Where in the world....

Are we now?

Friday, June 15, 2007

Home Sweet Home

Finally.

Lynne and Milan arrived in Denver right on schedule Sunday evening. They had a great trip, Milan traveled well and everything went as planned except for their close call at Heathrow (Lynne swears she'll never fly through Heathrow again) and losing all the baggage (Lynne swears she'll never fly on British Airways again).

But who cares about baggage when you're home, especially when the 25 pound, 36 inch package you really care about arrived safe and sound?

In the brief days that Milan has been here, the best adjectives I have so far are:
sweet, funny, handsome, attached to mama, not attached to papa, in love with Jaden, no boundaries, ornery, quick tempered, smart, social, lovable, awesome, fantastic.

The time zone change made it really hard for both Milan and Lynne the first few days, but today (Thursday - day 4) is the second night in a row Milan went to bed at a normal hour and will probably sleep most of the night through.

He's great with other kids and is going to catch on to English and life in the USA in no time.

Pictures will come shortly and now that we are back, I should probably get a video up soon too.

Peace,

Bruce

Saturday, June 9, 2007

They're Coming Home!

Lynne and Milan will be boarding a British Airways flight on Sunday morning 9am Kaz time, that's Saturday evening 9pm Boulder time. They make a quick stop in Ekaterinburg, Russia and then to London. I thought they then had a non-stop flight to Denver, but looking at BA's site now, it looks like there may be a connection in Chicago. That wasn't the plan, but anyway, everything else has gone almost perfectly on this trip so Lynne was able to get all of the paperwork done in the four days that she had in Almaty. Milan has a passport and a visa to enter the U.S. and they will be boarding a flight about 11 hours from now and arriving in Denver at about 6pm Mountain Time.

Lynne says Milan is doing great, adapting very quickly to her and to being a two year old in the "real world" outside of the confines of the orphanage. He has a little cold, and he has the habit of sucking his thumb when he goes to sleep, and for now, that also includes a finger up his nose... that's one way to stop your nose from running.

We'll be a united family of four tomorrow and the rest of our life begins, we can't wait!

Peace,

Bruce

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Back in the USSR

Well not quite the USSR anymore, although it felt like it when we were in Arkalyk. On June 3, the 40th anniversary of the release of Sargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Lynne headed back to Kazakhstan to pick up Milan. So I thought a few Beatles references make sense, even if Back in the USSR is from the White Album and not the album many consider to be the greatest rock and roll album of all time. It was just the perfect title since that's one image that remains with me from Kazakhstan - in many ways the country felt so "Soviet", still feeling the influence of the Russian apathy that they lived under for 30 years or so. Anyway, I digress... It's been 3 weeks since Lynne returned home and the long wait to be reunited with Milan which put us in no man's land. We were happy to be home and enjoying the comforts of Boulder, but frustrated, uncomfortable, a little bit lost and basically kind of wigged out knowing that we had a son on the other side of the world. Wondering if he was thinking about us, wondering if he thought Bacha and Habiba and their families were his new family ("but why are they always showing me these pictures of those strange light skinned people who don't speak my language and calling them mama and papa, and who is this Jaden kid, and why is his hair so long if he's a boy anyway?")

So Lynne lands in Almaty at 4am on June 4 and when Milan wakes up, his real and forever momma is there. He's not quite sure what to make of it, but very shortly on the first day they are re-bonded. I just spoke with Lynne tonight (June 5) and things are going really well. Milan is talking up a storm, happy and laughing, and seemingly not missing his Kazakh family. Lynne sounds great, she's taking him out for walks in the big city of Almaty (2 million people) and Milan wants everything he sees. He has to be totally overwhelmed with what is going on around him - lots of people, traffic, loud noises, stores with really interesting things and so on.

Paperwork is the final issue. When Lynne left home we were still waiting for word on Milan's passport, the last major item needed to get him home. Great news on that front too, the passport has been stamped in Kostanai, so a copy has been sent to Lynne and she can get Milan through the necessary medical exams. She should have the passport by Friday for a visit to the U.S. embassy and some type of interview and a visa and that's it, they'll be home free. We optimistically booked a flight home on Sunday, and it looks like they might actually get on that flight and be home by 6pm that same day, June 10. (It would be a shocker if everything goes that smoothly). Don't Let Me Down.

Two 8 hour flights with a very active, squirmy boy who doesn't know how to sit still will be the next challenge, but Lynne is up for it, and if needed, she'll help him "get by with a little help from her friends", that would be Benadryl.

