Tomorrow's Gotcha Day, Times Two

Yum! Nothing tastes better than a contraband cookie!

Tomorrow is Alex’s “Gotcha Day.” We will visit him as usual (but a little bit later, and more briefly) in the morning, and then he will go to have one last lunch with his groupa while we sign more paperwork and distribute small thank-you gifts to the nannies who took care of him for us. We’re also bringing treats for his groupa—candy bars, cookies, juice, bananas. All of these are pretty rare, and help the kids to celebrate along with Alex.

After his lunch, we will hit the road for Kiev, the capital…a four-hour drive. We’ll set up in an apartment there, and complete documents for the U.S. Embassy over the next two days. Then, if there is no snag getting Alex’s visa, we will wake up at 3 a.m. Thursday morning to fly out of Kiev, with stops in Munich and Chicago, where we will go through customs and immigration. We’ll arrive in Minneapolis at 7:35 (assuming all goes smoothly!) and crash at my brother’s house, having been awake for 24 hours. Then he will drive us down to Winona the next morning.

It is going to be quite an exciting week.

It will be doubly exciting because tomorrow morning, at around 8 a.m., my sister will have a c-section to give birth to Dominic. Little Dominic has severe birth defects—basically a face that is split in two, with likely brain damage—and whether he will survive is apparently a bit of an open question. If he does survive, he and his family will be facing some real struggles. They’re confident that there will be joy woven into those struggles, and so are we. We’re excited to meet little Dominic later this summer.

So in a way, we can call tomorrow Gotcha Day Times Two!

Just a note that we may not be posting anything new until the end of this week; with Alex in tow, it will be a lot more difficult to find time for being online. We'll post as we can, though!

Balloons, spit, tickets, and a James Bond moment

On the rocking horse

Looking at the book

Playing with a balloon; Alex's teenage friends looking at his book.

Us with the director

A shorter post today, due to the late hour. We had an action-packed day…here are the highlights:

• The director sought us out to have her picture taken with the three of us, a task carried out with much amused laughter on her part, due to the language barrier and Alex’s total lack of interest in looking at the camera, despite a nanny’s valiant attempts to lure his eyes by acting silly and singing, “Cuckoo!” We finally did get the pictures and a promise to see her again on Monday before we leave.
• We were joined by a gaggle of four teens at one point during our visit. They gathered around to watch Alex play with a balloon; we would blow it up, then release it and watch it fly all over the place, to the general amusement of everyone. The teens tried to communicate with us as best they could, and in fact asked for their own balloons, which we gave them (uninflated). They also pored over the family picture book that we brought for Alex, which he still prefers to flip through over several other picture books. They are a great group of kids; hopefully they will all find permanent homes.
• We saw more babyish acting out behavior from Alex today, including more spitting. As we carry him through the halls, he likes to shout to hear the echo, and he likes to spit on the floor—not on people, but just on the floor. Spit, ha ha ha ha ha! Spit, ha ha ha ha ha! So it goes. We tell him “no” and “don’t do that” in Russian, which has no effect since it is not backed up with any consequence greater than me stopping our progress down the stairs or through the hall, turning him toward the wall, and ignoring him while he spits to his heart’s content. If the floors weren’t verboten around here, I’d put him down, too, and step away for a few seconds, until the behavior stopped, but that will have to wait until we are home. Anyway, for now, we just stop everything and quietly wait until he is sick of spitting, and after a few seconds more, resume our progress. This is a very slow way to get outside. We will see whether this has any effect over the next few days.
• We bought tickets! Barring a snag in the process of acquiring Alex’s passport and visa, which we are told is unlikely, we will touch down in Chicago at 3 p.m. Thursday afternoon, and in Minneapolis at 7:35 p.m. that evening. Right now we’re leaning toward staying overnight in Minneapolis, considering that we will have been awake for 24 hours straight by that point. We purchased travel clothes for Alex today (no, he doesn’t get to take his orphanage wardrobe with him!) as well as a sturdy umbrella stroller for the airport.
• And probably the most exciting few seconds of the day came when our taxi driver decided to take his hands off the wheel, lean across me, and open the passenger door, then slam it shut, while we were moving down a busy, unstriped road. Recall, dear reader, that they laugh at seatbelts here. Then he arched his back over the seat to reach Susan’s passenger door to do the same thing—again, no hands, ma! Well, one hand held a cell phone. And people wonder why you’re 100 times more likely to die in a car here than in the U.S. Well, as I casually quipped to Susan immediately after, “It’s an adventure around every corner here, isn’t it?”

Did I mention that we’re coming home in six days? And counting? With a sweet, sweet little boy who we could hear crying and crying and crying all the way down the hall as we left? Two more days ‘til gotcha day, kiddo…hang in there!

Me with Volodni, our regular driver, who has a working seat belt and does not
open the doors in transit. He is also locally famous--everyone seems to know him.

What about the other 119 children?

No Alex pictures in today’s post, although at the bottom of this post I will provide a quick bit of news of interest to our close friends and family. Today, though, I’d like to share about the other 119 children at this institution, because one of the (many) things we have been praying for on this trip is an opportunity to help the other children here who deserve homes and families just as much as Alex does. Most of our time here has been somewhat frustrating in that way; it hasn’t been obvious how we might help these other children. But as we have continued to pray about it over the past week or so, I think we’ve slowly realized what our larger purpose here might be. And yesterday, during a conversation with the director of the institution, I had an “aha!” moment—as if the veil had been lifted a little, giving us perhaps a little peek at the bigger scheme of things.

Let me begin by just describing what we’ve seen at this institution during the past two and a half weeks. Orphanages for the mentally and physically disabled in Eastern Europe have a bad reputation, and with good reason. Some of them are living nightmares in which children are left lying in cribs, unattended, for most of the day—sometimes sitting in their soiled diapers for hours, and certainly not getting the attention or stimulation necessary to develop. This is not really disputed; you can easily find reports and videos online documenting such institutions. In the month before we left, a neighboring country fired the staff of a particularly egregious institution, thanks in part to the work of an American family who had adopted a child from there. Even at the better orphanages, disabled children usually do not receive any formal schooling. There is a pervasive attitude here that children with physical or mental disabilities are “defective” and lack the potential for human development. The attitude is really not too dissimilar from what was common in the United States up until the 1970s or so.

