It's an obsession. Nearly every day I log on to the MOE's databank of children and search for Peanut. I enter my search criteria -- male, born in 1997, in Peanut's region, available for adoption -- and then I hold my breath.

I scroll through the other little boys: Ivan, Yevgeny, Peter, Alexei, Sergei. Grainy photos of beautiful children with solemn stares. Each seems to plead with me asking "Will you be my mama?" I silently apologize to their dark eyes, for as much as I would love to take each and every one, they are not my son.

Then I find him. My beautiful boy. He's wearing a bulky geometric sweater that I can't imagine him liking. His mouth is set in a stoic expression; his false nothing-can-hurt-me orphanage face. But his eyes belie the fear he felt as some stranger snapped his photo before he entered the orphanage.

I release my breath, relax my shoulders, and know I can get through one more day with the knowledge that (according to the databank) my boy is still available for adoption.

My agency coordinator has told me time and again how unreliable the databank is. She has seen children still listed long after they were officially adopted. But I'm choosing to believe what I see. My boy is waiting, he's legally free for adoption, and it won't be long until I can make a "withdrawal" from the databank.

Peanut's at that in-between age. The age where he still likes stuffed animals -- he names his favorites, places them carefully on the bed next to him, and hugs them in car when we went on long rides. He was fascinated with bubbles and loved to draw with sidewalk chalk... innocent quiet activities suitable for kids even younger than he is. But then he has his rough-and-tumble side. He likes any toys that inspire him to growl, make skidding and crashing noises, or act like a ninja.

The Toys-R-Expensive in my neighborhood is going out of business. Last week was the 70-80% off sale. Hoo-boy! I ended up with $49 worth of toys for $14.



Fantastic 4 figures. He saw the movie this summer and loved it. When the figure sits on the motorcycle it says "Flame On!" I'm just not sure how I feel about that...

I had bought some of these before, so now he has a good dinosaur collection. I used to love dinosaur toys when I was a kid. I'm going to have to restrain myself so these aren't worn out by the time Peanut comes home.

I haven't checked this out yet. But it involves cars and has the word "battle" in the title. That's all good in Peanut's world!

When you see an adorable kid, what do you think? "What big pretty eyes" or "What a sweet smile." But, as perfect as Peanut's eyes and smile are, when I first saw his picture I noticed his nose. Yep, that's right, my kid has the world's cutest nose. And the fact that I love his nose so much, makes the rest of this post hard to write.

I put my very favorite photo of Peanut on my desktop at work today. Seeing it so enlarged made me take a fresh look at what I've been trying to deny since last summer. It's undiagnosed, but I'm quite sure that my boy has some symptoms of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Possible symptoms include:

• Small eye openings (short palpebral fissures). At first I thought this didn't apply to Peanut. He has big, beautiful, perfect eyes. But then I learned that this doesn't mean the height of the eye -- it's the width of the eye from corner to corner. Peanut's are smaller than normal.
• A wide, flat bridge between the inner corners of each eye (Telecanthus). Peanut's eyes are definitely wideset and the bridge of his nose is somewhat flat.
• Short nose. That adorable nose that I love so much fits the FAS nose description perfectly.
• Smooth philtrum (that divet under the nose). Peanut's isn't entirely smooth, but it's a very subtle indentation. It completely disappears when he smiles.
• Thin upper lip. It's not as extreme as some examples, but his definitely is disproportionately thin.
• Small in stature. Peanut is 8, but he's the size of most 5 or 6 year olds. He falls under the 5th percentile for height and weight.

He also exhibits some other symptoms -- poor impulse control, poor judgment, and a bit hyperactive -- but I'm not convinced that these personality traits are anything more than those typical of most 8-year-olds.

However, Peanut doesn't totally fit the FAS bill. He's great at math, has excellent memory and attention skills, he gets all high marks at school, has great coordination, doesn't exhibit any speech delays, and reasons well.

I don't mind if he has FAS. His symptoms could be much more severe and I wouldn't mind one bit. He is my son, I love everything about him, and together we'll work through any and all issues that he has. What I do mind is that FAS is something that was thrust upon him unnecessarily.