We're almost there, about to Come Together as a family of four, the end of this Long and Winding Road is in sight. Thanks for hanging in there with us, more to come.

Peace,

Bruce

Friday, May 18, 2007

Mother's Day 2007

Sunday May 13, 2007

Lynne arrived home last night at 7:30pm. She had been traveling for 2.5 days and had about 5 hours of sleep during the trip. I know what it’s like to arrive at DIA after 2 months and just be stunned that finally, you’re back in Colorado - so far from Arkalyk, truly the other side of the world. And so far from our boy, Milan. This is incredible, the whole game plan from the start was to make it one trip, 2-3 months in Kazakhstan, and we would come home with little brother. Many families go to Kaz, and after about 2 weeks, they have their court date and they head back home. Four weeks or so later they return to reunite with their child and bring him home. We purposely decided not to do that, and especially after meeting Milan and the stress he had dealing with us the first 3 weeks, we realized how important the continuity would be. So this most recent change of plans was really a hard one. But Milan is in a great place, he is being well cared for by Habiba and Bacha, and other family members. When I called Habiba a few nights ago, she said he was great, the only adjective she really emphasized was that he is a very “active boy”. That is so different than what we saw when he was in the orphanage, but definitely what Lynne saw as soon as he was out. We are confident that when we get him home he will adapt pretty quickly.

I have to share on Mother’s Day how strongly I feel about Lynne and how much respect I have for her as the mother of my children. The job of parent is probably the hardest job in the world (well except maybe for the job of husband). Lynne does a remarkable job. She has taught me so much about parenting, and these last two months with the three of us living together 24/7 in close quarters with nothing to do and no where to go has certainly given me a new perspective on what I need to do to be a successful parent. Jaden was unbelievable for the whole trip, especially when he had to be, such as our daily trips to the orphanage. He was able to entertain himself there most days for most of the time. But those of you who know Jaden know that he never stops talking, always asking questions, always wanting to know exactly what’s going on, always wanting “just one more minute”, “just 2 more pages”, “let me stay up 5 minutes more”, “let me sleep 10 minutes more”, everything is a negotiation, and he doesn’t always negotiate fairly. When you think you have a deal, the rules change. Typical 6 year old stuff. This is where the real need for patience comes. More than anyone in my life, Jaden has taught me to be patient, but he was pushing it at times during the trip. Lynne was there to really put the perspective on it and to help me avoid over reacting and to see how a calm approach will always win. Lynne is stricter with Jaden than I am, but she has just the right touch going so that she can be strict and never push him over the line. It’s amazing really, the way she is with Jaden and the great relationship they have. Lynne determined we were going to practice attachment parenting before I knew anything about it. She was my teacher to understand the basic tenets about putting your kids first, always paying attention to their needs and responding to those needs, and building such a strong attachment that they will be confident going further and further out on their own when the time is right.

Seeing Lynne with our new son is more of the same. She learned enough Russian so she can truly communicate with him. She made sure we read books about attachment in adoption which has helped us in a few basic ways already. Watching Lynne first give Milan a bottle, and then two days later to see him looking for the bottle and wanting to sit in her lap so she could feed him the bottle – it was like magic was happening. This boy who cried every time he saw us for almost three weeks was all of a sudden letting us into his world, and Lynne was starting the attachment process. The books say attachment at this stage should take about 6 months. We’ll see, but I don’t think its going to take that long with Milan. The way she spoke with him, interacted with him, played with him, you could see the mutual love beginning.

Lynne – you have taught me so much, I am a better parent because of you. I can’t wait to have 2 boys for us to play with, laugh with, love with, live with.
Happy Mother’s Day!

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Twists and Turns

Even without knowing where to start, I know this will catch all of you by surprise. This post does not come to you from the Heart of Kaz, but rather a 747 high above Europe, with Washington DC as it’s destination. I am heading home. In a few weeks one of us will return to pick up Milan. I have had a personal situation arise that I could not handle in Kazakhstan, and that I did not feel I could wait a month to address. I was really agonizing about what to do next, as I could not imagine returning Milan to the orphanage to wait for us to come back. When I told our coordinator I might need to go home, she replied without hesitation “Milan will live with my family.” I was so overwhelmed with relief, I cried. What an incredible offer, and incredible generosity. She did not say “Let me think about what we should do,” or “Let me call the orphanage and see,” she simply and immediately saw what would be the best option for him, and acted. I never would have thought of it as an option.