But it’s important to fall too easily into stereotyping: not all of these institutions are like the worst of them, nor do all of the people working in them share the same views. There is clear evidence of improved attitudes and practices in some of these orphanages—little spots of hope here and there. The institution where Alex lives (and as far as I can tell, it has no formal name beyond the name of the town where it is located) can clearly be ranked among the better orphanages for older children. Ten years ago, it lacked running water and electricity in some of the wings, and there were no trees on the grounds. I don’t know about the morale or attitude of the staff, but I would guess that it reflected the physical conditions to some extent.

What have we seen in the past two and a half weeks here? The grounds of the orphanage are a veritable Garden of Eden, full of roses and daisies of various colors, and probably close to an acre of vegetable gardens. The grounds are full of trees. I have not done an exhaustive survey, but I suspect that every one of those trees is a fruit tree of some kind; we have certainly seen apple and cherry trees. Besides the gardens, there are three outdoor play/relaxation areas where the kids can be outdoors and get some much-needed Vitamin D from the sunshine. This includes some swings and slides installed by a missionary organization.

Inside, the hallways are frequently (but not always) dark. They simply don’t waste energy on lighting the halls. The walls of the downstairs hallway are covered in pictures of field trips the kids have taken, as well as visits from missionary and other charitable groups. Crafts and artwork are also proudly displayed, including some fairly elaborate cross-stitch. Large tapestries of icons of various saints—typically Saint Nicolas, patron saint of children, and Mary, the archetypical mother—hang everywhere, including over the director’s desk. The downstairs is given over mainly to offices and utility rooms, while the upstairs includes the play and exercise rooms, as well as the dormitories for the children.

We have not had a lot of close contact with the other children; we have been encouraged to focus our time on bonding with Alex, which is entirely appropriate. Nevertheless, as we play with him outside or move through the building, we are frequently approached by the other children. Many of them will smile their biggest, best, most beautiful smile at us, reaching out their hands for a touch or a hug. Some of them will practically tackle us for a hug, which can be surprising if we’re in a darkened hallway. After we recover from the shock, we say “Hello!” (in Russian) and briefly hug them before their nannies sternly call them back.

We walk into the exercise room at 10 a.m. every morning to pick up Alex, and are greeted by ten pairs of little eyes trying to engage us, some reaching out their hands toward us. Others just look and look, not stirring from where they have been placed. Each child is on an exercise machine—stationary bikes, a rocking horse, a device that helps them to stand up. (Simply standing is critical to maintaining good bone density.) There is a cot where the kids with cerebral palsy can do their stretches, one at a time. Alex is almost always in a baby swing that he can move by himself by grabbing the support bar with his hands. There are perhaps six children in the exercise room, and another two or three in the adjacent play room. The room is eerily quiet, for having that many children in it; we have not really observed them talking to one another or making much noise at all. Often there is a radio going, playing Russian pop music.

What would you do, faced with all those eyes? We try to touch each child as we pass by, if only briefly—clasping a hand, offering a smile and a greeting; we place our hands on their chest, or head, and they smile and smile. Some of the children look very similar to Alex—I sometimes initially mistake another kid for him when I first walk in. Others are more profoundly disabled, mentally or physically. A surprising number are very thin and gaunt, reminiscent of the starving kids you see on television programs. It is surprising in part because we know that these kids are pretty well fed; we see Alex fed his “second breakfast” every morning at 11, which is followed by a lunch at noon. But these are younger kids, many of them probably just transferred from other institutions; perhaps that has something to do with it. Or maybe they have underlying health conditions that cause their gaunt appearance.

Three days ago there was a little girl in the ball pit that Alex loves to play in. She was lying on her back among the colorful balls, holding a foam block and making soft noises as she turned it over and over. Her warm brown eyes and face were framed by dark brown hair, and her arms and legs were so, so thin—maybe an inch in diameter? As we played with Alex, we sang songs, in part for her to hear. Susan reached out a hand toward her hand, but she recoiled, which is not uncommon with children who are profoundly understimulated. She was still lying in the same position half an hour later when we left.

There are, as I mentioned, about eight to ten kids in Alex’s “groupa.” While they are in the exercise and play rooms, they have one nanny (Yana) who works with them, one at a time. She feeds them their kasha, or helps them exercise; she does Alex’s morning stretches. She is warm with the children, although not effusive, and very efficient. She has to be; she is outnumbered. She was our “minder” during the first week we visited Alex, watching our interactions with him and helping us out as needed. She showed us The Restaurant (the only place worthy of the name in town; like the orphanage, it appears to have no name) on our first full visit, and pulled out a Russian-English dictionary a few days later. She climbed a cherry tree to pick some cherries for our facilitator, and she has showed us some basic methods for helping Alex to stretch.  She knows her stuff about stretching muscles of kids with CP.

Today I visited Alex alone, because Susan was not feeling well. Toward the end of the visit, we went back to the exercise room, where Yana was still working with the kids. I couldn’t figure out why Alex would prefer to go back to that room, when normally he is eager to get out. It turns out they have some new toys—inflated rubber rocking horses that both rock and bounce (excellent exercise for strengthening the core torso muscles, if done properly). She showed me how to hold him on the horse and bounce him, and then she went to feed the other kids. While she was occupied, a very curious little boy who appeared to have no physical disability kept coming over, trying to separate me from Alex who, let me tell you, did not take kindly to the competition. He GLARED at the kid as he clambered over me, and when he tried to climb up on that rocking horse, Alex loudly protested and then whacked him a good one. And we were worried about him getting pushed around! I told Alex, “No, no, no, no, no!” (that’s about four no’s too many, for my fellow ECFE parents—but hey, I was under duress) and gently separated them, trying to engage the other one behind me while continuing to bounce Alex in front of me. It has been 90 degrees for several days, and that place is not air conditioned; I was sweating like a pig by the time I was done.

