Peanut Pants

Wishes and Prayers

2006-05-09T22:17:00.000-04:00

It was too brief. Peanut was brought into my life and it was wonderful... but it was too brief.

I'll never forget the first moment he walked off the plane. I whispered to my sister "There he is. There's my son." I knew right away we were meant to be together. During the five weeks he stayed with me we both experienced so much about life, bonding, and love. After a day or so of getting used to each other, he and I were a team.

Those of you who have adopted before will understand when I say that bonding is a process -- and it's a beautiful thing to experience. After his first full day here I told him I loved him even though I knew I should wait until he was more comfortable. After a moment of surprise he just smiled shyly. He wasn't used to hearing that and he liked it. Within a week or so he was saying "loublue tebya" back and by week 3 he really meant it.

Near the end of his stay he was attached and happy, but I recall a momentous occasion when I realized that -- above and beyond happy -- he was content. He always prefered my full attention and, unless otherwise necessary, I was happy to give it. But one day he grabbed his toy cars and some action figures and went on the back patio to play. Within a few minutes I looked outside with the intention of joining him. But I realized he was comfortable and secure enough to play without me.

So that is how I'm choosing to picture him now. In his new home I have heard that he is happy. I still wish I could write to him and I will continue to try. But for now, I have to have faith that I helped him develop security and trust so that he can be content and happy in his new life without me.

With the knowledge that he is OK and with someone who cares for him, I have to let my sweet boy go. I'll trust in God and his new mother to raise him with confidence, foster his intelligence and passion, encourage his generosity and humor, and never let his fighting spirit wither.

Peanut Pants is his story. (I don't know anyone else who arrived in America with purple warm-up pants chock full of airplane peanuts.) As much as it pains me, his story is no longer mine to tell. As for me, I'm moving on. I'm a firm believer that when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window. So please join me on my search for The Open Window.

To my dear boy, I'm so sorry that I was never able to say goodbye. While I'm sad that we won't be family I am happy for your new chance in life. My wish for you is that you'll always remember to look for the good in life and in others. Love with your whole heart -- the way you loved me. Trust in yourself, your strength, and your instincts. Hang on to the people who love you because they will help you reach your full potential. You have the whole world in front you. With faith, prayer, ambition, and love you can go anywhere and do anything. I'm so proud of you and I love you with everything that I am.

To all of you who have followed Peanut Pants, thank you for your prayers and support. In closing, please comment and leave a wish and a prayer for Peanut.

With a Soft Click...

2006-05-08T20:58:00.000-04:00

...the door closes.

I spoke to my agency coordinator today. She says she already told me this, but somehow I didn't hear it. Peanut's new mom has pre-signed patr*nat contracts up to his 18th birthday.

The door is firmly closed.

Of course it hurts, but it's also reassuring to know that she is in this for the long haul.

As for now, I have a lot to sort through emotionally, financially, and logically. I just need to take some quiet time to figure it all out. It's like stepping into the shallows of a clear lake -- the sand is all stirred up and everything is murky right now so I can't really see where I'm standing. But I know if I just stay still for a while everything will clear up.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

2006-05-07T19:43:00.000-04:00

I've been trying to handle this with grace. I've been fighting to maintain faith and optimism. Today I just don't have what it takes to be that person. Today I'm pissed off.

I met my Kidsave friends for lunch today and it was great to see them. (I actually found out that one friend started her own blog. Check her out!) Now I'm home and I'm emotionally exhausted. I love my Kidsave family. We're all so different, yet we've formed a cohesive group of friends. It's an unexpected perk of hosting. But hearing about the families that are going to bring their kids home was hard. I'm happy for them, but I want to go too! (OK Margaret, let's face the ugly truth.) I'm jealous.

I am so angry at everything that went wrong. I'm angry that my agency continued with this hosting program when they weren't accredited. I'm angry that we were advised not to do paperwork when the kids were here. I'm furious that we were told to stop calling the kids in November. And I'm just enraged that my boy -- a child that could have had a happy home here with me -- was placed into a patr*nat family when there are literally tens of thousands of other children that could have been selected. And the worst part? I don't really have anyone to be angry at.

Last summer Peanut attended a day camp and he made friends with some boys his age. But, since he's just a little thing, they were way bigger than him. After a while I think the novelty of a Russian friend wore off and they started being mean to him (or at least that is what he thought). So what did he do? He punched a little kid. He was angry at the big kids but couldn't take them so he knocked out a little kid. Good behavior? Heck no! It's what got him expelled from day camp. But I would love to take a page out of my kid's book. I would love to just take my anger out on someone.

I want my son home with me. It's as simple as that.

Letting go of someone you love isn't a decision. It doesn't happen in one fell swoop. It's a process and it comes in fits and starts. I'm so tired of the emotional work required in letting go of my child. Especially considering I don't want to let him go at all.

So how's that for grace?

New Hope

2006-05-05T21:58:00.000-04:00

A while back I posted about hope. The first quote came from an Emily Dickinson poem -- one of my all time favorites. It inspired me then, but it resonates even more strongly with me now.

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tunes without the words,

And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

Last week when I first learned that I wouldn't be able to adopt Peanut, any element of hope was knocked flat to the ground. The storm was sore enough to abash the little bird. But flickers of hope are coming back. I'm beginning to envision a life without my boy, a life with another unknown child. And I have to say that Emily nailed it. During a gale, hope's song is sweeter than ever.

Fear and Loathing in Adoption

2006-05-03T21:08:00.000-04:00

I've started the process of moving on. Each time I make some ground in letting go of my sweet boy, each time I take a leap of faith in learning to trust that he's OK I start to panic a little.

I'm not one to wait. If there's something to be done, I take action. And I'm figuring out what my next step is going to be, and I'm comfortable with my decisions so far. But there's a part of me that feels disloyal to my boy. I logically know that moving on to another adoption and another child isn't replacing Peanut. There's room in my heart to love him and another child. But still...

Learning Lessons

2006-05-01T18:02:00.000-04:00

I've spent a lot of time this weekend trying to decipher why all of this happened. While I'll never, ever regret meeting Peanut -- the joy he brought to me trumps any amount of heartache -- I'm struggling to understand why this adoption failed. In my heart I still feel that he and I were meant to be family, so there's a certain amount of disbelief. But, logically I know that we will not be family so there has to be another reason for it all.

This weekend I went back and read my adoption journal that I started back in April of 2003. I went through months of research and decision making back then. My end decision? I was planning to adopt a baby girl from Guatemala. But one thing led to another, I found out about the summer hosting program, and it just felt right. Then I was given the gift of Peanut -- the most precious gift I've ever received in my whole life. After re-reading my journal this weekend I was confused. Why would God bring this amazing child into my life just to have him taken away? Did God want me to revert to my original plans? If so, why do they feel so wrong for me now?

On Saturday I was outside fixing my mailbox (that's a whole other story) and my nosy neighbor from across the street came over. Along with several other annoying comments he looked at my next door neighbor's garden and commented on the one little dandelion growing there -- he completely neglected to notice the gorgeous flowering tree or the bountiful tulips.

It made me think what a shame and a disservice it would be if I looked at this adoption process and focused only on losing Peanut when it brought so many other beautiful things to my life. I've met new friends, learned so much, I loved being a mother, and Peanut enriched my life in more ways than I can count.

And that's when it hit me. On top of all the lessons in parenting, love, joyfulness, resiliency, and patience Peanut taught me he also showed me how perfect older child adoption is for me. I used to be afraid of the emotional baggage older children bring, but Peanut taught me not to be afraid. That's the piece of life's puzzle Peanut gave to me. And while I still long for him, the lessons he taught me are priceless.

I'm not ready to move forward quite yet. But I'm laying the groundwork. In the meantime I'm trying to get more solid information confirming that Peanut's new mom has fully committed to giving him a forever home. (I know for sure that I cannot adopt him while he is there -- the judge has said she won't remove him from a happy home for international adoption.) My own personal horror movie would be to move forward and then discover that Peanut is back in the orphanage. I don't know how much more concrete the information about the permanancy of his situation can be... I may not get the guarantee I'm looking for. I'm also trying to get permission to write to Peanut. Again, I don't know what the success of that request will be, because it is unorthodox. I need some resolution with those requests before I can move forward. I owe that to my little boy.

Everywhere

2006-04-29T09:12:00.000-04:00

Peanut is the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on. He has this intensity to him -- everything he does is big. He laughs big -- from the bottom of his belly. He loved me with ferocity. He dove into learning headfirst -- as we read books before bedtime each night I would teach him the Arabic letters and how to read some words in English. With each new word... zoo, bus, car... he would raise his arms and cheer "hoorah!" He reacts big -- at camp when he felt angry or hurt he would lash out and punch. While I never condoned hitting and anger management was something I planned to work on with him, I respected this quality of his. He didn't know how to hem and haw and second-guess himself. He trusted his instincts and acted. He was silly and goofy and could find something funny in every situation.

I learned so much from my kiddo. He taught me the power of a mother's love. And I will always, always love him as my son. He taught me the true meaning of forgive and forget. One weekend, with my broken Russian, I told him that we were going to get him a bike the next day. He must have believed it would be next to his bed in the morning, because he was disappointed from the moment he woke up. We had plenty of people to see in the morning and a Kidsave group activity in the afternoon and he just pouted more and more. He was so angry with me. But when we cleared it up and he understood he hugged me and all was forgiven.

Peanut brought so much joy to my home and my heart. My world was complete with him in it. As hard as these past months have been, it was all worth it knowing I was going to bring him home. Now, I'm floundering. I feel as if I've spent months on a raft that was rocking wildly in the waves -- but I was always tethered to shore. Now my tie has been cut loose and I feel lost. If I'm not Peanut's mom, who am I?

He's everywhere in my home, everywhere in my town. His presence is palpable. I don't just mean his pictures, toys, or belongings. The memory of him and everything we did is alive. Hopefully that will become a comfort, but right now it's cloying. There's my living room floor where I envision him playing ninja or imitating the somersault Willie Wonka did. My backyard where we spent hours playing soccer and catch. The stores where we'd walk to and he beg me for treats. The little nooks and crannies of my home where he'd hide random things like the keys to my neighbor's house. My loveseat where we'd play cards and he'd cheat -- I'd call him "Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater" and he'd laugh and laugh.

He's everywhere and I miss him so much it hurts.

The Bad News

2006-04-27T17:11:00.000-04:00

I know many of you have been waiting with me for real, concrete news about Peanut. Today I got some news -- unfortunately it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

Peanut and another boy that came here last summer are living with a single woman and they are happy. While she hasn't adopted them yet, she intends for it to be permanent and she loves the boys. So I'm not going to be able to adopt Peanut.

I'm devastated but I can also see that this is not an entirely bad situation. My boy has found himself a good home with a mother who loves him -- and that is what I have wanted for him all along. It breaks my heart that I'm not going to be the one to provide that, but his happiness is more important.