So while it was wonderful to have that piece worked out, it was also wrenching leaving. It was abrupt and felt unfinished. I packed hurriedly, and tried to explain a little to Milan. I wasn’t sure he was really getting it, and even just before I left he didn’t seem to have much response to the idea. Then, as I was getting ready to walk out the door, he wanted to be picked up. He clung to me tightly. I kissed him and hugged him, and had Habiba tell him repeatedly that I would be back for him. I put him down and he started to cry and grabbed me. I picked him up again and he wrapped his arms around my neck and cried. Unfortunately, we left no time for this in the schedule. We needed to leave for the train station. I was sobbing by now, and had to pull him off of me and hand him screaming to Habiba. I could hear him all of the way out of the building, and it was horrible. This child has nothing but upheaval in the last months: moving from one group to another at the orphanage, having us show up, then when we take him from the only home he’s known, his papa and brother leave. A few days later, the other couple adopting brought their daughter to spend a day and night at the apartment. Milan loves her. He spent days afterwards asking about her in a plaintive voice, and crying when I told him she wasn’t there. Then the other couple left. None has returned. Now his mama leaves. What reason does he have to think he will ever see me again? I feel I have broken faith with him, and feel torn by the choices I felt I needed to make. I know he is resilient though, he has proven that, and I know he is in good hands.

In the meantime, I must focus on the situation at hand, (which I am going to superstitiously refrain from describing here) and put my energy into the best possible outcome. Any positive thoughts and energy you all can send our way will be gratefully accepted and appreciated (as if you haven’t been doing so for months already!). I hope to return to Kaz sometime around the 27th or 28th of May, and be home around June 6th. I may ‘backfill’ the blog a bit while we are home- there are a number of posts I simply never had the time to write while we are there. If you wish to be notified when we resume posting, please sign up for notification in the “Blogarithm” box on the right side of the blog homepage. Also, I have changed the blog settings so that anyone can post a comment, you don't need to register (sorry I didn't figure this out sooner!). They comments will not appear immediately as they need to be approved to prevent people using this as their personal marketing tool. Thanks for taking this journey with us this far, and remember that it ain’t over ‘til it’s over!

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

The Way Forward

This week has existed in some parallel time, running alternately so slowly as to not be progressing at all, and so quickly that I can scarcely accomplish the simplest task in a day. Breakfast dishes remain on the table, books unread, emails unwritten, showers not taken, as I creep from son up to son down each day. That one small child can engender such chronological disarray is remarkable to me while it is also familiar, although it had been nearly forgotten until now. It is like many of the challenges attendant to raising children, in that if some mysterious working of the mind did not cause these travails to recede from memory soon after their passing, surely the population of the world would wither away.

During this time, I have journeyed further into the heart and soul of this child I now call ‘mine’, although the paperwork to confirm it is still 7 days away, and the bureaucracy to allow him to travel freely in the world of which he is a citizen will impede us for weeks beyond that. He is not the child we thought he was. It is as if he held himself back those weeks we spent with him in the orphanage, unwilling to divulge his true self until he was certain ours was not a passing interest. He resists still to a degree, tipping his head to the side in a gesture that is negative of whatever the current question or request asks of him, broadly denying his willingness to engage, exploring whether that will be enough to distance me from him. Other times (most times) he is happy, playful, walking from room to room singing songs to himself in baby Russian, songs that I cannot join him in.

(The bath water before the bath...)
Regardless of his mood, the child who sat for endless hours on my lap with his thumb planted firmly between his teeth, or quietly playing with toys next to me, hardly looking at us, is gone. He is filled with boundless energy, often undirected and undirectable. Balls are interesting to an extent, but blocks are not, coloring is not, reading only occasionally. He has firmly attached himself to a stuffed dog that another family gave to Habiba at some point, which is also a puppet. It barks with the aid of batteries and mommy’s hand. He wants the dog with him at nearly all times, and will hand it to me saying ‘ah-nee, ah-nee,’ which I am told means nothing in Russian, but distinctly means “I WANT …” in Milan-ese. The biggest fun is for me to chase him around the house with the dog, barking and trying to ‘eat’ him. He will giggle and giggle as he runs to one side of the table and I to the other, trying to get around it quickly enough to catch him before he runs back down the hall to the bedroom, crashing into the bed itself at full speed. He holds up fingers for the doggy to eat, toes, his belly, pulling his shirt up. He is learning the names of his body parts in English by virtue of a hungry toy.