All the while this was happening, Yana was occupied with other kids. I assume she figured I had things in hand, but it just underlines that even here, it is impossible to provide the level of attention these kids need if you don’t have enough people on hand.

Some of the other children are older, in their teens, and clearly higher functioning or without any noticeable mental impairment. Again, they seem happy…but I cannot imagine what it must be like to spend day after day on the same routine, with no schooling or outside social contact, much less any hope of ever having a real family. One teen came over to watch us play with Alex for a while; he said he sometimes played with Alex. He seemed very friendly and engaged, and at one point pulled out a cell phone (possibly supplied by his family; not every child here is an orphan) and was looking through text messages. Another time, we were walking in the garden when we came across a fifteen-year-old girl in a wheelchair. We had seriously considered also adopting this girl, because she is just months away from being transferred to an adult mental institution, where she would almost certainly not be as free or well-treated as she is here. (Restrained or forced to stay in bed are real possibilities.)  When we came across her in the garden, she was picking roses with another girl; they were chatting amiably, laughing a little, but she clammed up when we showed up—shy, I guess. She has beautiful light brown hair that someone had done up in a fancy braid. Other times, when we are outside, she watches us very closely. She smiles and sings along, clapping with the music, when the accordion man comes to play for the kids every other day.

Fortunately, another family has committed to adopting her; their paperwork was officially submitted today, which means they should be here in a couple months, just a week or two shy of her transfer deadline. What a relief. Some of the older children who “age out” of this institution get to stay on longer because the director persuades the officials in charge of such things that they would be useful around the place, especially helping the younger kids. This girl would not have had that option because of her physical disability.

What would you do to help these kids, if you were here? Perhaps simply being present is a start—acknowledging their presence, smiling at them, touching them, showing them a little bit what a family looks like.

Yesterday we had our first extended conversation with the director of the orphanage. The occasion was the donation of the money that had accumulated in Alex’s government-sponsored trust fund, about $3,000, to the orphanage. They will buy seven new windows to keep out the winter cold; the current ones are drafty, and frost over. The director wanted us to see the receipt for the windows—she even invited us to come along to the factory to pay for them ourselves. She is clearly very concerned that there be no question of whether there is any corruption going on here.

In the course of the conversation, we began talking about our visits, and mentioning how warm and friendly the staff has been. The staff truly are very friendly, with us and with the children. “These children are loved,” she said, and we believe it. Obviously not every staff person is smiling every second, but I don’t know a single parent who would want to be held to that high standard. “This place is no replacement for a family, but these children are loved,” she said.

We offered condolences for the assistant director, a woman named Lena who has been especially warm, friendly, and outgoing wiith us; her only son was killed when he was struck by a drunk driver a couple days ago.

She told us about the training her staff receive from university professors in the United States and Holland who specialize in therapy for disabled children. And then she said something that ended up being my “Aha!” moment—my realization of what may be our most important role in helping the other 119 children here.

“You have been playing with Sasha out in the open, where all the staff has been able to see and hear you,” she said through our facilitator’s translation (we have been singing to Alex a lot). “And they have calmed down a lot about international adoption. They are glad that Sasha will be going to your family.”

Earlier in the afternoon, over lunch at The Restaurant, we had been talking with our facilitator about the possibility of listing more children from this orphanage for adoption, particularly the older ones in danger of aging out. She had counseled patience; this is the first adoption from this orphanage in many years, and the director and staff are understandably cautious, taking a wait-and-see attitude. What they see happen in this adoption, and in the adoption of the fifteen-year-old girl in August, will make a big difference in wheher other the other 119 children in this orphanage (or at least the ones whose families have severed ties) will have a shot at getting a family.

And so perhaps our “larger role” here is as simple as that: to show what is possible for these children, and to show that adoption can be a very positive experience for them. In court, someone testified that “all the staff have confirmed that these are good parents,” a comment that was repeated by the director in our meeting. That is half the battle. The other half will be following up. Far too many adoptive families never follow up with the orphanage, which is a shame, since part of the transformative power of international adoption is showing that these children have great potential, if given the proper attention and resources, and showing just how happy they can be in a family setting.

“Please, stay in contact with us,” the director told us. “We would like to know what happens to him.”

And so that will be our “mission” for the next fifteen years…documenting (we hope) the positive influence of a loving family in one child’s life, and in the process, perhaps helping to break down the institution doors in Eastern Europe for future children.

* * *

We received our appointment at the U.S. Embassy today—Tuesday morning at 9 a.m. It is looking increasingly likely that we will return Thursday, arriving in Minneapolis around 7:45 p.m.

If you were signed up for the Meal Train this week and got cancelled, we will open up the schedule for the week after our return. We don’t NEED meals, but we won’t refuse them, either, as we adjust to our expanded family!

wild car rides, passport photos, and money for the orphanage

Alex's first car ride with us

Today’s agenda: Get that passport going! Also, we closed another of Alex’s state-sponsored bank accounts, withdrawing the money to give to the orphanage.

We picked Alex up from the orphanage at around 10 a.m. and headed out for the nearby mid-sized city where the passport office is located. Just as he did yesterday when he made a short car trip to the photo office in this town, Alex was clearly thrilled by the car ride—see the attached video. As is typical here, there were no seatbelts for anyone, and definitely no car seat for Alex, so he rode in our laps for part of the way, and then (when our facilitator expressed concern that the hot air blowing in the windows would cause an ear infection!) in between the two of us in the back seat. The car ride, as usual, was wild: passing multiple trucks at a time at 70-80 mph, then pulling into the correct lane at the last possible second before oncoming traffic, swerving all over the road at high speeds to avoid potholes, etc. Our facilitator bought a towel before we headed out just in case Alex got car sick; apparently this is pretty common with kids who aren’t used to riding in the car. I was thinking that they could probably reduce the incidence of car sickness by slowing down and driving more sanely, but Alex loved it all—especially when we floored it, or swerved sharply, or hit bumps.



