miles away to get through the preadopt process. We were told that we wouldn’t have hardly any chance of getting a newborn but because of my experience with a brother with down’s syndrome and with teaching special ed classes, and the fact that both of us were teachers, we knew that we were uniquely qualified to raise special needs children. We were willing to take on bigger groups if they needed to place siblings. To prepare for that we had our home inspected and attended classes, and qualified to be foster parents.
In August 1992 We got our first and as it turned out, only foster child, an 11-year-old girl, whose birthday was one day after my own. Shortly after she moved in with us, she began sixth grade. Our families loved her and she traveled with us to Wyoming twice and I think overall we had a very positive impact on her. I hope so. She definitely left her mark in our hearts. While she was living with us, we got the unexpected call that a birth mother had chosen us if we were interested in a newborn, and when I asked when she was due, they said two weeks ago. For nearly 10 years, I’d been praying for a baby, then, for two years, not knowing if the child I would someday adopt, was one or several already born or still to be born. I had been praying for that child. Suddenly we were driving that familiar 90 miles to pick up a 14 hour old newborn boy. His birth mother placed them into my arms and said, “Here, honey meet your mom and dad.”
And when I took him in for his 6 month checkup, I found out I didn’t have breast cancer, but the Dr. said, “think positive”
So 18 days after our first son’s first birthday, our younger son was delivered by emergency c-section and the family was complete. My aunt again chimed in with her opinion, “so when you prayed for a baby, you forgot to turn off the faucet once your prayer was answered.”
April 16 this year he turned 31 at the home of his 32 year old brother.
In August 1992 We got our first and as it turned out, only foster child, an 11-year-old girl, whose birthday was one day after my own. Shortly after she moved in with us, she began sixth grade. Our families loved her and she traveled with us to Wyoming twice and I think overall we had a very positive impact on her. I hope so. She definitely left her mark in our hearts. While she was living with us, we got the unexpected call that a birth mother had chosen us if we were interested in a newborn, and when I asked when she was due, they said two weeks ago. For nearly 10 years, I’d been praying for a baby, then, for two years, not knowing if the child I would someday adopt, was one or several already born or still to be born. I had been praying for that child. Suddenly we were driving that familiar 90 miles to pick up a 14 hour old newborn boy. His birth mother placed them into my arms and said, “Here, honey meet your mom and dad.”
And when I took him in for his 6 month checkup, I found out I didn’t have breast cancer, but the Dr. said, “think positive”
So 18 days after our first son’s first birthday, our younger son was delivered by emergency c-section and the family was complete. My aunt again chimed in with her opinion, “so when you prayed for a baby, you forgot to turn off the faucet once your prayer was answered.”
April 16 this year he turned 31 at the home of his 32 year old brother.
Miles and miracles
Since we both grew up in Wyoming, but were raising our boys on the redwood coast and were still determined to raise our boys knowing our families, we drove a lot of miles. Being teachers meant that we had the same schedules so we could always drive back for Christmas vacation. And because we had family in three corners of Wyoming, we often drove 1300 miles to Wyoming and another thousand circumnavigating the state. If you know Wyoming in December and early January you know we had to go nearly 400 extra miles in the winter when Yellowstone is closed, and that we often had blinding blizzards and equally hazardous ground blizzards we called snow snakes.
But sometimes we had long trips in the summer too, or sometimes our families would come to visit us.
But we always had this odd sense that our lives together had been following a plan, a plan where we would just barely have enough things, always be in debt to others and yet have an abundance of love. I called it my two pair of pants deal. Everytime I got a third pair, one of them would be destroyed. Everytime we got a “crisis” needing extra money, just that amount would unexpectedly appear. If we really needed tires or a washing machine went out, suddenly there would be the money to pay for it. But our life would be decorated in early American yard sale. Once we “borrowed” a hundred dollars from my parents for groceries and spent $25 on a couch at a yard sale and apologized. My Dad, in typical Paul Miller logic said, “I’d rather sit on a couch than a $25 bill.”
And we had many on the road miracles that saved us from our own poor choices.