(Making a run for it....)
The most fun though, is getting into stuff. He loves the kitchen, which presents innumerable safety hazards that he does not yet grasp, and so he is banished, locked out of the room he most desires to be in. He has no sense of ‘do’s and don’ts’, as the boundaries imposed upon him in the orphanage were so far removed from those of the real world as to be utterly useless to him now. He will come immediately for a bath, even as he doesn’t want to take one, but touch something deliberately just because he was told not to. He is has the most devilish gleam (illustrated well in the last post in the photo of him not going to sleep), with mama’s ‘no’s’ giving him all the more incentive. With the exposed wiring in the house this is developing into a battleground, a war it is crucial to win and impossible at the same time.

All of this dances around a fundamental question I face. How do you begin to identify with a child in a deeper way, not just in a more elemental way for him but for you? When Jaden was born, we were handed a tiny infant, with no as-of-yet definable personality and with limited needs. I know some adoptive parents will wince at this. It seems many wish to think that something magical happens and suddenly your new child is slotted right in to your life. But the fact is, nothing about this new child is familiar. We have seen him every day for over a month and a half, but it isn’t that. It’s all of the little things that evolve with a new born that don’t come neatly wrapped when you bring an older child into your life. Those hallmarks of familiarity that are beyond intellectualization, those that dwell in the realm of intuition and senses.

(OK, not so bad... )
There is the weight of your child, his heft. How you know just where to grab him around the middle as he tries to run past you giggling to avoid putting on jammies, timed perfectly so that you stop him, but don’t hurt him or yourself. There is the smell of the child, sometimes sweet, sometimes not, but familiar in some reptilian part of the brain. There is the feel of them- the texture of hair, of skin, the way little arms wrap around you or push you away, the way they wiggle squirm. And there is the sight of them, every scar, curve, mark, line. Memorized from the moment they were put into your arms, cataloged with each new addition, and subconsciously inventoried every time you look at them. It isn’t that these things won’t come, it is simply that they don’t come in the instant they become your child. You start out steps behind, reaching to reconcile the notion that this is your child, this unfamiliar being, even as you take them into your heart your other senses do not come around as quickly.

(Playing a quick game of 'hide the shoe')
I am sure the reverse is also true, but I cannot write of Milan’s experience, I can only guess at it. While I imagine what he might feel, I try to be cautious about assigning my suppositions as his truth. Does he throw a fit when I say ‘no’ to something because he is rebelling against the idea that this interloper is now in charge of him, or is it because he is two and he wants what he wants? Does he fight sleep for hours because he wants to stay awake, or because sleep was fraught with risk and peril at the orphanage? Does he resist sitting to eat because he is not hungry, or simply because he can? It wasn’t simple with Jaden at this age, but much more so. I knew his moods, his gestures, what he wanted to communicate, for the most part. It’s as if this child fell from the sky, skin and bones and flesh, sweet and beautiful, but a total stranger. You need not assure me it will change. I have no doubts. The path through it though is a trip to a foreign land, exciting, fascinating, marvelous, and exhausting.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Home Bittersweet Home

Jaden and I arrived in Boulder at 11:30pm on Friday, May 4 after two and a half straight days of travel. Although we had no travel problems at all, the trip home itself was quite a journey and worthy of an entry in the blog. Yes “worthy”, because as I have already been told numerous times in the few hours I’ve been home, there are so many people following our story, many of whom think Lynne should turn this into a book, that I have to make sure my entries are suitable for Lynne’s global audience. (We know for sure there are readers from Canada, South Africa, UK, Germany, India and Kazakhstan as well as many of the 50 states)

Wednesday at 5:40pm we leave the flat for the train. A very stressful departure as Lynne described, we just didn’t have enough time after Milan’s arrival (I’m making the name change official in all of my communications). As soon as he got to the flat, it was basically time for us to leave. It was really hard for Jaden, but we got to the train, and he was very happy and surprised to be met by his friend Ruston at the station. Ruston is a great kid, and we really hope to be able to have him visit us for an exchange program when he is in high school. Anyway, as the train pulls away from Arkalyk, Jaden is crying saying “bye Arkalyk” and I think he’s crying because he’s sad about leaving his mom, but it’s also that he is going to miss Arkalyk and he’s sad to leave. I didn’t have the heart to question him about this, wondering what does he possibly think he will miss about Arkalyk where his only playground was the glass strewn rocky, muddy, 20 yard by 20 yard area in front of our flat where he would play soccer or monkey in the middle with some of the kids in the neighborhood? He feels like he made “lots of friends” which is a big part of it, but in reality there were only two kids that he spent more then cursory time with (Zhana’s son’s Darchon and Ruston) – it’s really interesting the perspective he has of his time there versus the reality, at least from my vantage point. By 6:30 on the train, we’re out of town and into the endless Steppe of Kazakhstan, and Jaden is fine, ready to play games with the friend he spent most of his time with in Arkalyk, me.