(On a side note, any attempt to buckle up in the rare event that seatbelts are available is met with laughter and assurances that you don’t need a seatbelt. I laugh, pat them on the shoulder good-naturedly, and buckle up anyway, having had close-up views of the aftermath of a few low-speed car accidents and known a few friends who have lost relatives in car accidents. They’re called “accidents” because no one anticipates them, people, and as far as I can tell, God doesn’t generally give passes on the laws of physics just because you’re nice, or a so-called “safe” driver. End of rant.)

Once again, we had a bit of a wait, this time with Alex on hand; we managed to entertain him until he was called in for the passport photo, which went pretty smoothly (after they got a cardboard box for him to sit on). Yesterday’s photo shoot (for other documents) almost had him in tears.

We also swung by the bank to close another one of his state-sponsored bank accounts. We withdrew about $2,500, which together with yesterday’s withdrawal from another account, totals just under $3,000. The orphanage is using the money to buy meat for the children as well as seven new windows. The windows in this institution are old, single-pane glass windows set in wood frames; they really aren’t sufficient to keep out the cold, and some do not open to let in a breeze during the summer’s heat. We handed the money over to the orphanage director this afternoon; she went to the factory to order the windows immediately after. They will be installed next Friday.

We won’t be here, if our luck holds. Our tentative schedule is to pick up Alex from the orphanage early Monday afternoon, then drive to the capital to finish up the paperwork to get him out of this country and into the United States—this mostly involves waiting for the passport and visiting the U.S. Embassy to get a visa. Our facilitator makes no promises, but has suggested we book tickets for next Thursday, saying she thinks there is a 90 percent chance that we will be able to leave on that day. Yay!

By the way, here is a picture of the court building where we had our hearing yesterday--a building that has seen better days in a neighborhood that has seen better days.

June 9th visit: Mr. Chatterbox

You know, we didn't really get great pictures today!  Sorry everyone!  Maybe Jerry will disagree and post something later. :)

It's Saturday, so the entire institution was on low staff, and the busyness and structure of the week just isn't there (which is not to say things were going crazy at all.  Honestly, I suspect many of the residents spend a lot of the day indoors with their groupas?...much else would be speculation).  Alex was in bed when we arrived (10am), so the weekend nanny got him up and we played in the therapy room for about an hour.  The difference we noticed today...Alex was chatting up a storm in Russian.  Well, OK, he was communicating to us in simple sentences in Russian.  We SO wished we knew what he was saying.  But it was the most we've ever heard him try to communicate with us.  He was in a playful mood, and the game of the day was trying to escape the therapy room with a commando crawl.  I'm serious that this kid is STRONG (at least in his upper body).  And he can move.  We saw some "strategic directional rolling" as well.  We're considering what we have to do to make his bedroom safe.  This is absolutely not a "I'm lying around until someone carries me somewhere" child!



After second (?) breakfast, which he mostly insisted on feeding himself (but I brought wet wipes!), we went outside.  We spent a good amount of time on the bench swing, playing with a balloon on a ribbon.  Nothing major, but Jerry and I both mentioned afterward that it seems he is really getting more comfortable and accepting of us, as opposed to just the "human ticket to the swings outside": trying to communicate, accepting (with a little pushback, but not too much) redirection or correction, very happy to see us and be with us in different ways.

One thing we mused upon afterward: the nannies are very warm and affectionate with Alex, and I am grateful for that.  They clearly like him.  But we say to him at least once a visit "Ya tbya loobloo"-- which means "I love you"-- and he looks at us fairly blankly, not upset, not happy...its just not registering.  We don't think he has ever heard the phrase. So...I guess we'll have to teach him what that means.

Tomorrow (Sunday) we're taking a sabbath from blogging.  Please continue to keep us in your prayers, and especially pray for the court scheduled on Tuesday...for a positive decision, and that they waive the 10 day wait.  Many thanks!

June 8 visit: let's try calm, shall we?

 Today when we visited Alex, we got permission to take him outside and asked if he was feeling OK (or at least, we tried to ask that).  Yana said OK to being outside and seemed to shrug off Alex being sick, so off we went.  Guess where?  Yes, to the swings, but lo, after a bit he (he!) indicated he wanted something different.  We eventually went back to the back area, where there is a bench swing and "merry go round", and did that while Alex avidly watched some men tear down the steps (it appears they are tearing them out to make a ramp...good idea!!!).  What boy doesn't like seeing things get torn apart?  He kept calling "Uncle! Uncle!" to them.  I enjoyed holding him in my lap as we sang "Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham...", song I had not thought of in years, but when you are rocking rocking rocking...it fits.

Then the assistant director, Lina (although there is a "y" sound in there somewhere), kindly suggested that Alex wasn't feeling great yesterday, and it is probably a good idea to not do the swings and take it easy today.  (We ended up getting that through an interpreter.)  Honestly, he seemed fine to us, but we didn't see him all day yesterday either, did we?  No harm in taking a calm day...but a bit of a challenge.  We needed someplace to sit and just do things, and all the outside tables and benches were taken up by other kids from the institution.  While we don't mind mingling with them at all, it means we have no time with Alex, because almost everyone is clamoring for our attention. 

We found a bench away from the tempting swings, and spent a lot of time dropping and picking up the pen of the magnadoodle, dropping and picking up the squishy ball attached to the ziploc, and playing with a balloon on a ribbon (above).  By the end, he was definitely interactive--handing the balloon to me, and I hand it back.  I even heard a "mama" in there.  He was also pushing the envelope a bit more...at "second breakfast" time, he totally wanted to feed himself the kasha (no help from us, although we held the bowl strategically). OK fine, but it is indeed a messy enterprise.  Note to self: pack wet wipes tomorrow!  But he did it. 

At the end, Jerry found a nanny to take Alex while I told the driver "one more minute"--and got to see where Alex was going down for a nap (we think).  There are icons like this all over the institution, most are in color, some are latch hook wall hangings, others are painted on the wall.  I think we need to get an icon next to Alex's bed at home...continuity, you know...plus we like icons.  :)

More tomorrow!  Please keep us in your prayers.
--Susan

We have a court date!