On top of that his new mom can give him things I cannot. He has a brother now -- a brother that I know and care for. Plus, his mom is a teacher and Peanut loves learning with a passion -- he takes joy in it and is so smart. I was worried about how he would handle the difficulty of school when he doesn't speak the language. Now, he's staying in Russia with a woman who will foster his love for education. I just know she'll help him become something wonderful. He has every potential in the world and deserves nothing but the best.

I've gone through every emotion known to man today. I'm stunned to the core -- even though I've known this was a possibility I just really believed he was going to come home. I'm angry at all the things that could have been handled differently. I'm confused as to why, if this was God's plan for Peanut, why did he continue to let me struggle for the past five months? I'm just trying to hang on and remember that with most things in life, the reasons become clear with time and perspective. I've even spent time today wondering what's next. Lisa and Kim, your stories have inspired me today because I know that there is still a child out there for me.

For now I just need to take time to heal. And I don't even know how to start doing that.

What a Difference a Year Makes

2006-04-24T21:21:00.000-04:00

One year ago today my relationship with Mr. Inertia ended.

We had started dating in early 2004. I'd known him my whole life, but hadn't seen him in about 10 years. Then, one day in the waiting room of the Intensive Care Unit we ran into each other. I thought it was a funny way to meet at the time... now I think it was an omen. Because that's what our relationship needed -- intensive care.

Somehow during our relationship I convinced myself that he was the right guy. (Pause while Margaret stares at the computer screen in puzzlement over her own idiocy.) Signs that he was, in fact, not right include:

10.) He liked kiddie cartoons.

9.) He dyed his own hair and it came out orange.

8.) He would pass gas and blame it on my dog.

7.) He had a joint bank account with his mother.

6.) He lived with his parents until he was 28.

5.) He always paused to see if I would pay when we went out, and then he always let me.

4.) He told really bad jokes and would retell them when I didn't laugh.

3.) He talked about his "friends" but I never met any of them...

2.) He bought me a bottle of Boone's Farm for Valentine's Day.

1.) He didn't get Napolean Dynamite.

I can't believe that it's only been a year since I was cut loose from that piece of dead weight. It feels like so much longer -- and I mean that in a good way. Even though this adoption wait has been difficult (to say the least), I'm so much happier with the direction my life is heading now.

When my time in limbo with Mr. Inertia ended I dove headfirst into adoption. I made an appointment with an adoption attorney, and he recommended I join FRUA. My first FRUA newsletter had information about the Kidsave Summer Miracles program. I called, intending to inquire about hosting the next year, and soon saw Peanut's picture. I was hooked.

It's a chain of events that I couldn't have planned. But as sad as I felt one year ago today, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. I've learned that I deserve more in a relationship and I won't settle ever again. I've met the boy that is going to be my son -- and he's the most important person in the world to me.

It's been one year since I've been free of Mr. Inertia. I don't miss the bad jokes at all.

Labor Pains

2006-04-22T23:26:00.000-04:00

As you know, I'm waiting to hear if Peanut is still available for international adoption. Most likely I'll find out this week. In the meantime, I'm handling the anxiety in increasingly ouchy ways.

I started out the past week not sleeping -- when I am sleeping I'm having nightmares. Freaky, weird, how-the-hell-did-that-come-out-of-my-brain nightmares.
By Wednesday I had progressed to headaches. The kind where my computer screen starts swimming and light to my eyes is the equivalent of cryptonite to Superman.
At the end of the work day on Thursday I realized I had been chewing on my lip all day. Apparently my binge eating has gotten so out of control that I've gone cannibal on myself.
All week long I've been dealing with a resurgance of my teen years. Let's just say that benzoyl peroxide has become my constant companion.

If anxiety has to have a physical manifestation, why can't it be smooth, glossy hair or great skin? If we have to deal with stress we should be appropriately compensated.

Fit and Focused

2006-04-20T19:30:00.000-04:00

"It will be there when you get home." A little blue sticky note lives on my monitor at work constantly reminding me, "It will be there when you get home."

See I have this little problem. I love my job. Sure it has it's ups and downs just any other, but for the most part -- I've got a great job. Since I've been embroiled in this adoption process I've been a less than stellar employee. I try my best, I really do, and I'm getting somewhat better. But checking blogs and news sites is just so tempting.

I've talked to my boss about it and his question to me is always "Is there anything you can control while you're here?" Usually the answer to that is no. I don't mind (and I know bossman doesn't mind) if I have to call my agency or actually take of some business. But idle internet searching isn't so cool.

Yesterday my boss surprised the whole staff by buying us exercise equipment. It's such a cool little thing -- I can do tons of different exercises on this thing. Seriously, how cool is my boss? (And no, he doesn't read this blog... I'm not sucking up.) I've tried almost every exercise on it and love it.
The only thing I haven't figured out is how it gives you a tan. My pasty white Irish skin could use that!

After getting home from work and using my new equipment, I felt guilty. Normally the guilt comes when my exercise equipment or tapes start to gather dust -- not when I'm actively using them. I think I felt guilty today because my boss gave me a gift, and I know that I haven't given him my all lately.

So this is me turning over a new leaf. Adoption be damned, I'm going to try hard to be more like myself. That's what my new exercise equipment is giving me -- toned arms, an inexplicable tan, and focus.

Thank Heaven for Little Memes

2006-04-18T19:18:00.000-04:00

Thank the Lord, I've been tagged. Kristin has tagged me and I couldn't be more grateful. Not that I'm a big MEME fan, but I have had zero inspiration for blogging lately. There's no news on the adoption front to report (besides Mr. Buttinsky stirring up shit again, but what's new there?) and since I pretty much live my life with blinders on, there's not much outside of adoption to write about, either.

So, six weird facts about Margaret it is.

1) I attended the first university I went to for two whole weeks. I knew that I didn't want to go, but I was afraid to disappoint my parents. When I got to my dorm I met my roommate who constantly slurped out of a pop can, subsequently burped or farted, and then sprayed Lysol. Over and over and over. Not a roomie that can entice a homesick 17-year old to stay put. So I went home and I've never regretted it.*

2) I have been this close (imagine my thumb and pointer finger held with just a wee bit of space between them) to being engaged twice. When I look back at all of my ex-bfs, the two that I came close to marrying were generally the worst of the bunch.

3) I'm closer in age to my oldest nephew than I am any of my siblings.

4) I know how to say "Blow me down with a rubber banana" in Finnish.

5) All of the cans in my cupboard have to face with the label forward and my towels have to line up perfectly -- just like the scary guy in Sleeping with the Enemy.

6) I have TMJ. Once, when auditioning for a part in a local performance of the musical Oklahoma, my jaw locked open right in the middle of the song.

"Ooooooohk - ah, ah, ow..."
Crack! (The sound of me knocking my jaw into place.)
"Sorry about that."
"...lahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain."

Needless to say I wasn't cast in the play.

Consider yourself tagged:

Lauri from Leap of Faith (if you have time between diaper changes)
Bethany from 145
Rhonda from Still Waiting
Tricia from Russian Adoption
Debbie from Brown's Journey to Russia
Shelli from Turnips & Carrots

If you've been tagged, you know the drill. Write 6 weird things about yourself on your blog and then you're supposed to tag 6 more people. Yada, yada, yada.

* This is a post about weirdness, so I have to tell you more about my first college roommate. When I checked into the dorm I had brought this beautiful grey carpet. But she got there first and had flourescent mango carpet. It was like the color a gay hunter would wear during deer season. That was my first clue. On my second day there she told me I was the best friend she'd ever had. That was my second clue. She brought a 20-pound bag of potatoes and an industrial-sized box of Kudos bars with her. Clue #3. I woke up once to find her sitting on her bed staring at me. Scary clue #4. After that I started avoiding my dorm room as much as possible. I stayed out late with a friend one night and when I quietly walked into our room at about 3 am I heard a voice come from the darkness "Where. Have. You. Been?" I turned on the light, and there she was -- sitting in the dark on a chair positioned just feet in front of the door. Ding! Ding! Ding! She was a certified Lysol-spraying gassy psycho. Two days later I hightailed it outta there!

Happy Easter!

2006-04-16T11:59:00.000-04:00

One more holiday. Another tick-mark on the calendar. One more holiday closer to Peanut.

When Thanksgiving rolled around I really missed him, but it was all good. My family gamely posed for a photo to send to Peanut (this was before I knew that he'd left the orphanage) and I planned to send it to him in Christmas package. Days later I learned that he was gone.

Christmas came and I was a wreck. I was angry and bitter and generally an unpleasant person to be around. I wanted him there with me and I was determined to not enjoy the holiday without him. The next day I thought over my actions on Christmas, realized I was acting like a petulant child, and promptly called my parents and my sisters and apologized.

Today I'm missing him as always, but I'm excited about what Easter will bring next year. Peanut loved hiding things -- I found the keys to my neighbor's house in my bathroom cabinet, action figures in my mixing bowls, and an old picture of me tucked in between the fitted sheet and mattress in his room. He will love this holiday (other than church, which he doesn't love yet). I spent time this morning just sitting on my couch imagining the places I could hide eggs with clues to the whereabouts of his basket.

I had a blessed childhood. My parents, dad especially, worked hard to make every holiday special. Easter was always fun. I had this HUGE basket that held an enormous amount of candy. The bounty was quickly depleted, though, because all the goose eggs (marshmallow eggs) went to my dad, I had to make baskets and share my candy with the girls who lived across the street, and, being the youngest-by-far of five kids, my siblings all took their unfair share of my basket. I'll never forget the year I still couldn't find my basket after hours and hours of searching. I finally found it Easter evening inside the clothes dryer in the basement. My mom was started to worry that she wouldn't be able to do laundry on Monday!

I'm so looking forward to the traditions and holidays I'm going to share with Peanut. So happy Easter, kiddo, wherever you are. I'm sending you hugs and all of my love.

The Pros

2006-04-14T20:25:00.000-04:00

I've spent an awful lot of time lately focusing on the "cons" of this adoption. The process has taken it's toll on me: I've had some grey hairs since I was 18, but now they're starting to take over and that little line on my forehead has officially become a wrinkle. More than that, I'm so sensitive now that it doesn't take much to upset me. So tonight I'm going to focus on the positive.

The Pros:

I'm hoping for a mid- to late-June court date. That means I'll have Peanut home before his 9th birthday in July.
Peanut will have a few months to adjust before starting school. He's a good student, so I've been worried about how he'll do with the language barrier. Not doing well will frustrate and upset him. Over the summer I'll be able to work with him and help his English develop a bit before school.
I won't have to travel to Siberia in the winter.
Lighter clothes = Margaret being able to pack more.
The delays have given me more time to come up with the money.
In summer, everything here will be familiar for him which will help him adjust.

So it's not all bad. I'm really pinning my hope on June, which is potentially setting myself up for disappointment again. But I have to have something to aim for. Another summer with Peanut is a good thing to look forward to.