This train ride was so much easier than the first one. The main reason is that we were in the right time zone, so when the sun set, we watched a movie on my laptop (Robots – for all you parents out there, if your kids haven’t seen this one, its one of the best kids movies I’ve ever seen and Jaden thinks it’s hilarious). After the movie we went to sleep, and Jaden didn’t wake up until about 8:00am, so a full night’s sleep versus the 3-4 hours we got on the train ride in. We arrived in Astana at 10am. Our flight to Almaty was at 3:40pm, so we had a lot of time to kill, which was a common theme on the journey. Our Astana coordinator took us to the downtown area and we visited a few sites and had a nice outdoor picnic lunch of the tuna sandwiches we packed. Astana is a really interesting story. The President of Kazakhstan decided about 10 years ago or so to change the capital of the country from Almaty (the only real city in the country at the time) to Astana to create a second major metropolitan area. So Astana is this completely planned city with an incredible amount of new development going on. Everything has been built in the last 5 years, including a world class international airport that is two years old, a new Presidential residence (the building with the dome structure) that is used to meet world leaders (because the President and most of the politicians still choose to live in Almaty), new office buildings (the gold structures are two examples), deluxe condos, new buildings for
the Ministries of Education, Transportation, Health and so on and so on. We went up the big tourist attraction, which is a tower that is the highest building in the city specifically built to provide the view of the city, and from there we could see the old, the new, and the future (on the diagram showing the completely planned city that will be complete in another 5 years). There is a ton of money flowing into Astana, mostly fueled by the fact that Kazakhstan is sitting on a huge supply of oil and they are starting to realize the economic benefits. So anyway, we then head to the airport and get there around 1pm for our 3:40 flight. Enough time for me to drill through all possible options to get Milan home with the Lufthansa office at the airport. There are much better fares available from there then trying to book him from home, so that was time really well spent, and it gave me some ideas to change Lynne’s flight as well to save her from the multiple connections we were about to endure.

Departure from Astana at 3:40pm, arrival in Almaty at 5pm where we are met by Ugin, an elderly coordinator (actually the father of the main Almaty coordinator). Ugin tells me he speaks English fine, and his English isn’t bad, but is still the typical “yes” to a lot of questions he really doesn’t understand, so I was never quite sure what the answers to my questions were. Ten hours to kill. Ugin is prepared to take us on a tour of the city. Almaty is a real city, over 2 million people in the metro area, and as Ugin says, still “really the capital of Kazakhstan”. We drive through the city, and there is a lot of traffic, and not a lot of “scenery”. Since I’ve heard that the city is surrounded by beautiful mountains (can’t see them today as it’s overcast and foggy) I suggest we take a drive up as I’ve read they’re only about a half hour away (turns out, that is without the traffic). It took Ugin awhile to figure out what I meant, but he finally got it and we headed up towards the mountains, where the famous skating rink is, and beyond that the ski area, which has over 3000 feet of vertical and over 600 inches of snow per year! Driving up towards the mountains we go by the most beautiful area I’ve seen in the country so far, with mansions behind gates on both sides of the road for about 3-5 miles, some really attractive looking houses in wooded areas. Then we went through a gate ($2.00 entry fee) into the park area of the mountains. Our destination was this famous skating rink that I had read about, I thought it was indoors, it wasn’t, it’s a huge outdoor stadium with a speed skating oval. I can’t imagine how cold it is there in the middle of the winter, sitting in the stands watching the “excitement” of long track speed skating in sub zero temperatures. I have to assume there’s a lot of vodka being used for heating purposes. By now we can see 14,000 foot peaks and it is really beautiful, definitely worth the ride. It didn’t make sense to go further up the hill to where the ski area was. Not skiing in Kaz is one of my few regrets from the trip, although we had our chance 2 months ago.