We received unexpected good news late this evening: We have a court date! We hadn’t expected that news until tomorrow or Monday, so we were thrilled to learn that our court date will be 10:30 a.m. Tuesday, June 12. That helps to resolve a great deal of the ambiguity around our schedule; it doesn’t give us an exact return date, but it does narrow the scope considerably.

Now we’re praying to pass court. Remember that this particular town has not seen an adoption, much less an international adoption, in more than ten years, if not longer. International adoption can be a controversial, emotional topic in some quarters here; some people with strong nationalistic feelings believe these children are better off remaining in this country, even if that means institutionalization.

On the plus side, we believe that we have strong support from the orphanage staff, including the director, and that will count a lot in terms of the judge’s decision.

The other big issue is whether the judge will impose a ten-day waiting period. The ten-day waiting period is mandatory in every other region of this country. It is typically waived in this region, for a fee, but again, this judge has never handled an adoption case before. Our facilitator feels we have a fifty-fifty chance of getting the waiting period waived. Personally, I am less optimistic than that; however, we will pray and take it as it comes.

If the ten-day waiting period is waived, then it is very likely that we would return to Winona (with Alex!) the following week (the week of the 18th). If it is not waived, then we have tentative plans to return to Winona immediately (at the end of next week), with one of us returning alone (or possibly with a friend to help) to pick up Alex later in the month. Obviously we prefer Plan A, which would be quicker and less expensive by several thousand dollars, but we will just have to wait and see!

Visiting Alex, Day 10

“There’s blood everywhere!”

Yes, there’s nothing quite like looking down at your child and seeing blood everywhere, is there? Especially when that child has been entrusted to you by orphanage staff who have left you alone with him for the past several days.

Fortunately, it was just a nosebleed, which we have lots of practice with (our oldest son used to get lots of them), but it did end our visit with Alex prematurely. We brought him inside, to be on the safe side, and he wound up in the nurse’s office, where a doctor came to see him. They took his temperature (just slightly elevated—probably from all the fun he was having) and decided to keep an eye on him. There was talk of maybe it was too cold “on the street,” which is their idiom for being outside. Somehow, things always seem to come back to keeping the kids warm!

Before that little incident, we had a very nice visit with Alex that started with another demonstration of his progress toward walking (see video). What is not shown in the video is the absolute fit he pitched when he got put on the walker instead of getting to go with us immediately. What was interesting was listening to Yanna reason with him: “First you do this, then you go out on the street.” She had to repeat that several times, but it clearly registered, because he ultimately complied, as the video shows.

The other interesting thing was that he actually initiated getting off his beloved swing, asking to go over to where some construction work was happening (converting stairs into a ramp). He directed us to the bench swing, which we sat in and rocked while singing to him and watching the maintenance staff, who knew him by name. It seems that everyone here knows “Sasha” by name.

We also fed him by ourselves again; he was very trusting and communicative. “Ti hochyesh yatsa?” “Da!” (“You want some egg?” “Yes!” Of course I want some egg!) He helps to clean his own face, too.

After we fed him, we helped him go down the slide (holding onto him the entire time)--something we suspect he hasn't done before, or only done rarely. We were getting him set for another trip down the slide when we noticed the nosebleed. (No, we don't think it was caused by the slide, per se -- we had a firm grasp on him every trip down.)

Overall, we have definitely felt our bond with this lovable little boy grow stronger and stronger every day, which is a real answer to prayer. We’re so excited to be bringing him home!

Balloon video + pics

For some reason the balloon video didn't make it onto the blog yesterday, maybe because of our extremely slow Internet. Here it is, along with some pictures:

Alex on Day 5: CP therapy and balloon therapy

 We had a very good visit with Alex today. We arrived a little late, so when we finally walked into the exercise room, there he was, hanging in an exercise seat all by himself (with his nanny, Yana). His face absolutely lit up when he saw us—I’m sure anticipating more fun. We had asked Yana to show us how to stretch Alex’s tight muscles as part of his CP therapy, and she demonstrated that right away. We videotaped most of it, in order to get feedback from our friends who have experience doing therapy with CP kids.

After that, we headed outside—“on the street,” as they say in Russian, and ignored Alex’s pleas to “go there, go there”—meaning the swing, which he would do the entire time if we let him. Instead we went to the covered picnic bench and showed him the balloons, which of course he thought were hilarious. We blew them up and let them fly all over the place, and then tied one off into a sort of ball that we played catch with.

He got tired of that after a while and started whining to “go there” again, so we s-l-o-w-l-y made our way around the building to the swings. Along the way, we showed Yana our family book that we made for Alex. She has been very kind and helpful, and today she brought along an English-Russian dictionary, and tried out some English words on us—family, children, a few others. She had clearly been practicing. Everyone here wants to try out their English; the way to make a Ukrainian smile is to compliment his or her English!

Between her smattering of English words and our smattering of Russian words, we were able to communicate a few things. Like, we found out that the phlegmy respiratory sounds he makes is not due to an illness, but what she called “tempermental”—meaning, I think, that it’s associated with his CP, and probably ongoing. We also saw him feed himself by hand (bread, banana), and were told that he feeds himself with utensils when he is at a table.

While we were swinging Alex, we got a call from Luda saying that our application to adopt Alex had been submitted to the DAP, and their initial review of it (informally) didn’t turn up any problems. They are off for a three-day weekend, so if there are any problems, we will find out sometime after Monday. We hope to hear word of their approval of the application by Friday, which would allow us to go to court the following week; once we pass court, it’s just a matter of getting a passport and dealing with the U.S. Embassy, which we hear good reports about. We continue to pray for a short process…particularly that the court decides to waive the ten-day waiting period. Adding another two weeks onto this trip would be difficult, to say the least, and we would probably opt to come home and one of us come back later to pick up Alex—also a difficult process.