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

2006-04-13T20:10:00.000-04:00

I keep telling myself that I'll feel better when "X" happens. But I never do.

For a long, long time accreditation was the sweet elixir that would solve all my worries. Accreditation happened in early March: I was ecstatic, over-the-moon! But satisfied? No way.

The next step was getting my dossier filed. That happened last Monday: I was relieved, excited. But satisfied? Not a chance.

The next hurdle is finding out if Peanut is officially available for adoption. I was hoping to get news this week. Unfortunately, I learned today that the MOE takes about 10 days to review dossiers. Until my regional representative has been notified that my dossier has been reviewed there's not a lot they can do. Don't ask me why, because I don't know. I could have asked my coordinator more questions today, but I was so disappointed and unpleasantly surprised I was stunned into silence.

So I'm waiting again. And the sad truth of it all is when I learn that Peanut is available for adoption (because I won't entertain the alternative right now) I know that I won't be satisfied. I'll just be impatient and anxious for the next step. I don't think I'll be satisfied until he's home trying new tricks on his bike, cheating at cards, and begging me to rub his back while he watches Spongebob.

A Semi-Open Invitation

2006-04-11T20:08:00.000-04:00

Dear China Adoption Bloggers,

You are cordially invited to take away my ladybugs.

You see, every ladybug within a 20-mile radius has decided to congregate on my dining room window. There are the reliable, responsible ladybugs that are there every morning carrying their tiny cafe au laits and briefcases. Then, there's ladybug rush hour in the afternoon when they're all scattering about getting their errands done. There's even a few rebels who have little ladybug raves into the wee hours of the morning.

I'm adopting from Russia therefore I have no belief in ladybugs being harbingers of good luck. Outside they serve a purpose and are pretty little eaters of aphids, but in my dining room they're just plain gross. So, please. Please come take them. I'll even gift wrap.

Kind regards,

Margaret

p.s. This invitation is only semi-open. All China adoption bloggers are welcome as they've been screened by USCIS and are not ax murderers. But to those of you that arrive at my site through really really strange searches, stay away. And Mr. Searching for "can I put my hands in your pants" -- the answer is no, no you cannot.

I'm Officially Somebody

2006-04-10T19:24:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm somebody as far as the MOE is concerned anyway, because today my dossier was officially registered.

Get ready...

Plug your ears...

Here it comes...

WOOOOOOHOOO!

So my dossier is filed. What does this mean exactly?

1) I am finally, officially, listed on paper as someone who is interested in adopting Peanut. Up until now I was a nobody (legally speaking).

2) My agency now has more freedom to inquire about Peanut -- his whereabouts, his availability for adoption, and if I can contact him in some way.

3) Once it's determined that he is available for adoption, Peanut's dossier will be created and, when it's complete, I'll be assigned a court date.

Of course, this is the world of adoption. If the moon is full and the rooster crows at midnight and someone wears a striped shirt with plaid pants the whole thing could fall apart. It's, as always, frightening. But I'm getting quite skilled at balancing on adoption's tightrope... I'm ready to make that treacherous walk to the other side. Call it hope, faith, or sheer delusion -- I just feel that everything is going to work out in the end.

So, hang on Peanut! Mama's coming soon.

The Never-Ending Boxer Shorts

2006-04-08T21:18:00.000-04:00

I've had a general lack of bloggy inspiration lately. So, for your reading enjoyment, here's a story about Peanut.

On his first day here I helped Peanut pick out his clothes for the day -- jean shorts and a maroon t-shirt with a cool eagle on it. But he swiftly rejected the little boy tighty whities I had purchased. Luckily he brought three pairs of boxer shorts with him from Russia. So I placed a clean pair out and went to leave the room to give him privacy. I don't know if he was nervous or what but he called me back in his room right away. Without changing his boxer shorts, he put on the shorts and shirt. Being his first day here, I decided to let it slide.

Fast forward to the next morning and repeat the same story. He was now on day three in the same boxer shorts. Later that day I took him to goalie practice for the high school girls' soccer team (my bro-in-law is the coach). He wore himself out playing soccer. He was kicking balls at the goalies that they couldn't stop. And, when my brother-in-law made him stop for a bit, Peanut was running up and down the field with my 17-year old nephew. By the time we left, Peanut was dripping sweat and grinning from ear-to-ear.

I decided a bath was in order but was nervous about how he would react. For one thing, at some orphanages bath time is traumatic. And for another, I'm sans-daddy and wasn't sure how we were going to handle bath time. Luckily he was thrilled with the idea of a bath. And the bath toys my sister bought for him were a hit. When it came time to climb in the tub he just crawled in... with his boxers still on. I figured it was a good solution to the privacy issue and it was also a good way to get him to change his shorts. Or so I thought.

Dripping wet he emerged from the tub and was enthralled with my bath sheets. But when I presented him with dry, clean boxer shorts he emphatically refused. I left the room so he could change and he yelled for me to come back. "Mama, oodiseeda poshaloosta!" Peanut went to bed in wet boxers that night.

The next morning, still wearing the boxer shorts which were starting to smell, I called another host family whose son, A, was adopted from Kazakhstan two years prior. I explained the boxer debacle to A and asked him to talk to Peanut for me. I watched Peanut while he talked to A on the phone and his body language was priceless. He stiffened up and shrunk back into the couch sending the occasional angry look my way. When he handed the phone back to me, A explained that Peanut knew what I wanted him to do and he didn't care. A said that I have to understand that at the orphanage nobody cares what the kids do, and Peanut wasn't used to having someone care about something so trivial as boxer shorts.

For the first week, Peanut wore those boxers constantly -- even under his swim suit. I was convinced that I was a terrible parent. But we finally found a solution. He would wear the boxers for one day and change them after he went swimming at day camp. He still wore boxers when taking a bath, but, giggling all the while, would change in to dry ones while I held the bath sheet around him and looked the other way.

I forgot to send one pair of his boxers back with him and I'm glad. Because the never-ending boxer shorts taught me a parenting lesson. Peanut may not do exactly what I want him to do when I want him to do it. But if I give him time and opportunity he'll find his way.

A Mom in the Making

2006-04-05T21:59:00.000-04:00

When I was 4 or 5 Santa brought me a beautiful little doll in a pink frilly dress. She was lying in a tomato basket my mom had covered in fabric and decorated with ribbon and lace. Despite the feminine touches I named the doll "Baby Jesus." (My sister later told me Baby Jesus was retarded and made me cry. My very, very Catholic parents were horrified.)

In high school I dreamed of one day being a mother. I thought of names for my future children... maybe Taryn with a "y" or Sorrel after a character from my favorite children's book.

In my late 20s many of friends had children. While I had always wanted kids I was formerly fine with motherhood being a future endeavor. But at 27 my uterus skipped a beat. I was in full-fledged baby trauma. I remember my friend and co-worker, Ginny, coming to the office with her new baby boy. She had gone through years of baby trauma so she understood when I hesitated to hold her son. I wasn't afraid of holding him. I was afraid of what I would feel. She placed him in my arms and sat silently next to me for 45 minutes while I cried in my cubicle. That was the day when the dream of being a mother became a mission for me.

At 30 I finally started to accept that marriage may not happen. So the first thoughts of a Plan B started to emerge. After months of research and soul-searching adoption became less of an alternative and more of a choice for me. It's the way I want to form my family. My relationship with Mr. Inertia put my plans on hold for a while, but last summer I learned about the hosting program and subsequently met my child. From thousands of miles away here was the little boy destined for my home and my heart.

I've always, always known that I wanted to be a mother. While the desire to carry around a baby in a tomato basket and substitute "i"s with "y"s faded long ago, my mother instinct has never wavered. I never planned to adopt an older child. But Peanut and I fit together so perfectly I feel it was in my life's plan all along... I just didn't know it.

The Long & the Short of It

2006-04-04T21:06:00.000-04:00

The long of it:

A few weeks ago my agency decided to add a couple of documents to my dossier. I was frustrated because it seemed like that could have been accomplished months and months ago. But, as they were important documents that are going to benefit me in the long run, I was game.

After said documents went to my agency's main office in Russia and were translated they were sent to the regional representative. At that time my dossier should have been filed. But, alas, there was another delay. Four tiny little words had to be removed from one of the new documents. Four words. Upon hearing that I said quite a few choice four-letter words. Truck drivers were shocked. But, I changed the document and have been in wait mode ever since. So far the modified document made it to the main office and should be on its way to the regional representative. So maybe my dossier will be filed next week.

Hopefully, maybe, soon... these are words I would like to strike from the English language. They're supposed to be positive words, but I've heard and said them so often with no results to show for it that they now sound hollow. I try to stay upbeat, I really do. But today I'm angry, sad, and frustrated. I'll bounce back -- I always do. But right now I'm a bundle of negative emotions.

The short of it:

I've lost another month since accreditation. My dossier is STILL NOT FILED.

Flower Power

2006-04-02T16:56:00.000-04:00

Thanks to everyone who's ordered from my Flowers for Peanut fundraiser. My goal was to sell 120 items and I'm pretty darn close. I've sold 86 items so far and I know that I have at least a few more orders coming in.

I'm sending in for the bulk shipment this Wednesday. So if you were planning on ordering anything and haven't yet, please do so soon.

Fundraising for adoption is a tricky thing. I've felt as if I'm putting people out a bit. And my son is not a charity. So there's an icky factor associated with adoption fundraising. But, as many of you know, adoption costs are astronomical. Hopefully the end of my adoption journey is coming soon. (I hope, I hope, I hope.) So looking at the remaining costs I have to come up with is a bit daunting. Thanks to all of you that ordered I am that much closer to my goal and, subsequently, that much closer to my son.

Some of the other members of the "Russian posse" are also holding fundraisers. Please help out if you can. Jen is selling all sorts of great products that everyone can use, and Lisa is selling everything from cookbooks to quilts.

Thanks for all of your help!

Giving My Heart Away

2006-03-31T18:21:00.000-05:00

AE Housman has been my favorite poet for years. His poems speak such truth. My very favorite is "When I Was One and Twenty."

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
"Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free."
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
"The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue."
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

Twenty-one is just a fond memory for me now. But back then I loved this poem and held it dear. To my younger self it meant that you're bound to get hurt when you open yourself up for love. Now it holds a different message. I think instead of warning people from love, Housman was instead showing the power of it. When you give your heart away, there's bound to be some heartache to follow. But what Housman's wise man didn't say is that it can be so worth it.

I did give my heart away. To a tiny little boy with golden-brown eyes and a silly little smirk. And the months waiting to bring him home have had more than their share of heartache. So I ask myself, is it worth it? The answer is a clear, resounding YES.

A Letter to Peanut

2006-03-29T19:59:00.000-05:00

It's been more than four months since I've been able to talk to Peanut. Four very long months. But there are so many things I'd like to say...

Hey buddy,

It's been such a long time since we've talked. But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about you every single minute. I love you so much and I miss you terribly.