I want Peanut to talk to me about how wonderful his birth parents were when he's in that mood. He lived with them for nearly 6 years -- while they won't be a part of his life going forward, they will always be an important part of who he is. And, I want Peanut to talk to me when he needs to rage about his birth parents. I thoroughly expect him to have both needs at different times.

Right now I still harbor so much anger with his birth parents. I saw the scars he has from the abuse he endured -- some physical scars and some emotional. And the thought of someone hurting him infuriates me. Deducing that he very well might have some effects from fetal alcohol exposure infuriates me even more.

Before Peanut comes home I need to find a way to be more neutral about his birth parents. I want him to still love them. I want to help him work through whatever emotions he has about his birth parents. If he hears anger in my tone of voice, he may not feel he can talk to me about them without hurting my feelings.

No-one is all-bad or all-good. Peanut's parents did him wrong, but they aren't monsters. I need to find a way to forgive them, and be grateful for the gift of a son that I'm getting through them. Peanut will need that from me so he has room to heal.

Mrs. Chips (my new name for the woman who escorted the kids here last summer -- given because she gave Peanut potato chips for breakfast against my wishes) received permission from the MOE to visit Peanut's orphanage. Thank goodness! Early next week she'll be on her way.

Each of the host parents was invited to write a short note to our kids for Mrs. Chips to deliver. My wonderful adoption coordinator is going to translate them for us. I had a hard time writing my note... there's so much to say. In the letters I wrote to him previously I could go on and on... I would write about how much I missed him and remind him of some of the fun things we did. I'd tell him about what was going on with the family and try to educate him a little on America (holidays, the states, weather, traditions, etc.). But this note had to be brief. Here's what I wrote:

It has been such a long time since I've talked to you. In early December I was told that you went to stay with another family. I was so sad because I missed you very much and wanted to talk to you.

I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in so long. I wanted to very much. I think about you all the time and love you with my whole heart. Remember all the fun times we had when you were in America? Never doubt that I love you, miss you, and want you here with me. You're my favorite boy in the whole world!

Love,

Mama

I don't even know if he's at the orphanage, but I hope so. I hope this note will get to him and that he'll remember that I love him more than any number of words can express. But even if he isn't at the orphanage, Mrs. Chips' visit will provide me with information which is something I've been sorely lacking.

On another good note, have all of you noticed how much things are moving all of a sudden? Melissa has Maks, Lauri is going back for her court date and will have Olivia soon, Gaye has her referral, and Lisa's & Rhonda's agency received their accreditation today. This is all wonderful news. It's like everything Eastern European is coming up roses!

Lisa's & Rhonda's agency getting reaccredited is particularly hopeful for me, because my agency was next on the list, supposedly. I have such high hopes that my agency will get the good word soon. Please cross your fingers, toes, knees, and anything else you're flexible enough to cross.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tunes without the words
And never stops at all.
-- Emily Dickinson

Hope has been elusive for me lately. Some days I find it and manage to keep a strong grip on it. Other days when I feel hopeful I berate myself for it -- after all, my hope has been smashed to pieces over and over... why do I keep building myself back up? And then there are the days that I can't find hope at all.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.
-- Proverbs 13:12

Lately, I've been feeling somewhat hopeful. I'm sad and I miss my boy terribly. But hearing that at least some of the kids that came over this summer are still in the orphanage was a light of sorts for me. It bolstered my ability to hope. Today I learned a new piece of information. The woman who escorted the kids here this summer won't be able to go to the orphanage until next week at the earliest. But, she had a positive piece of news to share. A child from her orphanage was potentially supposed to go to a patr*nat family, but when an international family expressed interest in adopting the child the adoption was deemed preferable.

Ever since I found out that Peanut was in a patr*nat family there has been the concern that he may not be available for international adoption. Russia views permanent families as a better option than a temporary situation. But Russian placements are preferred over international. So it was a bit of a crap shoot. Finding out that an international adoption was viewed favorably in comparison to a temporary patr*nat situation gives me so much hope. It's not concrete... not something to hang my hat on... but it gives me more reason to feel hopeful.