A visit with Alex, and the orphanage director, and more videos

Today marks the fourth day since we met Alex. Our visit was shorter than the previous two times because we expected to meet with the director of the orphanage today; she’s been gone at a conference all week, which has also held up our paperwork.

When we arrived at the orphanage, all the children were gathered together in the courtyard waiting to watch a play that was being put on by a group from a nearby city. (We were later told by our facilitator that a 15-year-old girl who we’d contemplated adopting was also there, sitting in the front row, but we didn’t recognize her—all of the children wear headscarves outdoors.) The staff encouraged us to watch the play with Alex, but after about ten minutes he began to get visibly sad—he got more and more withdrawn and listless; then the lower lip started sticking out; and finally he began whimpering and crying a little. The staff took him aside to find out what was wrong, and apparently he expected to spend more one-on-one time with us, because when they asked him if he wanted to go with us, his face lit up and he said, “Da, da!” (“Yes” in Russian.) Luda, our facilitator, smiled at us and said, “See? He’s learning how to manipulate his parents already. If he cries here, he gets no attention, but with his parents, it is different.” I am not sure about that—I don’t think that he’s known us long enough for that kind of behavior to develop—but it is possible that he has been a little spoiled by the staff and knows that when he cries, he gets attention. Or…maybe he was just genuinely sad!

In any case, we pushed him on the swing for about forty-five minutes. He LOVES the swing. We count: “One, two, three!” (in Russian) and then swing him real high (holding on to him firmly, of course), and he laughs and laughs and laughs with delight. We also sing songs to him: You Are My Sunshine, This Little Light of Mine, Amazing Grace, the theme song from Green Acres (that’s for you, Shirley K.)…we’re told that he loves music. We also prayed over him for a while.

At around 11, he had his "kasha" break. "Kasha” is the Russian word for porridge; it looks something like Malt-O-Meal, if Malt-O-Meal could possibly be more bland and glue-y. This time his nanny encouraged us to try feeding him. I tried it for a while, then when Susan took over, he clammed up, which prompted his nanny to take over again. When she took over, it was all business: shloop, shloop, shloop—down the hatch it went, quite quickly. We’ve always seen them feed him; we need to ask how often he feeds himself. We’re told that he can, and goodness knows, if he can manipulate a crayon, he should be able to feed himself. If so, that is what he will be doing once we get settled at home.

Then back on the swing. Before long, Luda came with the director, who was followed by a small retinue of staff. She introduced herself very briefly and curtly, and then we were directed to continue playing with Alex while the director and a handful of other adults looked on. We smiled big, fake smiles as we pulled out all the tricks we had learned to make Alex laugh and giggle. I muttered to Susan, “Talk about your public parenting!” which made her laugh. “Smile, you’re on Candid Camera!” (There’s an outdated cultural reference for you.)

After a moment the director asked Alex, in Russian, “You like?” I may have missed the personal pronoun for “them” in there, or not, but in any case she was clearly looking for some sort of positive statement from him. He just said, “Da!” And that was enough for the director, who smiled, nodded, turned around and left.

Honestly, we had come prepared for more of a discussion with her. We’re told by our facilitator that she is very pro-adoption, and excited about this adoption, but also very nervous because it is her first time through a very complicated process, and she doesn’t want to screw anything up. There are many people in this country strongly opposed to international adoption on nationalistic grounds, and they will use any means possible to thwart them. The consequences for the director and the orphanage could be dire.

After the director left, the nanny took Alex off the swing, which always makes him cry and fuss—which is why we hadn’t taken him off before, despite getting tired of it ourselves. We didn’t want a fussy kid when the director showed up!

We settled Alex into the stroller they have for him and walked him through the grounds, accompanied by the nanny who is our personal minder for these visits. The grounds are covered in beautifully maintained gardens, with lots of flowers (including roses) and a huge bed of strawberries. The nanny, whose name is Yanna, waded into the strawberries to find some ripe ones for us, and then climbed a cherry tree to pick a whole bunch of what they call “apple cherries” (they look like regular cherries to me). We tried giving a strawberry to Alex, but he just threw it and laughed; we tried feeding it to him, but he spit it out. Maybe involuntarily, due to the CP, but when we asked if he wanted it, we didn’t really get any response.

We got a big response when we went over to the picnic table and took out a sheet of paper to put the cherries on. His eyes got big and he said a word in Russian—I think it was “die,” which would be a short form of the Russian word for “give me.” He recognized the paper from the previous day, when he had tried drawing with crayons.

So out came the crayons again. He loves the crayons, and he likes handing them back to us in exchange for new ones. His hand coordination isn’t that great, but he is very delighted when we put our hand over his to help him scribble. I think he likes seeing the colors show up.

Unfortunately, not long after the crayons came out, we got a call from Luda saying the director had signed all the necessary papers, and we needed to run them over to Children’s Services, and the nanny would be by shortly to pick Alex up for lunch and a nap.

When we leave Alex we give him a kiss on the forehead and our family blessing for children (“May the Lord bless you and keep you, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit” while making the sign of the cross on the child’s forehead). Boy, did he cry when we left! We heard him wailing as we walked down the driveway to meet Luda. This is a good thing, of course, in the big picture!

We dropped Luda at Children’s Services with a promise to meet for lunch later. Two hours later, we stopped for lunch at a place that looked like a dive—well, it kind of was—but which served a meal that easily rivaled any we could get in the Winona area. (Yeah, I know the jokes about restaurants in Winona….)

It was a good day on the paperwork front: the director signed her paperwork, the local social services branch signed their paperwork, the local committee signed their paperwork—which means that all of that paperwork will go back to the capital and the national adoption office tomorrow. As Luda put it at lunch, we picked up a couple of days compared to where we thought we’d be at this time. Monday is a holiday, so the national adoption office will look at the paperwork on Tuesday; if it gets approved within a couple days, we’ll be ready to ask for a court date. And that means that the earliest possible court date would be Monday, June 11—if nothing goes wrong. Please continue to pray for a speedy process, because as charming as this Eastern European town is, we want to go home to our other kids as soon as humanly possible, with their new brother in tow.