When I first learned you went to stay with another family I was worried. I didn't know who they were and I wanted to make sure you were safe and happy. But some of the kids who are still at the dietsky dom said you were glad to go. They said it's been hard to live at the orphanage after living with families last summer. So, I hope and pray that you are happy. In my heart I believe you're staying with great people who love you like I do. How couldn't they? You're a fun, nice, and smart boy -- anybody would love you.

When we talked in November, you told me you were getting all high marks in school. I'm so proud of you. You're such a smart boy and you study so hard. Please keep working hard in school.

Whenever I'm missing you (which is often) I look through our photo album at all the fun things we did last summer. I hope you look through your photos and remember too. Remember playing soccer in the backyard, going to the park or the zoo, zooming around in Toetya's boat (remember how you would spin in circles and make me sick to my stomach?), and the time you got to work the backhoe at Dyadya's new house. We had lots of good times.

The whole family misses you and asks me about you often. I think Papa (Dadushka) misses you almost as much as I do. Nobody can understand why it's taking me so long to bring you back home. It's been hard and a lot things that I couldn't control have happened. But I'm still working toward adopting you. I hope, with all my heart, that you still want to be my son and to come back to America. If you don't, I'll understand. I know it's been a long time and that this has been hard for you. No matter what I'll love you always and always. But if you do still want to come to America then just hold tight. I will come for you.

You're in my heart. If you ever get sad or afraid just say a prayer and ask God to send the message to me. I'm here for you always.

I love you forever and ever,

Mama

Richter's Manifesto

2006-03-27T20:19:00.000-05:00

Dear Margaret,

Upon your leaving the house each morning I will promptly climb on to the back of the couch. The cat does it, therefore I feel I am entitled to as well. Once comfortably positioned, I will stare out the window for hours. I will watch squirrels. I will bask in the sun. You, being at work, cannot stop me.

When you arrive home, you may catch a glimpse of me in the window. But I, with a grace and stealthiness heretofore unknown to bulldogs, will be off the couch before you can catch me in the act.

You may wonder what that bulldog-sized dent in the cushion is from. You may fret over the ripped fabric and protruding stuffing. You may be puzzled by the presence of crusted-over drool that reappears no matter how often you clean it. Ah yes, you may wonder... but you will have no proof that it was me. Bwaa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Until the day I slip and climb up while you're blogging. Damn it all.

Your faithful companion,

Richter

(Click the photo to see his guilty face.)

Flowers for Peanut

2006-03-26T10:01:00.000-05:00

When I first learned about the summer hosting program, I inquired about it with the intention of hosting during 2006. Not because I didn't want to this summer, but because I knew I didn't have the savings to support an international adoption yet. But the program coordinator sent me pictures of the kids that still needed host parents. As soon as I saw Peanut's picture I was hooked. There was something in his eyes that called to me. And, as you know if you've been reading my blog, he and I are a perfect fit.

I've managed to come up with more of the funds than I could have imagined. I'm basically down to funding my travel costs now. So, I'm a starting a fundraiser to help me come up with the remainder of the costs. I'm selling "Flowers for Peanut" -- annual and perennial bulbs that are perfect for spring planting. Please check out the new site!

Two Paths

2006-03-24T21:48:00.000-05:00

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

Ever since learning Peanut is with a foster family I've been afraid. There are just so many unknowns that increase the risk. Constantly hearing that there is no news weighs so heavily on me. But I can't give up. I won't give up.

A friend of mine is faced with a similar "path in the woods." She's choosing to take another path -- a path that's less risky and has more known quantities. She told me her decision a couple weeks ago and I still haven't responded. I feel like the worst friend in the world.

Adoption is so hard and it's such a personal thing. I know that. Her circumstances are somewhat different than mine. I know that. She and her husband are wonderful people -- I love them both. So why can't I bring myself to respond? Why can't I be supportive?

I think in some ways her decision scares me. She's incredibly intelligent, has great instincts, and I have an enormous amount of respect for her. So if she looks at the path I'm choosing and decides it's too treacherous to travel than what type of hell am I in for? Despite all odds, I still firmly believe that I will be able to bring Peanut home. But a nugget of fear remains. What if I'm choosing the wrong path?

I don't have the right to be judgmental just because my friend made a different decision. The logical part of my brain knows this, but I still can't bring myself to contact her. I feel terrible about it.

The Story of a Duck

2006-03-22T17:37:00.000-05:00

I had a friend in high school, you know the type... blonde, tall, perfect body. The kind of girl you really wanted to hate. But the girl I knew was also fun and incredibly sweet so, despite my inner jealousy, I loved her to no end. She was book-smart (in fact, she's a lawyer today) but she was, without a doubt, the ditsiest person I've ever encountered. Once while eating lunch she asked in all seriousness "If a tangerine comes from Florida, isn't it an orange?". I kid you not.

One summer I vacationed with her family (on their yacht, no less). When she and I were playing tennis at the marina an eager duck waddled up to my friend. She stuck her fingers out to the duck as if offering a bit of food. It came closer, opened its bill, and snapped down on her fingers. My friend yelled out in pain. Two seconds later she stuck her fingers out to the duck again. Snap! Ouch! And again. Snap! Ouch! Over and over... 5, 6, 7 times. Snap! Ouch! Finally, holding her red, swollen, and painful fingers in the air my friend said "What a stupid duck. When is he gonna learn I don't have any food?" I just shook my head and wondered what the duck thought of her.

Today I waited for more news on Peanut. Maybe Mrs. Chips received permission to visit him. Maybe my agency was able to get some official word on his whereabouts or availability. Something. Anything. Please. But again, there was no news.

I'm starting to think that I'm a lot like my friend. And the adoption process? Well, it's just one great big duck.

The 12-year Plan

2006-03-21T19:27:00.000-05:00

Bethany's birthday retrospective (Happy Birthday, BLJ!) made me remember my infamous 12-year plan.

When I was 17 and a senior in high school I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish before I turned 30. I dug out the list tonight -- a slightly crumpled piece of paper that has been demoted over the years from my trapper keeper, to a filing cabinet, and finally to the dusty depths of a tattered cardboard box. When I was in my 20s and starting to notice the items on this list were not getting checked off I felt badly. A bit like a failure -- someone who was unable to realize my dreams. Now, however, I can look on it with a bit of love for the girl that I was and respect for the woman I have become despite changing my goals along the way.

I didn't go to large state university as I had hoped. When I didn't get accepted, I was crestfallen. Instead I went to smaller school without the big name or reputation. There, I met an amazing group of friends, learned major lessons in diversity, and was given real life opportunities that I may never have received otherwise.

I never moved out of state, or better yet, out of country for a few years like I had planned. (Though I did try for a job transfer to Australia once!) But I held a job that required lots of travel for a while. I've been in 37 different states. I visited cities so small the billboard as you entered the town says "Population: Just Plain Good Folks." And I've battled subway stations and highway traffic in our country's biggest cities. I've seen more than I had even planned for myself and I'm richer for it.

I'm single, which goes completely against my plans for marrying the perfect blend of John, Jeff, and Jamie (three guys that were pretty important to my 17-year old self). I never would have aimed to have my heart miserably broken. I never would have expected to do something so horrible as cheat on a boyfriend. I never would have wanted to break any hearts myself. But I've done all three things -- some multiple times. And I've learned and grown with each experience.

I don't have two kids with plans for two more. And I know the teenager in me is surprised that I'm adopting a child from Russia. It may not be the path I expected to take, but the end result is the same. I will be a mother.

At 17 I thought I knew it all. I thought I knew what was right for me and my life. Now at 33, if there's one thing I know, it's that I don't know it all. But so far, though it's taken turns I couldn't have ever expected, life's been pretty good. I can't wait to turn the next page.

What things in your life turned out different (better or worse) than you might have expected back when you were a teenager?

The Sandman Cometh

2006-03-19T21:59:00.000-05:00

This is a TV.

This is Margaret's bed.

This is Margaret's bedroom with a TV.

Why is this blog-worthy you ask? Because I'm an insomniac. I have two methods of sleeping -- poorly or not at all. My only saving grace is the TV. The noise allows me to turn off my brain, quiet the worry, and calm the stress enough to actually catch some zzz's. And since I haven't had a TV up in my room, I've slept on the couch virtually every night since Peanut left last August. And, on an adoption budget, a second TV just wasn't happening. But, thanks to my parents' hand-me-down I can now sleep in my bedroom. I'm inordinately excited about it!

p.s. Please no comments about my ugly bright blue carpet and lack of any real bedroom furniture. I'm adopting, therefore I'm poor.

My boy is...

2006-03-17T19:39:00.000-05:00

A daredevil. He loved to ride his bike, but was new to the two-wheel concept, so he relied on his training wheels a lot at first. Soon after learning to ride he became the Russian Evil Knieval. Once while he was riding in front of the house I called to him from my bedroom window. Excited he said "Mama, s'matri!" (Watch me) He raised his hands in the air, put his feet on the bar and took a flying leap off the bike. My heart dropped, but he was proud.

A cuddlebug. In the evenings when we were watching Spy Kids for 100,000th time I'd lay on the couch and he'd crawl right up with me so I could tickle his back. I can't tell you how many times he'd reach his hand up to touch my cheek and quietly say "Ya loublue tebya" (I love you). With the smallest gestures he could melt my heart.

An artist. When he first arrived he found the small magnetic drawing board I had bought for him in the car. He drew a car that looked like mine -- with wheel spokes and everything. He loved to draw and paint and, I might be biased, but I think he was really good at it.

An athlete. He loved every sport we tried, but soccer is his thing. One night I brought him to the high school girls' goalie practice. He was so good that he gave the girls a run for their money. I swear he's the love-child of Cobi Jones and the Energizer bunny.

A comedian. He would do anything to make you laugh. Every time he did something goofy I'd laugh and say "That's my boy!" Apparently he thought that meant "How funny" or something of that sort. Once he was with my sister and hid in her garage so he jump out and startle her. After jumping out he exclaimed "That's my boy!"

A giver. He's generous and kind, qualities you wouldn't think would develop in an orphanage. He loved having things he could give to others. Once we spent a great day at my friend K's house boating and hanging out. When we were leaving he gave K a book, gave my sunglasses to K's husband, and a used-up disposable camera to their son. Not the nicest gifts in the world, but they were precious to him.

Perfect in my eyes. I could list his attributes for hours, but what it all boils down to is that he is the child of my heart. He's left an indelible mark on my soul and I have to bring him home. I miss him always, but some days are harder than others. Today, I ache for the sound of my boy's voice. I crave his laughter and sweet hugs. With every fiber of my being I want to look in beautiful golden-brown eyes and tell him that I love him.

525,600 Minutes

2006-03-15T21:38:00.000-05:00

I just watched the movie Rent. I've never been able to catch the stage play, so I was excited to watch the movie. It just resonated with me and I can't get the lyrics out of my mind. The song "Seasons of Love" really made me reflect on the last year of my life.