Hope likes justification, but can do without.
-- Mason Cooley

So I've decided to let myself have my down days... I think I need them sometimes. But when I do find faith, when I do find hope I'm not going to berate myself for it anymore.

Hope, like faith, is nothing if it is not courageous.
-- Thornton Wilder

While we have our weak moments -- times when we rant, cry, vent, and rage -- I think all PAPs are brave. Even including me. We navigate these rough waters of adoption voluntarily. I think we'll all be better parents for the struggle.

An ice storm blew through my town a couple of days ago and left me without power. No internet, no TV, no lights, no hot water, and worse yet... no heat. So, yesterday Bethany asked me to come over and babysit -- it gave me a chance to see her girls and to stay in a heated home.

I've been a bit low this week. I'm just so anxious to hear if Peanut is in fact in the orphanage. Hopefully I'll learn more next week. The woman who escorted the kids here last summer is obtaining permission from the Ministry of Education to visit his orphanage. As soon as she has that paper she'll be on her way. (Bless her heart. Major, major prayers of thanks are being said for her.)

In addition to getting me out of my chilly home, I knew seeing Bethany's girls would be good for my spirit. And I was right.

Party Girl is in such a fun stage now. She points and hollers to direct you to what she wants and she'll break out in a huge grin over seemingly nothing. You can't help but smile and laugh when her four little teeth are grinning at you.

After Bethany put Party Girl down for the night and went out with her husband, Sass and I were left to have fun. Dancing, tent-building, and her unique form of hide-and-seek ("you hide here and I'll count") soon followed.

Later we were drawing and had the following exchange:

- Sass draws a circle and proclaims that it is a duck. "See, this part is the head."

- I suggest she adds a wing, so she draws a line. "Beautiful wing, Sass" says I.

- Then I mention the duck's need for legs. Two lines are artfully added. "Those are perfect legs, Sass" says I.

- "How about a tail?" I ask. One line off the back and her duck is finished.

- She then moves to a previously drawn circle and starts drawing lines. Knowing now that lines can be a variety of items I ask her what she has drawn.

- Sass looks at me with all seriousness and says "lines."



Later in the evening we were completing an alphabet puzzle. I was placing the "L is for Lemon" piece so I showed Sass how your face would look if you ate a lemon. She laughed and said "You're funny, Marnie."

Nothing warms the heart more than a 3-year-old telling you you're funny.

I just didn't have a good feeling about switching to the OA. Today I crunched the numbers again and this is where it stands:

• If I stay with my current agency I still have a MAXIMUM of $6,713.00 to raise. A big amount, yes. But I'm cooking up a fundraiser idea and I'm hoping that my family will be able to help me out a bit.
• If I switch to the OA I'll need to raise a MINIMUM of $11,684.00. That's at least an additional $4,971.00. Yeah, right.

So, that's that. Combine the red flags going off in my head with the added $$$ and I have my answer. I'm sticking with my original agency. If the rumors of a March accreditation meeting aren't true, I'll revisit switching agencies again. But for now, I'm good where I'm at.

On a lighter (and much less expensive) note I'm finally getting the picture frames I wanted for Peanut's room. I saw these back before Christmas and decided that they weren't practical. I can justify buying clothes and even toys for Peanut. But picture frames just don't make sense when you're living on an adoption budget. But Christmas came and went and I couldn't get these frames out of my mind. So, I've been saving my spare change for over a month and I finally have enough.

I went to the small gift shop that I first saw them at and they were (of course) gone. But, the internet's a wonderful thing. So now they're ordered and on their way!

Peanut loves American football despite the fact that the first time he played he ran into a tree.

Peanut knew about basketball, but I don't think he had played it before. Attempts at dribbling inevitably ended up with him plopping on the ground and cracking up.

My kid is tough as nails. He throws a mean ball and can catch with the best of 'em, but he doesn't want anything to do with a glove. Gloves are for wimps!

Soccer is Peanut's thing. But he doesn't play by-the-rules, mini-vans and matching-outfits soccer. Uh-uh. He plays down-dirty "I don't need no stinkin' rules" orphanage soccer!