Almaty strikes me as a modern and hip city, a part of Kazakhstan that is more like the western world, while I think it remains foreign to a lot of the rest of the country. Most people in Arkalyk haven’t been to Almaty, and I think most of them would be shocked at the traffic, the pace, the variety. The difference is really striking to me as I think about the many people in Arkalyk who have never ventured out of that very small city/town.

Now we arrive at Almaty airport at 10pm, 6 hours before flight time. Somehow Ugin finds this room that is titled “for women and children”. This room has a women caretaker and about 5 cots and a sleeper sofa and private bathroom. It is specifically reserved for women and their children who are waiting for departure. The room is empty and Ugin convinces the caretaker to let us stay there. She agrees but says she’ll have to lock us in so no one knows we’re there. She’ll be back to wake us up at 12:45am. I wonder what I do if she doesn’t come back. First of all, I don’t have an alarm clock, so will I get up, and then, if I do, and I’m locked in, will I just break down the door? Hmmm. This is a clean and private room, so much better than our expectation of crashing on airport chairs for these hours, definitely my biggest concern for the whole trip. This is a complimentary service of the airport, but Ugin tells me he told the caretaker we would give her some $, which I expected of course. He says to give her 200-300 KZT (about $2.). I only had one KZT bill left, it was a 1000, which is about $8, plus about $3 in coins. So when we left (she showed up as promised), I gave her the rest of my Kaz money. She insisted I shouldn’t give her any money, but I would have no more use for this currency, most likely for the rest of my life and I was happy to “tip” her an amount that was probably about a day’s pay for her. Waking up Jaden was really hard. He only had 2 hours of sleep and he didn’t want to wake up. At 75 pounds he’s now too big to carry and I still have all of our luggage at this point, so I force him to get up and he’s definitely not happy. He’s crying and just on the edge of control. I get him through check-in and to the gate, and now we have about an hour and a half until our flight, so we find a good row of seats where he can lay down until its time to board. Again I have to wake him up, which he’s not happy about, but he gets on the plane and quickly falls back asleep.

We leave Almaty at 3:40am headed for Frankfurt (7.5 hour flight). We land in Frankfurt at 7am or so and have 2 hours until our flight to London. Jaden is doing fine now, we both slept almost the entire flight. Our flight to London leaves on time and we arrive in London at 9am. Now we have our next layover, as we don’t leave London until 3pm. After going back and forth, we decide, yes, let’s take the airport express train (15 minutes) to downtown London and spend the time checking out the city. I’ve never been to London and was really interested to at least see the city. Jaden was psyched for his second double decker bus tour in Europe (first one was in Berlin in early March). This was a great decision, so much better than sitting at the airport. But good thing everyone spoke English as we needed some help navigating the tube (underground trains) to get to where we wanted to be for a bus tour. We saw some of the sites and then the guide said we could hop off the bus and catch the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, so I decided that we should check out this thing I’ve always heard about. That was a cool experience, although we were too late to get the best viewing areas near the gate and 75 pounds on my shoulders was rough. At this point, hunger is setting in for Jaden and the clock is ticking towards our required departure time back to the airport. We hop back on a bus and get off for a transfer to the train station and a quick lunch. A minute later I ask Jaden where his back pack is? Oh no, it’s gone! This back pack has all of his activities for the flights, but more importantly his stuffed Cow and Mickey that Jaden has slept with since he was 2 and 4 respectively. Of course he is freaking out. To make a long story short, the bus company – “The Big Bus Company” – had a great staff, and they were able to recover the backpack. It killed the last hour of our tour, but we got the pack and had a fast food lunch and made it back to the airport without having to stress too much.