525,600 minutes,
525,000 moments so dear.
525,600 minutes --
how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets,
in midnights, in cups of coffee.
In inches, in miles,
in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes --
how do you measure a year in the life?

My life has taken a major turn in the past year. Last March I was in a pretty serious relationship that was on it's last legs. I spent so much energy trying to prod Mr. Inertia into following through with the things he said he wanted for himself and for us that I was blind to the fact that he didn't really want them at all. If you had asked me last year about my time with Mr. Inertia, I would have said they were all wasted minutes.

In retrospect, while our break up was hurtful and knocked me to my core, it was the impetus for my meeting Peanut. After spending more than a year in limbo with Mr. Inertia I was craving action. I liked the sound of the host program, so I jumped at the chance. And I'm so glad I did.

I spent 50,400 minutes with Peanut this summer. Some of those minutes were trying, frustrating, and troubling. But even the hard times were worth it and they were balanced by the most complete and true love I've ever felt for anyone. Those 50,400 minutes were the best of my life. They're precious.

During this year's 525,600 minutes, I've spent more time worrying, crying, being confused and frustrated than ever before. And, as everyone else who is adopting knows, we're all playing the biggest game of risk we've ever played. At times, this adoption process brings me to my knees. But every time I find my way to feet again I know that I'm stronger and wiser than I was before. As hard as this year has been, my minutes have been meaningful. While I would rather have Peanut here with me, any time given to the pursuit of his adoption is time well spent.

One Paper, Two Paper, Red Paper, Blue Paper

2006-03-13T19:18:00.000-05:00

Today I had to rush and get two more documents ready for my dossier. (I had a few moments of annoyance about that. After all, my dossier was completed and sent to Russia on October 24. Wasn't there any other time BEFORE now that these could have been done?) But, all annoyance aside, these were pretty exciting documents to write and put together.

The first was my official request to waive the first trip based on the fact that I hosted and formed a relationship with Peanut. After writing it I sprinkled it with fairy dust, and danced around it chanting for a while. It's just gotta work! Peanut's region has waived the first trip for host families in the past, so I'm pretty hopeful about it.

The second document was my petition to the court requesting to adopt Peanut. It felt good to work on documents that are specific to Peanut -- not just "a child of either gender ages 8-11" or similarly vague verbiage. My court petition even includes the name I want to give him. I had a moment of pause about this, because my intention was to talk to Peanut about his name change first. But, I'm not going to get that opportunity. I'd be more worried if I were changing his first name, but I'm not. I'm keeping his first name, giving him my dad's name for a middle name, and (of course) my last name. Seeing that on a paper bound for Russia was plainly and simply cool.

What are all of you planning to do with your child's name? Change it completely? Keep a part of it? Wait and see what it is and if you can pronounce it?

Procrastinactionator

2006-03-11T10:31:00.000-05:00

If there was such a word, "procrastinactionator" would describe me well. Tasks that I'm not particularly thrilled about can be put off nearly forever in my world. (e.g. I started cleaning my walk-in closet about a month ago. It's still only partially completed.) But when I want something done, or something truly needs to be done I don't hestitate. Get to steppin! Don't talk about it, discuss it, hem and haw over the possibilities -- just DO IT.

So the action side of my procrastinactionator personality is in agony right now, because my dossier is still not filed with the MOE. I'm tapping my toes, biting my nails, and pulling out my hair. At the end of this process I'm going to look like the remnants of a Thanksgiving turkey.

It turns out that not only is Peanut with another family, he's crossed a border of some sort (my coordinator didn't know the right word in English for it, so she called it a subdivision). This complicates things because they don't really know what papers need to filed where, or something like that. R.R. was advised to get a consultation with the judge to determine the best way to handle Peanut's case. Great. Like this adoption process wasn't complicated enough.

The hope is that R.R. will get a meeting on Monday or Tuesday and the judge will immediately recommend a course of action. The other possibility (not gonna happen, not gonna happen, not gonna happen) is that it could take a while to get a meeting with the judge and/or the judge may want to inquire about Peanut's case further before giving a recommendation. That's a big long sentence just to say I may be looking at a further delay. I think I'm going to petition for the word "delay" to be removed from the vernacular.

Clueless

2006-03-09T18:49:00.000-05:00

I've come to the conclusion that I know nothing.

I had hopes that my dossier would be filed with the MOE today. When I inquired about it I was told that R.R. (my regional representative) was advised not to file it until they knew more about Peanut's situation. The correct response to that statement is... Huh?

Obviously I've misunderstood something. I thought R.R. had to file my dossier in order to inquire about Peanut. Apparently I'm incorrect. It's all very chicken-or-the-egg and I don't know what comes first. I swear, the adoption process can turn an educated, intelligent person into a quivering mass of mental mush.

This is your brain...

This is your brain on adoption...

Excitement or Insanity... You Decide

2006-03-07T18:54:00.000-05:00

Knowing that my agency is finally reaccredited has really put some wind back in my sails. Today I got a little carried away and made a list of the items I'd like to bring to Russia. Anticipatory? Definitely! Over-anxious? Sure. A bit nuts? Mmm... maybe. But then I tipped the scales way over to the crazy side by "practicing" packing. I kid you not. I worked on this for about 30 minutes before the ridiculousness of it dawned on me. Keep in mind it's still going to be a couple of months (at least) before I travel.

Peanut's suitcase.

I can actually get all of his clothes in there. But I had hoped to also pack his toys and backpack IN the suitcase. I'm not really looking forward to carrying a Batman backpack around.

My suitcase

Looks like I have room to spare, doesn't it? But I haven't packed shoes, laundry detergent, camera, hair dryer, etc, etc, etc.

My goal was to pack a carry-on sized piece of luggage for me and one for Peanut. That, my friends, may be the craziest thing of all.

p.s. In my non-crazy moments, I'm praying for you, Liv.

Certifiably Happy

2006-03-06T18:49:00.000-05:00

Are you standing up? Do you have your dancing shoes on? Do you have Gloria Gaynor blaring from the stereo? You should! Because it's time to do the accreditation dance!!! My agency picked up their accreditation certificate today. I'm so happy!!! (Apparently, I'm a three-exclamation-point kind of happy!!!)

I've actually known about this for a while, but my "cautious by nature" agency wanted to wait until they had the certificate in hand to announce it. The secret became a bit silly as someone spilled the beans on a chat room and the MOE posted it on their website. But, it's nice to know that as I post this, my agency's accreditation is 100% official.

And, I'm thrilled that Lisa's, Rhonda's, and Jen's agencies were all reaccredited in the same batch as mine. It's a bit of serendipity that somehow makes it all the more special.

So what exactly does this mean? Now that my agency has their current accreditation certificate things will move full-steam ahead. As I understand it, this is what will happen for Peanut and I in the next couple of weeks:

My agency's main rep in Russia will send copies of the the certificate to all of the regional representatives.
My region's rep (who from now I'm going to call R.R.) will bring my dossier to the MOE once she receives the certificate copy. I will be officially registered as a prospective adoptive parent for Peanut. (Yay!)
At the same time, R.R. will officially request information on Peanut's whereabouts and availability for adoption. My agency doesn't want to speculate on the result of this request. It's kind of uncharted territory for them.
Then, when (not if) I find out Peanut is available, the process will really be underway. Letters releasing him from the databank of waiting children, court date, Peanut's medicals and dossier... the whole 9 yards.

Lauri has a certain psychic ability when it comes to holidays and adoption milestones. She's guessing Easter for me and Peanut. That's an ambitious prediction that I hope comes true.

Seeing the Sun Rise

2006-03-04T14:50:00.000-05:00

The news Mrs. Chips brought back from the orphanage the other day was undeniably good. But, I have to admit, it really brought me down that I wasn't able to get word to Peanut. I miss him so much, so I was really hoping to hear that he was OK. But, Bethany and I went for a girl's night yesterday which is always a good thing. And, I've had a couple of days to let it all sink in. So, with a fresh set of eyes and a reinvigorated spirit, I'm looking forward to what's ahead.

I found this picture of Lake Baikal a while ago. I don't know if the photo is a sunrise or a sunset, but I'm opting to believe the former. I just love this photo... it somehow captures my feelings about adoption in print. It's a new beginning and it just exudes promise. The fact that it's of a lake in Siberia makes it all the more perfect.

I make landscape quilts as a hobby. Basically, I take a photo or other image and reproduce it with tiny little pieces of fabric. I have yet to make a landscape quilt for me. So, I ordered this hand-dyed fabric for the background and I'm going to start my "Sunrise" piece. It's going to be my tribute to Peanut. Hang in there kiddo, our days together will be starting soon.

Mrs. Chips Delivers

2006-03-02T20:30:00.000-05:00

Mrs. Chips visited Peanut's orphanage today. 10 of the 13 kids that came here last summer were there. They were confused -- wondering why she hadn't visited and why they stopped hearing from their American families. Mrs. Chips explained that we had been told they were all gone.

The kids told her that their orphanage director had a meeting with them and told them that they wouldn't be able to come to America because the Russian president didn't want any more international adoptions. Mrs. Chips told our kids that this was untrue. While I'm not surprised that our children have been lied to by their orphanage director, I'm still confused by it and so, so upset. I know the orphanage director cares about the children very much. She has proven that. But to lie to them and hurt them in a misguided attempt to protect them is beyond all reasoning. She is wrong. There are no other words for it. She is wrong.

The children were glad to receive the letters from us, and Mrs. Chips had them write letters in return. The kids still want to come to America. Against all odds and in spite of everything they have heard, our kids still love us. It's a testament to the power and strength of a family's love.

Three of our kids were not in the orphanage. One has returned to his birthmother whose rights were reinstated. Two are together in a patr*nat family. Peanut is one of those two. So, my boy didn't receive my note today. My hope is that Peanut still -- against all odds and in spite of everything he's heard -- believes in me. We are family. Our love was strong. I know that I feel it every minute of every day. I hope that he does, too.

Mrs. Chips is going to try to get permission to contact Peanut and the other boy who are with another family. I'm praying that she will be able to get permission to do so soon.

In the meantime, I'm thanking God for Mrs. Chips. I'm anxious to hear what the other 10 kids have to say. And I'm so happy for my fellow host parents that were able to get word and truth to their children today.

Checking the Data Bank

2006-02-28T19:08:00.000-05:00

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.

All for $14

2006-02-27T20:31:00.000-05:00

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!

Nit-Picking Noses

2006-02-24T21:01:00.000-05:00

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.

Goodbye, Mrs. Chips

2006-02-22T20:07:00.000-05:00

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 Quotes

2006-02-20T21:12:00.000-05:00

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.

Sure Cure for Adoption Blues

2006-02-18T08:49:00.000-05:00

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.

Fuzzy Math

2006-02-14T21:03:00.000-05:00

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!

What to Do, What to Do

2006-02-13T19:37:00.000-05:00

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.

Shock and Awwww

2006-02-11T14:46:00.000-05:00

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.