Ages ago my sister had me babysit my niece and nephew. The kids were already in bed when I got there. Not long after my sister and brother-in-law left my niece started asking for things. She was a master at sleep avoidance. Having babysat them many times before I knew her requests weren't real needs... they were just tactics to delay bedtime. So, I took a tactic of my own and ignored her.

After several unanswered requests my quiet, sensitive nephew started to get concerned. He called for me and/or his mother. When that went unanswered he said to his sister "We're all alone. What to do, what to do?"

Obviously I went upstairs after that. And I'm happy to report these kids have reached adulthood unscathed. I don't think I caused any permanent damage.

Today my nephew's words have been ringing in my memory. What to do, what to do? Most of my host family group has made the switch to the other agency (henceforth known as the OA). I spoke to the OA back in December and was told I needed to have a very large sum of money in my personal savings before they would accept me. I chalked it up as impossible and moved on.

After finding out the news that at least some of our kids are still in the orphanage last Friday, my agency coordinator recommended I switch. So, I'm exploring switching to the OA again. And I'm not happy about it.

My agency has made mistakes. But I just don't believe that the latest confusion with the patr*nat vs. orphanage situation is their fault. It's uncharted territory in a way. They've never dealt with a long period of being unaccredited before and they've never dealt with a large group of kids embroiled in a politically and emotionally charged situation. So, though there have been mistakes, I don't really blame my agency. In fact, I still like my agency and really, really trust and like my coordinator.

The OA on the other hand rubs me the wrong way. They are the adoption equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. But, if they can get my son, maybe it's worth it.

The JCICS has sent out a list of agencies still awaiting accreditation listed in the order they're supposed to get accredited. My agency is high up on that list. But, my coordinator said since the MOE has gone out of order before we shouldn't pin too much hope on that.

What to do, what to do.

When Peanut was here this summer he came with a group of amazing kids:

• A 13-year-old boy who wanted to smoke cigarettes and needed to be patted down before he left stores when he first came here, but emerged as a smart and gentle boy as his guard came down.
• His 9-year-old brother with stick-out ears, an infectious smile, and a sweet soul.
• A 12-year-old boy who is responsible beyond his years but playful and funny at the same time.
• A 13-year-old girl with so much potential -- the caretaker of the group, she looked out for all of the kids. She had a rough adjustment while she was here but glimmers of the beautiful soul within shone through.
• Her 10-year-old brother, quick to laugh and so easy to please. He's funny and sensitive and wants so badly to be loved.
• A 10-year-old boy with a soft smile who is the world champion at pouting. He didn't want or ask for much... Time spent together was his priority.
• A 10-year-old boy with a tough exterior who is smart and quick to learn. He softened considerably while he was here and his gentleness was plain to see.
• A 9-year-old girl with delicate features and a sweet, sweet heart. She's a girly-girl, but was all for playing chase and "monsters" with her host dad and brother.
• A 9-year-old girl who loves to organize everything and call all the shots, but is really a softie underneath it all.
• Her 7-year-old brother -- my boy's best friend -- sweet, kind, and our all-American Russian.
• Their 5-year-old ball-of-energy brother with the heart of a daredevil.
• A 7-year-old girl entraced with purses, perfume, make-up, and anything that sparkled. She's all girl, but she's tough as nails, too.
• And Peanut, perpetual motion with no concept of fear, he has a gentle side that not many people saw. He's stubborn, sweet, funny, athletic, intelligent, and artistic.

My fellow host families and I loved all of the kids, not just our own. One of the other host parents calls Peanut his nephew. I think that's how we all feel. On December 6th we learned that over half of our kids (including Peanut) had been placed with patr*nat families. The kids who remained would soon follow, and just a few weeks later we were told that they were all gone. Our collective hearts were broken.

Yesterday we received shocking news. The three oldest girls managed to send a letter to the escort who came with them this summer. They are still at the orphanage... we thought they were long gone. One girls asked the escort why she doesn't visit and why we don't call anymore. It was so sad and sweet; it made me miss her so much. We've since learned that 8 of our kids are still there for sure... we're still trying to find out about the rest.