Here are some more videos and pictures—no Alex pics from today, but some from the previous visits. Just a note that you'll hear us calling him "Sasha" or "Sashka" in the videos--that is a common nickname for Alex in his country, and how he is called here. His legal name is and will be Alex, but we will wait until we get to the States to begin using that name,

Alex on some therapy equipment (first day):


Alex on the swing:

Alex looking through our family book--we don't think he has any concept of what's in it, even though we read it to him:

Alex eating his "second breakfast."

Walking through the grounds of the orphanage:

Alex drawing with a crayon:


That's all for today, folks!

A short note about our first meeting with Alex

Well, I have been writing a long, detailed post about our adventurous journey to Alex’s hometown and our first meeting and our first few days visiting him, but it looks like I am going to have to offer the short version for now; between settling in and our various meetings and orphanage visits, and jetlag and homesickness, it’s been difficult to get through to the end of that longer post. Later, I promise.

When we got to the orphanage, we were warmly greeted by a handful of staff members; we are the first people to adopt from this orphanage in anyone’s memory, at least ten years. We were asked to don white coats—the uniform of the staff here—and were ushered into a bare room with a sort of bed or cot and a writing desk. They brought Alex to us immediately.

My first thought? “There’s that smile!” All of the pictures we had of Alex showed him smiling, and he smiled broadly, and laughed a lot, throughout our brief first visit. What a happy giggler!

We have already posted some pictures of Alex, as well as some video, in previous posts. Were you surprised at his size? He doesn’t look five (six in September), does he? His behavior, too, is not what you’d expect.

And that, I have to say honestly, was our second reaction—shock. Shock at his size and the extent of his developmental delay. Initially we were convinced that he was mildly to moderately mentally impaired. Now, after getting to know him better and after consulting with more than a dozen other families who have adopted children from the institutions here in the past six months, we’re less certain of that. We’re being told that he looks GOOD in comparison to many of the other kids who have been adopted from here recently. The other families have given us some very detailed observations and, we think, made a persuasive argument that what we are seeing is primarily the result of institutionalization, along with some CP issues, of course.

In any case, within twenty minutes of meeting him, we had a semi-circle of maybe eight adults standing around us formally asking whether we intended to accept the referral for Alex. I have to admit to choking up as I said “Yes!” The thought of leaving this sweet boy in this institution, as wonderful as it is compared to similar ones in this country, was unbearable. (And from the shocked expressions on the faces of the adults in the room, as well as some comments afterward, I learned that seeing a male choke up is as rare in this culture as dancing elephants, ha ha.)

The process to get Alex home is going to be much rougher than we expected. When I began this process, I was told I could leave after court about ten days to two weeks after arriving in country. Now it is looking like anyone leaving within three weeks is optimistic, and frankly, it could be much longer. While other families in other regions do commit to this longer process, this is definitely not what we expected or signed up for. We would not be here if we had expected a four to seven week process. So that has been difficult. However, we are beginning to see that there is much good to be done here. Our presence is “opening up” this orphanage for other adoptive families. Another Reece’s Rainbow family “opened up” another orphanage over the winter, and as of today, ten children have families coming for them—and many of those children are teens with special needs. The RR staff has similar hopes for this orphanage.

Gotta run to meet with the director of the orphanage—more later, including more pictures and video.

Taking the adoption process one step at a time...literally

Today was supposed to be a pretty low-key adoption day, with our only official work being picking up some paperwork (a huge stack of papers that constitute our official referral to Alex)…supposedly a five-minute process. But when we arrived at the Ministry of Sports and Culture building (which houses the official adoption bureau), we found a line of other parents waiting outside because the official who was supposed to start handing out the signed referrals at 3 p.m. hadn’t arrived yet. So we waited outside the building for almost an hour. We spent the time shopping for souvenirs (picked up a couple t-shirts), watching the swarm of workers restoring the cobblestone street and the surrounding buildings for the upcoming Eurocup soccer match (a huge deal here, on the order of a Superbowl), admiring a nearby church that was so large and resplendent that it should have been a cathedral (but it wasn’t), chatting with the other adopting couples, and getting to know Ludmilla, one of our facilitators, a little bit better. Ludmilla offered lots of interesting insights into her work, and the way that the adoption system works in this country.

Once the adoption official arrived, the process of signing the proper registry only took a few minutes. (Everything official is done on paper; nothing is electronic, which slows down the process a lot.)

By the time we got out, it was rush hour, and hard to find a cab. So we decided to walk home; our facilitator was going in the same direction, so she joined us. Along the way, she patiently answered our many questions about the culture in this Eastern European country, and gave us some advice on polite behavior: Never wear a hat indoors. Never cross your arms or legs during an official meeting. Don’t whistle indoors. Don’t sit on the floor. (The latter being part of a wider set of beliefs about the dangers of exposure to the cold.) She also pointed out some of the major landmarks along the route as we passed through the city’s historic district.

We stopped for dinner at a restaurant serving the local cuisine, then continued to walk the rest of the way home. We’re walking a lot around here, distances of several miles at a time. It’s like the adoption process…taking it one step at a time will get you there eventually.

Here we are (thanks to you!)

So here we are, safe and sound in the capital of Alex’s home country (we still can’t mention its name!), after a grueling 20-hour trip. In a few hours, we will have our appointment at the government’s adoption office, where we will get the referral to see Alex. Unfortunately, ever since they reorganized that department, they no longer give you the paperwork the same day; we have to wait to receive it until tomorrow, and since tomorrow is Friday, we won’t be able to see Alex until Monday. So we will have some down time in this Eastern European capital city over the weekend. Then on Monday we will be driven by Serge, the head of the Reece’s Rainbow facilitation team in this country, about four hours south of here to the institution where Alex is living, and then we will get to see him.

We’re hoping for a fast process for several reasons, one of which would be the impending European cup in early June—Europeans drop everything for their “football.” Another would be…we miss our kids at home! And we know that our youngest two year old is probably wondering when we’re coming back. We’ve had some limited success talking with them on the phone ($14 for three minutes!) and over Skype, although we’ve had a number of technical difficulties, not to mention some difficulty figuring out Skype’s very poorly planned user interface.