Motherhood Worry #167

2006-02-09T20:00:00.000-05:00

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.

Negative Story -- Negative Reaction

2006-02-07T19:53:00.000-05:00

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.

Peanut Fashion

2006-02-05T09:45:00.000-05:00

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:

Matching attire is optional.
Anything with a recognizable character on it that can inspire semi-violent play acting is appreciated.
Sports-related items are also karasho (good).
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.
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.
Clothes deemed cool one day can all of a sudden become babyish the next. It's very important to respect this progression in clothing.
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.

My Crystal Ball is Broken

2006-02-01T20:05:00.000-05:00

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!

Small Sacrifices

2006-01-29T13:45:00.000-05:00

When I inquired about hosting this past summer, I intended to sign up for the 2006 summer program. But the coordinator was cruel. She sent me photos of four kids who still needed host families. As soon as I saw Peanut's eyes I was hooked. So, ill-prepared in many ways (including financially) I set forth.

After Peanut left and I really needed to start gathering funds I spent about a month in sheer panic. I kept waiting for 25K to just miraculously appear in my bank account but it never happened. I tried every avenue I could think of and my face was seriously getting flattened after running into brick wall after brick wall. Then (angelic voices from the heavens sing "aaah") I found a way to fund a large chunk of the costs. And, thank the lord, I was approved for a grant that covers almost all of my foreign program fee.

I'm scrimping and saving to come up with the rest. Life on an adoption budget is different. Every penny I spend becomes a wasted penny -- because it could have gone to adoption. And, while I'll gladly sacrifice anything for Peanut, there are a few things I miss...

10.) A new pair of jeans. Mine have worn so thin in places it's a gamble each time I wear them.

9.) Pork tenderloin. And generally any other food product that's semi-pricey. At least I'm not down to ramen noodles and mac & cheese.

8.) Contacts. After Peanut's home and I allow myself to order contacts again I'm going to make a ceremony (perhaps a parade) out of placing my glasses in the center of the street and driving over them.

7.) A full tank of gas. I keep thinking that $10 will get me through the week and then I could put more into savings. It never works.

6.) Gloves that match my coat. I lost mine a while back and since I have two other perfectly fine (albeit clashing) pairs of gloves I refuse to buy a new pair.

5.) Professional hair color. I've colored out of a box so many times now it's starting look all one color. In fact I think there's a crayon color named "Margaret's hair."

4.) Hair cuts. Although, if I can get past this in-between stage my hair might look good long.

3.) Dryer sheets. I really miss that spring-fresh smell.

2.) Pomegranate shampoo from my stylist. But my inexpensive Garnier Fructis does smell nice.

1.) The good cat litter. Because... phew!

Not to B... That is the Answer

2006-01-26T19:37:00.000-05:00

When I was in high school I had an English teacher like no other. She was old when the school opened -- by the time I got there she was ancient. She used to say she'd never leave that school until they carried her out on a stretcher. Well, they did -- twice -- yet she still didn't retire. I'll never forget her hands, gnarled with arthritis, patting me on the head when I did well on an assignment. The time she locked herself in a bathroom stall was legendary and everyone snickered with guilty laughter when she fell off the chair behind her desk. At least twenty times per class period she would reach a hand into the depths of her shirt to retrieve a fallen bra strap; and the copious amounts of dry boogers that would dangle off the end of her nose astonish me still. But she was smart. She was tough. She believed in her students. I didn't appreciate her when I was in high school, but it didn't take me long to realize her true worth.

She made us explicate Shakespeare word by painful word. Oh, how I hated those lessons! It was a complete surprise when I studied Shakespeare in college and discovered that I enjoyed it. Now, in light of everything that's happening and the convenient correlation of the infamous Plan B with Hamlet's famous speech, she and her beloved Shakespeare are on my mind.

I found out today that, for me, the answer is "not to B." I'm officially not included in the group of families that will benefit from Plan B... ay, there's the rub. My agency gave lots of reasons, which I logically understand, but emotionally I'm devastated. Today also marked the start of rumors about at least two agencies getting reaccredited (which is great). My agency, however, has heard nothing lately about accreditation. I feel like the ship is leaving without me.

If it weren't for knowing and loving Peanut like I do, I'd probably have given up by now. In some ways it's downright crazy to let myself continue suffering the slings and arrows of Russian adoption. The only thing keeping me going is Peanut. He's my son and I've made a promise to him. Plus, I hold hope that when all is said and done none of this struggle will matter anymore and Peanut and I will just be family. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

I know the reward will be worth it. But right now I'm just sad and I feel about 10 years older than my age. I'm tired of worrying. I spend my days searching for actual facts -- something true, real, and applicable to my situation. Most of the time I'm able to keep my mood up and stay somewhat positive, but then a day like today happens, my mind starts spinning, and my native hue of resolution is sickled over with the pale cast of thought.

But tomorrow is a new day. Maybe the couple reaccreditations that were processed indicate that ALL the remaining agencies will soon be processed; not that they're only processing a small batch like they did in September. So... soft you now, Margaret. Time to stop complaining.

To B or Not to B

2006-01-25T23:10:00.000-05:00

I received two updates about Plan B from my agency today. Plan B is a go... the agency they're partnering with has signed the agreement and the wheels on the adoption bus are going round and round.

However, for many reasons, not all of my agency's waiting parents will be included in Plan B. At this point, I'm not sure if I will be or not. So, (while I'm praying feverishly for Fursenko to sign certificates) I'm clinging onto the hope that this new plan will work for me in absence of reaccreditation. Here are my Plan B wishes and adoption dreams:

To B included in the new plan.
Once I'm registered with the MOE under this new plan, that someone make a Bline to wherever Peanut is to ensure he's OK and knows I still love and want him more than anything.
That, patr*nat or no patr*nat, Peanut B available for international adoption.
I learn of his availability Bfore I travel.
That I bring Peanut home long Bfore he turns 9.
That the rest of my fellow host families B included in this plan with me, because I couldn't do this without them.

Here's to Plan B. I should find out more soon. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

It's a Girl!

2006-01-25T07:21:00.000-05:00

Lauri and John got their referral! Yay! Hop on over to Lauri's site and read the details.

Congratulations, Lauri and John. I'm so happy for you.

Kindness of Strangers

2006-01-23T22:14:00.000-05:00

My sister told a coworker of hers today about my adoption process. Of course, the age-old "how much does it cost" question came up. (That always surprises me. I would never think to ask someone what the medical bills for their pregnancy came to. ) My sister gave her friend a ballpark figure and told her that the whole process has been emotionally and financially draining for me.

The next thing my sister knew, her friend was pulling out her checkbook and wrote me a check for $100. Can you believe it? I don't even know this woman. I'm just blown away by her kindness.

Sophocles is Full of Sh*t

2006-01-19T20:04:00.000-05:00

Sophocles obviously never adopted. He wrote "Not knowing anything is the sweetest life." To that I say: bullshit, Sophocles, bullshit.

Not knowing exactly where Peanut is or who he is with literally keeps me awake at night. When he was at the orphanage I could call and check on him. Now that he's with a patr*nat family there's no way for me to know if he's all right or if he's happy. Of course I want to go bring him home -- but right now what I want more than anything is to know that he is safe.

Siberia has been pounded with extremely cold temperatures lately. When I look in Peanut's closet and see his toasty warm, super-cool Spiderman coat I just want to hop a plane to Russia and bring it to him. I'd give anything to talk to him and find out if he's OK and being cared for properly.

So, stuff it, Sophocles. Maybe for you ignorance was bliss. But, as for me, I want to KNOW.

The Peanut Gallery

2006-01-17T20:30:00.000-05:00

"Loublue America"
Marker on paper
Artist: Peanut
circa: 2005

Currently exhibited on the Museum de la Frigidaire

"Mickey in Orange and Brown"

Marker on paper

Artist: Peanut

circa: 2005

"Home Sweet Dietsky Dom"
Marker on cardboard
Artist: Peanut
circa: 2005

"I Live in America"
Marker on paper
Artist: Peanut
circa: 2005

"Mama and Peanut"
Marker on paper
Artist: Peanut
circa: 2005

"Peanut's Pooh"
Marker on paper
Artist: Peanut
circa: 2005

Side Benefits

2006-01-14T19:14:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you, but as an adult I haven't made many truly close friends. Most of the friends I have are really long-term. (Bethany's been my good friend for 20 years now. Ack! We're getting old.) But this past summer when I hosted Peanut, I unknowingly stepped into an incredible circle of friends.

It's one of the side benefits of hosting that no-one really mentions. In a lot of ways, and as cheesy as it may sound, my fellow host parents and I have become a family. We don't always agree, sometimes we annoy each other, but at the end of the day we love and understand each other. My Kidsave family has been such a huge source of support for me (as I hope I have been for them). I'm truly blessed.

Last night we all got together for a celebration (not one of our kids coming home, but something equally joyful). We vented, worried together, gave each other hope, reminisced, laughed, and hugged, hugged, hugged. (We're a huggy bunch.) I'm just so grateful to have these people in my life.

Sorry to get sappy. But some times (and some people) call for it.

p.s. Another note of gratitude. A huge T-H-A-N-K-S to Lisa -- the designer, creator, brains, and heart behind my new blog template. I love it.

A Bloggy Loser No More

2006-01-14T02:53:00.000-05:00

I admit it. I was a 33-year-old tag virgin. There's something about never having been tagged that makes you feel like that poor kid in junior high who always sat at a lunch table by himself. But Lauri's pulled me to the cool table. I'm a bloggy loser no more.

What were you doing 10 years ago?

I was rounding out my 3rd year at my first "real" job and beginning to realize that I was never going to go much further with that company. (I left about three months later. That was a goodbye party to remember!) I was living in a big old farm house with faulty electricity, bad plumbing, and the occasional mouse. I was dating a guy who was four years younger than me -- and that was before Demi and Ashton made robbing the cradle cool.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Dating Mr. Inertia and wondering -- if he only owed less than $100 on the engagement ring as he said -- why he wasn't proposing. (I later learned that the ring was like a NY Times Bestseller -- pure fiction.)

Five Snacks I enjoy:

Anything chocolate
Crackers and cheese and/or deli meat
Popcorn (especially Kettle Corn - yummo)
Frozen grapes (weird, but really good)
Did I mention anything chocolate?

Five songs to which I know all the lyrics:
(I sing all the time. Not well, necessarily... but I sing. These five are songs that make me think of Peanut or bolster my strength during this waiting game.)

Sweet Baby James -- James Taylor
Baa, Baa Black Sheep (in Russian... I'm very proud)
Right to Be Wrong -- Joss Stone
Standing Outside the Fire -- Garth Brooks
Moses -- Patty Griffith

Five things I would do if I were a Millionaire:

Buy a cottage up north for my family to use
Pay my nieces' and nephews' tuitions
Set up a grant fund so other PAPs wouldn't have to stress as much as I have over $$$
Go to Ireland
Buy a house on the lake.