I'm not sure about Peanut yet, but I'm alternately thrilled and sickened that some of the kids are still there. Thrilled because this uncomplicates the adoption process a bit. Sickened because we've been lied to and for months these kids have been waiting for contact from us.

I'm not sure why this happened. To the best of our knowledge the orphanage director is trying to prevent the kids from being adopted internationally. But, frankly, I just don't know what to think.

My name is Margaret and I'm a passer-outer.

That's right. I faint at the drop of a hat. Pretty much anything can set me off -- the sight of blood, seeing someone I love in pain, even just hearing about something remotely gross. One of my earliest memories is when I wiggled and pulled at my first loose tooth per my sister's suggestion. When it came out and, much to my horror, bled I was out cold. I woke up with my dog licking my face.

In fourth grade I passed out at a school assembly and partially slipped through the bleachers. It must have been uncomfortable with my legs dangling below -- but, I was blissfully unconscious. I've passed out when getting a glaucoma test, when I just heard about the medieval torture an orthodontist wanted to do to my mouth, and when the fumes from an 80s-style spiral perm got the best of me.

I will admit that I've gotten better in recent years. But my somewhat weak constitution has me a bit nervous because Peanut is the world's most rough and tumble little boy.

For example, he decided running down the stairs and jumping the last 3 or 4 was fun. I was OK with that until he tried to up the ante and jump 7 or 8 steps. Suffice it to say that "oos to roose no" (be careful) came out of my mouth A LOT last summer.

I will do everything in my power to keep him from ever getting hurt. I will surround him with bubble-wrap if need be. But still, I predict some major cuts and scrapes in my boy's future. So here's hoping that my stomach gets stronger... because being single there's no one else to deal with the icky stuff while I'm passed out on the floor.

Another negative story.

As much as I hate to admit it, my first reaction to this story was worry about how it would affect Peanut's adoption process. How selfish and unfeeling am I? My reaction really concerns me. If I were in my typical state of mind I would have first been concerned for the little boy that had to endure abuse.

I think weathering this adoption process has changed me and I don't think it's for the better.

• Exhibit A. I used to be thoughtful. If a friend wasn't feeling well I'd remember to call and check on them... I'd send out birthday cards in advance of the occasion... I'd ask other people how they were and be thoroughly interested in the answer. More often now I forget events, don't bother to inquire about other's well-being, and talk far too much about myself.
• Exhibit B. I used to be knowledgeable. Ask me what was going on in the world and I'd have an answer and an opinion. Lately my response to intelligent questions has been "Huh?" I now know little to nothing about US current events, but I can tell you the exact date of the last Duma meeting.

Nowadays, I live my life with blinders on. I focus on Peanut's adoption, the Russian media, and my friends who are adopting. Other random pieces of information make their way into my radar from time to time. Then, I spend a while feeling guilty over how neglectful of my friend's and family's interests I can sometimes be. The adoption process has made me selfish. It's an ugly truth and I'm not proud of it, but it's a truth none-the-less.

To my knowledge the most recent abuse story hasn't hit the Russian media yet. My guess is it won't be pretty when it does and I'm afraid of the ramifications the negative press will have. While that fear is justified, it doesn't excuse my lack of instant empathy for the poor child who was abused.

Don't get me wrong, I am concerned for this little boy. I'm saddened that he ended up in such a horrible home when he probably had a rough start to life already. I'm angry someone like that woman could complete an adoption. I'm perplexed that something indicating her abusive nature wasn't uncovered during screening, education, or post-placement. But still, the feeling that takes precedence over everything else is the horror that this story (or the next, or the one after that) might be the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back and I won't be able to complete the adoption of my son. That truly terrifies me.

So now I'm left feeling guilty over my somewhat callous reaction to the story. I would like to find a way to balance my life and my personality with the adoption process. I'm pleased that I've learned to deal with the stress calmly. (I was a basket case for a while.) Now I need to find a way to avoid having the adoption process consume the best pieces of what makes me -- me.