On the flight from London to Chicago Jaden watched the same movie twice and I watched a few good movies. I got almost no sleep and Jaden didn’t fall asleep until about 4 hours into the 7 hour flight. So when we land in Chicago he doesn’t want to wake up. I mean literally, he won’t wake up. We’re the last ones on the plane and he’s screaming and crying and telling me I’m the meanest daddy in the whole world for making him get up. I finally get him off the plane and we have to go through passport control and customs. He’s still out of control, hitting me and crying loudly, that looks great for the passport officers, why is this kid screaming at you? Please Jaden, please, calm down. We get through. A dear old friend of mine who lives in Chicago is planning to greet us at the airport as we have another 2 hour layover. Larry and his daughter Jessie bring Jaden’s requested bagels for us, our first “American food” in two months. But Jaden isn’t ready for people. He is dead tired, and sleeps through most of the brief meeting. Now of course, I have to wake him up again. This time, Larry offers to carry the back packs and I carry Jaden. After a few minutes, Jaden wakes up enough so he can walk through the airport to our departure gate. He’s asleep before takeoff and wakes up 5 minutes from DIA. We land at 9:30 where Lynne’s sister and her family (Jaden’s cousins) are there to pick us up, what a wonderful sight seeing Hilary at the baggage claim area! I figure Jaden will sleep on the way home and be in bed by 11pm, so maybe the time change transition won’t be too bad. But no, once in the car, Jaden starts talking to his cousin Bailey and they talk all the way home to Boulder. After calling Lynne, we have breakfast at midnight (noon Kaz time) and Jaden is wide awake. I’m ready to crash, so I do. I don’t know what time Jaden falls asleep, but its 5:30pm on Saturday and he hasn’t awakened yet. So the next few days will be very interesting as Jaden will be on Kaz time, but I’m feeling fairly adjusted to Colorado time.

It is so nice to be home, but so bittersweet. Having Lynne and Milan back in Arkalyk is really hard for both of us. Its not home here yet in the true sense of the word. That will be in early June, until then, we’ll be more than happy to be here, but we’ll be longing to have our whole family, our new family together, here, in beautiful Boulder, Colorado.

Peace,
Bruce

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

Follow the Yellow Brick Road

There are days that try your soul, in big ways, ways that you think might break you. And there are days that try your soul in ways that are deep, that manifest some alchemical shift. Today was one of the second. It was hectic, but I have had worse. It was stressful, but not in a way I could name. It was emotional, big highs and big lows. So much was unanticipated, so much eagerly anticipated, and one thing anticipated with apprehension. I welcomed our youngest son home today, and said good-bye to my husband and my first born.

They day started with us sitting around, waiting for Habiba, as we needed to go to the notary to sign a power of attorney, and some releases for documents before Bruce and Jaden left tonight. Finally, Habiba arrived around 11am, and we went to the Big Official Building. It took about 20 minutes, but we needed to come back for more signatures later. We also needed some clothes for Tuma, as there were a few things we had not brought. We went to the market in the interim, looking for underwear, shoes, and a jacket (mostly for the worried Babushka’s around town, not the actual weather at this point). We also needed a couple more shirts, and some shorts. Now, in our world, this would necessitate a 20 minute trip to Old Navy. But this is Central Asia.

There were three ‘Boutiques’ in the market, which is a large building with individual spaces rented to individual vendors. The first had some nice shoes, though expensive by Kazakh standards. I thought maybe we were on a roll. The second had underwear, differentiated as being for a boy by the lack of “Hello Kitty” on it. But what size for a little two year old? Tuma is about 10th percentile on the growth charts- Jaden has never been on a growth chart, but has hovered consistently above it…. If there were consistent sizes, we would have been in luck. But as it turned out, the underwear was sized by the centimeters of the child’s waist. Or by a random (to me) system of 3, 4, 5, etc. I tried telling them he was two. Nothing. I tried writing his weight down. Nothing. They evaluated the size “3’s” and declared them too small. I couldn’t tell. The 70 cm pairs they thought were better. I wasn’t sure. The problem is exacerbated by the fact that they carry only 2 or 3 of an item, at best. So, if the size they have is the size you need, well, then you’re in luck.

So we went back to the first vendor to get the shoes, and look for a jacket. Again the routine. Age, weight, he’s a ‘little boy’ I said. They pulled down option after option, all too big, and most made in China and emblazoned with nonsense words in English. Kind of like the t-shirt Jaden received as a parting gift, that says “STEROIDS” on the front in big letters. Don’t looked shocked if you see him wearing it. The sizing on the jackets was now yet a different system. 86. 92. 100. They conversion chart was in Chinese. Finally, they showed me a jacket that declared it was ’18m’. I figured it would fit since he was little, and since I could make sense of the sizing, we bought it. Then we went back and grabbed 2 pairs of ‘70cm’ underwear and headed for the door. On the way out we bought a kiddie potty for $2. At the last booth, we bought four size 5 Pampers, as disposable diapers are known here. They are sold singly, for about .50 apiece, depending on the size of the bum you need to cover. We joked about the idea of buying just one diaper at a time. You’d be running to the store every 20 minutes some days. They were our Back Up Plan.