Five bad habits:

I pick at my fingernails
I'm a major procrastinater
I'm addicted to checking FRUA and Russian news -- I do it constantly
Lately I've been far too self-focused
I sleep on the couch (I'm an insomniac -- the TV in the living room can help sometimes. But for the most part, the couch is a habit. Tonight is a no-sleep night. It's 2:30 am and I'm blogging.)

Five Things I like doing:

Making landscape quilts
Reading
Scrapbooking (I'm making one for Bethany's youngest (Party Girl) right now.)
Talking on the phone (I swear, I'm like a teenager sometimes)
Visiting family and friends.

Five things I would never wear ( buy or get again):

My high school cheerleading uniform
Another bridesmaid's dress (I've paid my dues)
Bikini (unless I lose massive amounts of weight)
A tank top with bra straps hanging out (that's the epitome of tackiness)
A plaid skirt (I went to a private school as a child. I'm plaid-skirted out.)

Five Favorite toys:

Digital camera
Scanner
My new staple gun (I'm having an inordinate amount of fun with it)
Computer
The fabric scissors I got for Christmas (they're perfect for "fussy cutting").

I'm supposed to tag five people but I have a very small circle of blogs that I frequent. I think they've all been tagged already and I don't want to be a retagger.

Next I'm supposed to insert this list-

Afrindiemum
An Elephant's Gestation
So its come down to this
Ukraine Adventure
Peanut Pants

The Hamster in my Brain

2006-01-13T14:51:00.000-05:00

Rumor has it accreditation may happen next week... and my agency should be high on the list. (Based on the date their accreditation expired.) So, like a hamster on an exercise wheel, my mind has been spinning away.

Taking a cue from all the China PAP's with their complicated LID/referral charts, here's my estimation. If accreditation is awarded to my agency next week:

My dossier (which is translated and in region) could be filed with the MOE by Monday the 23rd.
Based on dossier to court date time frames of other host parents in this region my court date could be around March 29.

That's based on 99% rumor/assumption and 1% fact. But it's fun to dream!

A Fresh Dose of Patience

2006-01-11T19:40:00.000-05:00

If you know me at all, you know that I'm an impatient person. When there's something I want, I have to (at the very least) start planning or preparing for the goal. In my little brain, just sitting back and waiting is equal to water torture, 100 lashes, or listening to John Tesh sing.

I spent over a year in a serious relationship with a man who, in hindsight, drove me up the wall. He constantly would talk about future plans -- starting a new career, buying a house, getting married -- but when it came down to it he was completely unwilling to take any form of action what-so-ever. After spending so much time in limbo with him I was anxious to get going on the next phase of my life. Goodbye Mr. Inertia, Hello Peanut!

This adoption process has been a challenge for me emotionally. I actually dreaded completing my dossier because I knew there would be nothing left but waiting. My fear was somewhat on target... I've had major mood swings and my patience is all but nonexistent.

So, I have to take a moment to pat myself on the back. My agency is still working on Plan B and hasn't given out details yet. And, believe it or not, I'm OK with that. I think the fact that they are actively working on something has helped me find a new dose of patience. Before the announcement of the impending Plan B, I was starting to feel that this adoption process was like dating Mr. Inertia all over again. I'm so glad that's not the case!

Airing Dirty Laundry... Literally

2006-01-08T22:12:00.000-05:00

You could call it laziness, but I think it's really a physics problem. See, I have this hamper that holds a significant amount more than my laundry basket. So when the urge to play washer woman strikes I typically skim off the top of the hamper with full intentions of going back up for the rest later. Later, however, usually never happens.

Today, I decided to bite the bullet and brave the depths of my hamper. Guess what I found? Two of Peanut's shirts and pair of his shorts. People -- Peanut left over four months ago. Can you say gross? Say it a little louder... I can't hear you.

After taking a few moments to wallow in my own disgusting habits I was actually kind of glad I found something of his unexpectedly. It brings him back to home somehow. Right after he left I found all sorts of "Peanut bombs" planted around the house. A sticker on the fridge, drawings he did when he was supposed to be sleeping, little pieces of K'Nex (the world's worst toy ever), all sorts of detritus that an 8-year-old leaves in his wake. At first, Peanut bombs just sent me into tears. But eventually they were a lot of fun to find. After a month or so, I had pretty much uncovered everything and missed finding his things.

So, though I doubt my mother would agree, I think uncovering an unexpected reminder of Peanut justifies my nasty laundry habits. How's that Don Henley song go? "Give us dirty laundry!"

Awaiting Plan B

2006-01-06T19:47:00.000-05:00

My agency is cooking up something good. I can just smell it. They sent out a couple messages this week saying they're working on a Plan B. They haven't given any details at all, but it sounds hopeful.

I have a guess about what it is, but my theories are often way off base. So, since my logic is usually incorrect when it comes to Russian adoption here are some completely illogical ideas:

They'll strap parachutes on all of the waiting parents and drop us off over Russia with a map to find our kids and shovel to dig a tunnel outta there.
They'll build a big Trojan troika and we can take the MOE by surprise.
I'll just visit Russia and leave a trail of potato chips for Peanut to follow home.

I'm up for anything. So cook up something good oh agency of mine!

Disappointed and Quite Possibly Delusional

2006-01-03T17:39:00.000-05:00

I spoke with my agency representative today. There is officially no word on accreditation. While we were talking we both agreed that if the Ministry of Education decided NOT to reaccredit any more agencies they would probably announce that. Frankly, it'd be a popular decision in Russia right now.

Yet somehow, I'm actually still feeling hopeful. And I don't understand why. I've always considered myself relatively intelligent, so I don't think it's stupidity. Typically I'm quite cynical (ask my ex-boyfriend), so I know it's not a Pollyanna-esque character flaw. Either there's reason to remain hopeful or I'm delusional. Whaddya think?

What Happened to Track 14?

2006-01-02T12:33:00.000-05:00

Joss Stone's Mind, Body, and Soul CD has a semi-permanent residence in my car's CD player. "Right to be Wrong" has been my personal anthem ever since I started this adoption process.

After Peanut left I started making the official "I'm going to adopt him" announcements. Really, I don't know why anyone was surprised by this. But, none-the-less, the reactions I got ran the whole gamut - from unwavering support to complete negativity. If I never hear "but you're single" again it will be too soon. Then I heard "Right to be Wrong" and the song's bridge just rang so true:

You're entitled to your opinion
But it's really my decision.
I can't turn back, I'm on a mission.
If you care, don't you dare blur my vision.
Let me be all that I can be.
Don't smother me with negativity.
Whatever's out there waiting for me
I'm gonna face it willingly!

Perfect, isn't it?

So today, I'm out and about, driving, and lost in a Joss Stone-inspired reverie. I was deep in adoption worry (accreditation didn't happen... WTF do I do now?) when all of a sudden track 15 came on and scared me out of my wits. Seriously... I almost drove off the road. Turns out track 14 is just complete silence. How could I have not noticed that before? So Joss is now banished to the depths of my CD case.

Really, Joss. What were you thinking? You shouldn't scare an overweight PAP like that. You could induce a heart attack.

No News Isn't Good News

2005-12-31T17:54:00.000-05:00

Nyet. Nada. Nothing. No calls from the agency. No news on the Russian media. No updates on the Ministry of Education's website. I think it's safe to say that accreditation didn't happen. Damn.

But it's New Year's Eve and I'm trying to be positive. This year I only have one resolution: bring Peanut home. (Losing weight should be on my list of priorities, too. But I'll just have to be thin vicariously through my friend on 145!)

In preparation for my New Year's resolution I've started hanging these small sports pennants up in Peanut's room as a border. Very 8-year-old chic! Even though I'm anti "theme room," a sports theme is starting to emerge somewhat against my will. He's gonna love it, though.

Down to the Wire

2005-12-29T19:11:00.000-05:00

As I'm writing this it's almost the beginning of the work day in Russia. I'm mentally willing the Minister of Education to sign the accreditation certificates already! The last day given was "by the end of December." Well, Mr. MOE, it's the end of December - don't you feel compelled to sign? Here's my ode to the MOE:

There once was a man named Fursenko
Whose pen had run out of ink-o.
He'd switch and he'd bait
And make foreigners wait.
Before he'd sign on the line. What a stink-o!

In all fairness, Andrei Fursenko seems to have the best interests of the children in mind. After all, he could have called a complete moratorium (gasp!). But there's a lot of political tug-of-war going on and the end result is children (like Peanut) are getting lost in the struggle.

I first found out that Peanut had been placed with a patr*nat family on December 6. It's been 23 days since I've known who my boy is with. 23 days since I've known if he's safe, if he's happy, if he still wants to come to America, if, if, if... The "ifs" are like little gnats buzzing around - as much as I swat at them, they just won't go away.

Once they're reissued their accreditation certificate my agency will be able to do so much more for Peanut and I. Cross your fingers!

Catching Up

2005-12-28T19:29:00.000-05:00

Since Peanut went back to Russia, I've been drowning in paperwork, finances, and stress. The adoption process isn't for the faint of heart! Rather than go through every detail, here's a synapsis of the past four months:

Completed my home study (lots of interviews, medical clearances, state police clearance, etc) in September.
Finished my mound of dossier paperwork in October and sent it off to Russia for translating.
Had my fingerprints for USCIS approval in mid-November. I received my I-171H (aka the holy grail) in late December.
Just got the news that I was awarded a grant to help with adoption costs.

So, everything on the US side is going quite well. But, as with most international adoptions, there have to be a couple flies in the ointment.

My agency hasn't received their reaccreditation in Russia yet. First we thought they'd get it in September, then October surely. Then a couple dates in November seemed golden. The latest date is "by the end of December." If I held my breath for every hoped-for date I'd be a goner. So, I hope and pray, but don't count on it.
There's only one other accredited agency that works in my boy's region. Unfortunately, things didn't work out for me to switch for a number of reasons. I'm kind of afraid it would be the adoption equivalent of jumping from the frying pan into the fire anyway.
I just found out recently that Peanut has been placed with a foster family of sorts. (It's called a patr*nat family... I'm still not clear on what that is.) At this point, my agency feels that there is reason to hope but we don't know for sure if he's available for adoption.

So, that's the skinny. Needless to say, I'm stressed out beyond belief. But Peanut is worth every effort.

I think there are advantages and disadvantages to hosting programs. Getting to know him and forming relationships with the other host families was invaluable. But, hosting draws attention to the fact that Big Bad Americans are coming. I worry that the added attention in effect caused my boy (and the other kids that came here this summer) to be placed out in an effort to avoid international adoption. It's sad. Peanut and I are family and I feel as if that is being ripped apart.

Do Svedanya

2005-12-27T21:43:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - An original version of the post was written on 8/17/05.