There have been a lot of posts on other sites about shopping for baby clothes. I don't know if it's just that time of year, or if the sand in adoption's hourglass is starting to move for some of us. But the stores have benefited from waiting parents lately.

I, on the other hand, am a female anomaly. I hate shopping. BUYING is fun, but I dread the actual act of shopping. I did, however, gather the courage to go to Target this week, and I spent some time bruising my debit card online. My purchases haven't all arrived yet, but I thought I'd show you some of the items that come with older child adoption. First, you have to know the rules:

1. Matching attire is optional.
2. Anything with a recognizable character on it that can inspire semi-violent play acting is appreciated.
3. Sports-related items are also karasho (good).
4. Engleeski (English) writing is OK, as long as it's accompanied by a recognizable image of some sort. If not, it must first be approved by a man.
5. Peanut reserves the right to say nyet to every shirt he owns and then go back and select the first one I presented. It's a very fun game.
6. Clothes deemed cool one day can all of a sudden become babyish the next. It's very important to respect this progression in clothing.
7. Dirty shirts are perfectly acceptable. Ice cream stains? Ni chevo! (No big deal.)

This is the item that broke all the rules. My suggesting that Peanut wear this shirt caused him to cross his arms in an X shape and say NYEEEEET! Notice the tag is still attached.

The super-cool toasty warm Spiderman coat. Sure to delight Peanut with hours of pretend web-slinging and climbing the walls. "Mama, s'matri... Spiderman!"

American football, BMX, and basketball. These long sleeve t-shirts will pass the Peanut test according to rules #3 & #4.

And the piece de la resistance....

The Power Ranger costume. Suitable for wearing while riding bikes, going to the store, playing at the park, and attending black tie affairs.

Five agencies have received their accreditation certificates. I'm trying so hard to be happy for the waiting families that now have a green light. But I'm more selfish than that. I want my agency reaccredited. (And, I want Lisa's and Rhonda's agency reaccredited, too.)

This morning I woke up with a good feeling. I don't know why, but I truly thought today would be the day. I was almost sure of it. But, as it has been for months and months, there was no news today. Damn. And here I thought I could start moonlighting on the Psychic Friends Network.

Mr. Inertia (my ex-boyfriend) told me many times that I was too cynical. While I know that's true to a certain extent, if I were a complete cynic I wouldn't be constantly rising with hope and crashing with disappointment. The emotional cycles of this adoption rollercoaster are taking their toll on me. I remember visiting a theme park many moons ago with Bethany, a different ex of mine (who I shall call Stalker McCrazy), and his nutjob roommate who I mistakenly tried to set Bethany up with*. We debated for a moment about going on this coaster where you stand up for the whole ride. After watching its screaming passengers go by and seeing their heads whip about as if attached by string I stated there was no way I'd get on. And yet, here I am today. By my own free will I'm standing on this ride, turning and straining with every piece of news, clutching on to hope for dear life... and there's no end in sight.

There aren't many agencies that work in Peanut's region. Only three from the accredited pool work there. One won't accept me as a client for financial reasons (insert derogatory swear word of choice here), the other two refuse to work with host families. So I'm stuck. Stuck between a red-tape rock and an unaccredited hard place. Frankly, I'm scared to make the switch to another agency anyway. Mine has their faults, but I adore my coordinator and I've developed a comfort level with the agency.

Today I received an email from my agency's Russian program director. Basically it was a lot of words just to say they have no news. (Not unlike this post.) Here's a quote from the non-update:

"In my last email I mentioned that my ability to deal with the stress has been stretched to the maximum. Not any more. I have recovered. I bought a big bouquet of bright yellow roses during my lunch break and I am applauding the MOE for having the courage to sign new licenses."

I'm glad she's feeling better. But what do her bouquet of bright yellow roses have to do with the price of borscht in Russia? And, there should be a law that no-one can mention frivolous purchases to a woman who can't even afford good cat litter.



* Again, sorry about that Bethany. What was I thinking? But the weekend had its purpose. Thanks to Stalker McCrazy's brother you met your DH. Night Ranger rules!