In the past week we haven’t had time to post anything because we’ve been insanely busy packing and preparing to be gone for several weeks (paying bills, setting up stuff for kids, doing all the gardening that would need to be done over the next month, etc.). During that week, we really felt the support, encouragement, and excitement of our wider community—family, friends, and acquaintances. Many, many people have stopped to ask about the adoption; many have offered their help, especially in terms of supporting Susan’s mom as she cares for four kids alone; many have offered prayers, which are deeply appreciated; and we’ve also received more financial help—including an anonymous donation, apparently from the same person who sent us an anonymous gift at Christmastime. You might remember that I (Jerry) was extremely reluctant to enter into this process, mainly for practical reasons, and also because I had a glimmering of how challenging it would be. (Good thing I was ignorant of the details!) In fact, I had ticked off on my fingers to Susan all the reasons why we couldn’t do this—good, solid reasons! But not an hour later we were praying at the Cathedral and I had a very strong sense that God was calling us to do this. It was striking because I have very rarely had such a strong. clear sense of God’s call. And when I pushed back against it a little, one of the things that came back to me was something like, “I want you to do this, not only for the sake of a child, but because of the many good things that will come out of this for you and your family.” The tremendous support we have felt from friends, family, and community members throughout this process has definitely got to be part of that outpouring of blessing. It is humbling to be on the receiving end of it.

Blogging this experience feels a little narcissistic, especially with so many people in our world, not to mention our immediate community and family, going through so much right now. I think in particular of my sister and her family, who are getting ready to welcome a child, Dominic, who will be born with very serious birth defects right around the time when we will be coming home with Alex. I also think about a family whose kids attend school with our kids who just lost a son to suicide. And of course we always remember in prayer the many children around the world who are suffering in worse conditions than Alex. So: we don’t want to live in an adoption bubble, to the exclusion of the needs of others around the world. But we will continue to write about this experience for the sake of our family (especially the kids!) and the extended community who have become very real partners with us on this journey.

Speaking of which, I’ve written up a little post about our trip over here for anyone who cares (mainly our kids and families); you’ll find that below.

Traveling to Alex's country

Here is the story of our journey to Alex’s country.

Susan’s mom flew up from Alabama on Saturday. The kids were very excited to see her, even our two-year-old, who mainly knows her through phone calls and Skype, being too young to remember his visit to her house last summer. She came bearing gifts and promises of smoothies and other fun things to spoil grandchildren. I prepared some care instructions for her, as well as a calendar of the kids’ many activities over the next three weeks (which includes the end of school, field trips, etc.). The care instructions have become something of a joke around here, because they run 32 pages, single-spaced (well, in 14 point type). But if you think about it, there’s a lot to tell—safety information, medical information, contact numbers, and the toddler’s basic schedule. Kids need routine, especially in a time of change. I also prepared a map of Winona and a list of fun things to do around town.

On Monday night, the night before our trip, we took the kids out for a celebratory ice cream sundae at the Lakeview Drive-in and put them to bed with promises to see them in three weeks. Each of the older kids expressed at least a little anxiety about our departure; our youngest daughter expressed a lot, eventually crying herself to sleep.

Last-minute preparations kept us up past 11 again. Then our oldest daughter woke up at around midnight complaining of nausea. (She actually stayed home from school the next day.) And then I woke up at 4 because of pre-travel nerves, which meant going into this trip on less than four hours’ sleep.

At around quarter after five we were picked up by our friend and neighbor, Todd—one of half a dozen people to offer to do that for us (thank you all!). We had a gorgeous ride to the Cities on Highway 61, which runs along the Mississippi River, and a good conversation besides.

Todd and Susan ... obviously morning people!

On the flight to Grankfurt

A TV for every passenger makes for a very quiet plane. Here Susanis tracking the progress of the flight.

We flew United Airlines from Minneapolis to Neward on a tiny little puddle jumper (we did get an exit row), then had a three-hour layover in Newark. We tried connecting with the kids on Skype but all of our technology kept going haywire, which was disappointing. The TSA screening, which we had to do twice (once in Minneapolis, once in Newark due to a change of terminals), was its usual unpleasant self. In fact I was wishing I had my camera out because we witnessed a YouTube moment when a TSA officer completely flew off the handle, shouting at a woman who refused to go through the full-body scanner. “Okay, you just wait there until you cool down, lady! You enjoy waiting, Have fun!” And then to her colleagues: “She’s a bit crazy, that woman is!” Funny, the only person acting crazy was Ms. TSA. The woman in question submitted to a pat-down without any fuss, but the TSA folks made sure to make it into a public spectacle, yelling, “Female opt out!” and stuff. In fact, there was one guy who seemed to be the designated yeller, because he kept yelling at the top of his voice to everyone in line.

The security process in Frankfurt was an interesting contrast to this—calm, orderly, quick, and quiet. No one so much as raising their voice. Hmmm.

After the frustration trying to Skype the kids, we realized that our travel agency FAILED when it came to ensuring we got exit row or bulkhead seats for my 6’7” frame. They told us to request at the gate; turns out you have to reserve online 24 hours in advance. By the time we got to the gate, the exit row seats were all taken. That meant spending the next seven hours crammed into a tiny seat—and definitely no sleep.

On the upside, the service on Luftansa was excellent. The flight was on one of those jumbo jets…our kids will think it’s cool so I included some photos. (Everyone gets their own movie screen!) They served a delicious dinner and breakfast.

We swung through Frankfurt, where I got pulled out of line for a random security check. The guy who did it was very calm, joking around…it wasn’t a problem at all. We spent our short layover in Frankfurt at McDonald’s, which had huge windows looking out onto the airport. Huge windows with lots of early morning light is just the ticket when your body is wondering what the heck you’re doing up and around at 1 in the morning.

I’ll write about our arrival in Alex’s home country later today. Right now, we’re off to the adoption appointment!