Today was a great day. I checked my messages while I was at work and my dad left me the following:

"Hey, Ash, it's Dad. Just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Twenty-five years ago today your mother and I were driving home from Des Moines with you in the car. We were just thinking of you and wanted to say hi. Love ya."

I was born on January 23, 1978. The Year of the Blizzard. My parents adopted me, but because of the storm, I had to stay with another family for twelve weeks before they could pick me up. I went over there tonight to do laundry, and they told stories about how nervous they were. And how excited. And how they had no idea what they were doing.

"My mother drove home with us and stayed for one night. Then your dad went to work the next day and I was so scared I would do something wrong I thought I would throw up."

"The couple that kept you told us how you were able to sleep through the night. The first night we had you, you woke up once crying. We fed you, but you weren't too interested, and finally went back to sleep. Your mom and I stayed up all night worrying that we had messed everything up. We agonized and analyzed all night and finally decided that you were too cold. So the next night we put you in a sleeper with booties, and we haven't looked back since."

God. I'm really going to miss them.

Seven more weeks.

Then it's across the country.