One time I was driving a long, long straight stretch of road between Lakeview, Oregon and Winnemucca, Nevada. My husband was asleep and it was about 45 minutes after sunset. Suddenly he sat up and declared, “cow!” And I hit the brakes. Then we looked at each other and laughed and I started moving again, but just then we crested a small hill and right in our lane, with her back to us, was a solid black cow, on a blacktop road in the high desert blackness.
One time we were driving in blinding snow. The kind you feel like you’re in a Star Trek warp speed simulation as white needles of light fly past you. Our oldest son, merely 2, suddenly asked, “God please lift up this storm.” And we sighed and wished it were so simple, but literally within a few car lengths, the pavement was dry and clear and stayed that way until we arrived at our motel.
Another night, our heater wasn’t keeping up, I was scraping frost from the inside of the windshield, we had four parrots in cages with us for the stupid reason we wanted to give one to my mom and show off the others. It was 8 below zero, f* but also windy. We needed a motel but there was only one, small non chain motel for a hundred miles. I was terrified they’d never let us have the birds in the motel but as we stepped into the lobby, we saw the owner behind the counter. With a cockatoo on her shoulder. In the morning our car was dead and she let us stay hours late as it thawed enough to get going again.
But sometimes we had long trips in the summer too, or sometimes our families would come to visit us.
But we always had this odd sense that our lives together had been following a plan, a plan where we would just barely have enough things, always be in debt to others and yet have an abundance of love. I called it my two pair of pants deal. Everytime I got a third pair, one of them would be destroyed. Everytime we got a “crisis” needing extra money, just that amount would unexpectedly appear. If we really needed tires or a washing machine went out, suddenly there would be the money to pay for it. But our life would be decorated in early American yard sale. Once we “borrowed” a hundred dollars from my parents for groceries and spent $25 on a couch at a yard sale and apologized. My Dad, in typical Paul Miller logic said, “I’d rather sit on a couch than a $25 bill.”
And we had many on the road miracles that saved us from our own poor choices.
One time I was driving a long, long straight stretch of road between Lakeview, Oregon and Winnemucca, Nevada. My husband was asleep and it was about 45 minutes after sunset. Suddenly he sat up and declared, “cow!” And I hit the brakes. Then we looked at each other and laughed and I started moving again, but just then we crested a small hill and right in our lane, with her back to us, was a solid black cow, on a blacktop road in the high desert blackness.
One time we were driving in blinding snow. The kind you feel like you’re in a Star Trek warp speed simulation as white needles of light fly past you. Our oldest son, merely 2, suddenly asked, “God please lift up this storm.” And we sighed and wished it were so simple, but literally within a few car lengths, the pavement was dry and clear and stayed that way until we arrived at our motel.
Another night, our heater wasn’t keeping up, I was scraping frost from the inside of the windshield, we had four parrots in cages with us for the stupid reason we wanted to give one to my mom and show off the others. It was 8 below zero, f* but also windy. We needed a motel but there was only one, small non chain motel for a hundred miles. I was terrified they’d never let us have the birds in the motel but as we stepped into the lobby, we saw the owner behind the counter. With a cockatoo on her shoulder. In the morning our car was dead and she let us stay hours late as it thawed enough to get going again.
Family time
I wish I had been aware enough to appreciate 1995 and 1986 more while I was living it. Having two babies was exhausting and I kept saying I’ve never been more exhausted or happier. I knew the kids would grow fast. Everyone warned us of that. What I didn’t know was how quickly we would start losing members of the family. For those brief years the generations met, we had the grandparents and cousins and babies and even our foster daughter still. Every precious moment I should have been holding them close but life is so fleeting.
And maybe I’m being too harsh. I took a ton of photos. We drove thousands of miles. We made home videos. We went on trips together and in between those were phone call after phone calls, there was no shortage of love. We knew we were blessed.
And maybe I’m being too harsh. I took a ton of photos. We drove thousands of miles. We made home videos. We went on trips together and in between those were phone call after phone calls, there was no shortage of love. We knew we were blessed.
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