Today Peanut left. As I knew it would, my heart has been broken. Peanut, on the other hand, was quite stoic. I let him sleep as long as possible, and when I woke him up he just wrapped his arms around me and cried. He kept repeating "loublue America, loublue Mama" (Loublue=love). But when his tears subsided he got up and got dressed and was all business. When we were ready to leave he climbed in the car and saw that I had already put a blanket and pillow in the back for him. He smiled and said "Thank you, Mama." Every ounce of gratitude and love he had for me was poured into those three little words.

He slept all the way to the airport. Aside from a few tears when he was getting on the plane he was very brave. Braver than I was. My sister said I have to view this as the first step in bringing him home for good. So that's what I'm going to try to focus on. At least I'll focus on that after I hear the kids made it back to their orphanage safe and sound.

The Countdown

2005-12-27T19:14:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - An original version of this post was written on 8/16/05.

For a week or so we've had a countdown on the calendar. I drew an airplane on the 17th, and we cross off each day before heading upstairs to read books before bed. I've come to hate that little drawing of an airplane - just looking at it brings tears to my eyes. But, I felt it was important for Peanut to know when he was going back to Russia.

My plan was to keep the day before he left as normal as possible. Alas, it wasn't meant to be. After massive amounts of conflicting statements and confusion I ended up caving in and having the kid's escort come and stay with me for a night. Turns out she was writing a report about each of the host families. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't been so stubborn and had just invited her here earlier. But, my little home doesn't make it convenient and, frankly, I was being selfish about my time with Peanut.

So, on his last morning here Peanut (as is his routine) asked for ice cream and potato chips for breakfast. Indulgent as I can be, never once did I allow him that type of junk for breakfast. He always asks, and when I say nyet he goes for fruit, yogurt, or dry cereal. But, with Mrs. Escort Lady here he reacted a whole different way. Crying, pouting, and clenched fists punching the couch ensued. Great way to make a positive impression, Peanut! Sticking to my guns, I set out several things that I knew he liked. But, Mrs. Escort Lady decided that he should have chips. Grrr! After giving him chips he was happy as a clam and soon selected a cherry yogurt to mix in with his chips. (I think it's an unwritten law that 8-year-old boys have to be disgusting!)

As soon as it was polite, I brought Mrs. Escort Lady back. Then, Peanut and I had a great day. We went swimming, played at the park, and visited family.

Packing his bag was miserable. I tried to use a larger roller-bag so he could take more things home with him. But he could barely carry it and I was worried about that. So we packed his small backpack to the brim with Power Rangers, matchbox cars, his photo album, and little stuffed animals. He really wanted to bring Misha, his stuffed bear, but Misha's huge. So, we made a big ritual out of making a "home" here in America for Misha. I'm not moving that bear until Peanut comes home.

He's finally asleep now. I'm absolutely dreading tomorrow.

Bed Bumps and Blessings

2005-12-24T09:04:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - A version of this post was originally written on 8/8/05.

Peanut (aka Bruiser) got himself kicked out of camp this week. He had made some friends in the beginning - they even had a special handshake - but I think the novelty of having a Russian friend wore off. Because the kids that Peanut used to describe as "drook" (friend) he now says a not-so-nice word and indicates that they make fun of him.

After a couple incidents of punching other kids, the camp had to expel him. When I picked him up on his last day the girl he punched was holding an ice pack to her cheek (poor thing) and Peanut was sulking off to the side. But the minute he climbed in the car he just melted into tears. I don't condone hitting - but it broke my heart to see him so sad.

Being single and requiring a little thing called a paycheck I was pretty stressed out. But a combination of a great boss, a job that is possible to do from home, and a big family we worked it out. Peanut's getting expelled proved to be a blessing in disguise. He's more relaxed and happy than before - he's even sleeping more soundly (no more Russian mumbles in the middle of the night). Of course now he falls out of the bed, so I have a complex system of comforters and extra pillows on the ground to pad any nighttime falls. In a way, I'm glad he was expelled. Camp was a stressor for him and now we're spending his last couple of weeks here stress-free and together.

Does the Tooth Fairy Go to Russia?

2005-12-24T08:47:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - A version of this post was originally written on 7/31/05.

Peanut has lost two teeth since he's been here. After spending days wiggling them mercilessly in front of me. (For some reason that gives me the heebie-jeebies and he had a great time grossing me out!)

I asked my adoption coordinator what the custom in Russia is. She wasn't sure, but having grown up in the Ukraine she knew the custom from there. But Peanut didn't seem to know anything about that. He just wanted to toss them in the garbage. He looked at me like I was crazy when I carefully placed them in an envelope and taped them in my journal. But, patient with my insanity, he gamely posed for a picture displaying his new gap-toothed look. (It's all the rage! )

Later he tested the capabilities of the gap - shoving a grape through the hole, letting spit drip through, sticking his tongue through... I never said he was Little Lord Fauntleroy!

Mama Bear

2005-12-24T08:25:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - A version of this post was originally written on 7/28/05.

Peanut and I went to our first group activity with the other Kidsave families. We were both so excited - my home is a good hour and 1/2 away from all the others so Peanut hasn't seen any of his friends since he first arrived.

Already in a sour mood because he hadn't gotten a bike that morning, (a miscommunication caused by my broken Russian) we hit the road on the way to see his friends. But, again, he surprised me. Even when we hit horrible road traffic he was a trouper. Peanut has taught me the true meaning of forgive and forget. When he decides to forgive me - he does so completely.

Finally we arrived at the spray park. Peanut was so excited to get to the water park he had changed into his bathing suit in the car. And, lo and behold, the ph level was off or some other lame excuse. So, on a sweltering day our kids had to sit there and LOOK at the water.

The way the kids greeted each other was hilarious. Serious faces, handshakes, a single nod of the head, and solemn statement of each other's names. Kind of how I would greet a tax auditor or funeral director. But after the formal greeting they were off playing like typicaly kids.

Several prospective adoptive families were there to "meet" the kids. It made me sick. Instead of trying to get to know any of the kids these people were wandering around the pavilion surveying our kids like they were picking out a pot roast. Gross. It brought out the Mama Bear in me. I immediately steered Peanut over to a jungle gym far away from the pavilion. Several of the other host families felt the same way. These are our kids - stay the heck away! If I'm this protective at the first event, how I am going to let him go back to Russia? I already feel like he's my son.

The good news - on the way home we picked up an old bike of my nephews. We had to put the training wheels on, though. Peanut was pretty surprised to see there were only two wheels! Thank goodness for bike helmets.

How Do you Say "No Wake" in Russian?

2005-12-23T19:36:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - A version of this post was originally written on 7/17/05.

My boy's a speed demon. I brought him over to a friend's house and we took their boat out for the afternoon. Peanut was thrilled to say the least. This was obviously his first experience on a boat and he had a ball! We even let him take a turn driving - "fast" became his 3rd word of English.

Swimming, lunch, baseball, and riding a bike rounded out the afternoon. Aside from a minor incident involving Peanut's attempt to stand up in a hammock the day was a resounding success.

When we were leaving, Peanut gave my friend K a used-up disposable camera, her husband M a book, and their son a pair of sunglasses (mine). I'm not sure if they realized the magnitude of that gesture. For Peanut to own something that he can give away is empowering for him. His generous nature is so amazing. I'm head over heels in love with this kid.

Death to Balloons

2005-12-23T18:28:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - A version of this post was originally written on 7/15/05

OK. I had my first bad-mama experience on Peanut's first night here.

Another Kidsave parent bought all the kid's balloons and I promptly let go of it. Peanut said to one of the translators that he wanted his balloon. Not being 15 feet tall I was unable to retrieve it. So, my Irish Catholic guilt got the best of me and not long after Peanut woke up on his first day here we were off to the store for not 1, not 2, but 3 replacement balloons.

I was so worried that he was going to be nervous when he woke up - having slept through everything last night he hadn't seen the house, his room, or anything. But a closet full of toys does wonders for calming nerves. When I pulled out the Operation game he was just thrilled with the play money. I didn't really know why until he tried to use it to buy the aforementioned balloons.

After buying the balloons (I slipped some real money in with the Operation dollars) we went to my parent's house. Peanut started calling my dad "Papa" which isn't right - he's "Dedushka" really, but that's OK. Papa or Dedushka - it was love at first sight. The two of them are like peas and carrots. Or maybe they're like borscht and sour cream.

On the way home from Papa and Baba's Peanut accidentally sent one of new balloons out the car window. Glad I bought 2 extra. When we got home, he let go of another. Thank goodness for the final backup. Within an hour he popped the third. Poor deflated Daffy Duck. I guess Peanut and balloons just don't mix!

How Digital Cameras Break Ice

2005-12-23T17:33:00.000-05:00

Past Posting - A version of this post was originally written on 7/13/05.

I'm finally out of the whirlwind. After weeks of planning, preparing, and studying his picture. V is finally here.

Last night was amazing. The other Kidsave families and I were one incredibly jittery crew. I'm glad I stopped biting my nails back in '86! After watching passenger after passenger deboard, finally a sea of red t-shirts appeared. Our kids were here! I recognized V the minute he walked off the plane - after all, I had been staring at those golden-brown eyes in a picture for weeks.

I called his name and he looked my way. Fear, fatigue, or shyness made him quickly look away - or maybe he just thought I was ugly. (U-G-L-Y! You just made a Russian cry!) So I gave him a few more minutes to adjust to the distinctly American chaos and then I went over to him.

His hair is cut in the most severe Princeton ever - I don't know what his orphanage caretakers were thinking. Maybe that we don't give hair cuts in America? And his shoes - brand new but at least 3 sizes too big... the laces were wrapped around and around his ankles. Short hair, big shoes, purple warm up suit - he's the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on.

I showed him a photo album with pictures of my home and pets. He showed some tentative interest, but the real ice breaker was my digital camera. Thank heaven for my sister who's willing to make crazy faces at the camera just for V's enjoyment. I don't think he'd ever seen a camera where you could instantly see the photo. I understand his pleasure - I'm all about instant gratification!

By the time we left the airport V was clutching my hand and calling me Mama. I don't care if it's indiscriminate or not - my heart melted. Halfway home he fell asleep... exhaustion finally overtook excitement. He didn't wake up when we dropped my sister off. He didn't wake up when I carried him in the house or when my dog was jumping up to see him. He didn't even wake up when I took off his too-big shoes, jacket, and purple warm-up pants. And I'm kind of glad. Because I wouldn't have wanted him to think I was laughing at him when an amazing amount of airplane peanuts came tumbling out his pants. Like a squirrel in winter, I guess he was saving them for later.

I have a feeling that Peanut Pants will be the first of many wonderful memories.

Past Posting

2005-12-23T17:22:00.000-05:00

It's 12/23/05 - I've officially been embroiled in the world of adoption since last June. But, partially because I write on a computer for my living and partially because I still think a pen & paper journal has a certain romanticism, I haven't entered the blog world until now.

After finding myself checking all my favorite blogs almost daily (I'm an obsessive PAP) I decided to re-record my journal online. So bear with me while I catch up a bit.