After this, Bruce stopped to buy water and a can of knock-off Pringles for the train, and we headed home for some lunch, which as it turned out, had to be put on hold as we went back to the Notary instead. We waited around for a while, then signed on the dotted line, and again back to the apartment. This time, we gathered all of the clothes we needed for Milan, and Bruce worked on getting the rest of their stuff together to leave. At about 3:15 we were back out the door, this time to the store to buys things for Milan’s going-away party at the orphanage. We bought 20 orange juice boxes, 20 chocolate eggs with toys inside, a huge bag of cookies for the caregivers, doctors, and nurses, and 20 yogurts. Then we went to the orphanage. We went upstairs and started blowing up the balloons we had bought at the market. Then I tried to put Milan in his new clothes (most of which used to be Jaden’s and I feel very sentimentally about, silly as that may be). He was not down with this plan. He started yelling the minute I took his first shoe off and didn’t quit until the head doctor took over and finished dressing him, including his shirt that matched Jaden's, and we headed into the party.

The kids all sat and drank their juice boxes, and split a chocolate egg between 4 of them at each table. I have a feeling the caregiver’s children will enjoy the rest. They ‘saved’ the yogurt for later. The balloons popped as soon as the kids touched them. The cookies went untouched. Bruce videotaped the whole thing, which lasted about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, no one had told Tuma he was leaving. I had tried to get someone to tell him several times, but they just shook their heads, or ignored me. So, I had been telling him in my fractured Russian for several days “Papa, Jaden, bye-bye train. Milan, Mama, Habiba’s house.” I am not sure he was totally clear on the concept.

Never-the-less, when the party was over, we gathered up our stuff and waited for Ceric to come with the car. I felt really nervous, more than about any other part of this process so far. Finally, we headed out the door with Milan. So far so good, no crying, no problems. Then I ‘told’ him we were going in the car. Uh-Oh. He has never been in a car as far as we know, and was not keen on the idea. He was frightened, but also a little curious. He shrieked periodically in terror and then would look out the window, trying to take it all in. This does not bode well when we get home for trips to the… well, just about anywhere.

When we got to the flat, he was fine, amazingly. We walked upstairs, and into the flat. Still fine. We sat down, hung out, played with a ball. He was wide-eyed, never having seen a kitchen, a bedroom with less than 15 beds in it, bookshelves, etc. But soon he was laughing, smiling, and playing. We ate a little, Milan digging right in. They teach the kids to feed themselves very early. He played some more.

But now it was time for Jaden and Bruce to leave. It was very quick- Habiba and Ceric came, and they were late, of course. They grabbed the bags and headed for the door. Jaden was crazy, unfocused. I knew he was trying to avoid dealing with leaving. He was really struggling with being away from me for so long, as was (am) I. It will be about 5 weeks by the time I get home. He tried to get a hug from Milan, who thought he was trying to steal his cookies, so smacked him in the face instead. This led to Jaden crying, not from pain but from hurt feelings. He is very attached to his little brother already. I told Milan Jaden was going ‘paka’, and put his arm around his neck. He got his hug, but was really sad now. I was crying too, and Milan was looking back and forth at us, trying to figure it out. I hugged him and kissed Jaden, but it was much too quick. Anything would have been, I guess. Bruce ran back up from taking the luggage back, hugged and kissed Milan and I, put on his shoes, and they were gone. Now it was just the two of us.

We played a little more, and then I thought it might be a good idea for him to try and go potty. They are on a very strict schedule at the orphanage, and it was potty time. Not for Milan. He wanted nothing to do with my plan. At the orphanage, his kids in his group each have their own potty, which literally a metal pot. They sit all in a row in the long bathroom, pants around their ankles. They sit there for quite a while, usually while the others take turns getting washed up. I tried to pull his pants down this way, but he cried more. So I took them off altogether, as I thought this might be easiest. The whole thing seemed to remind him that he was no longer with his group, and he began to look around for the Magic Door, the one that would take him back to the group, much as the door out of the music room had done. As we walked from one room to another, he screamed as he realized each was not the right one. As I am carrying around this little half-naked screaming boy, Habiba came walking back in. He didn’t want to go pee for her either, which made me feel somewhat better. He decided he wanted something more to eat, so we did that instead, still half-naked. To cut the story short, let’s just say that after he peed on Habiba’s carpet, the Back Up Plan is where it’s at. Unfortunately, we only bought 4 Pampers, and I have already run through 3 of them. It was pretty funny to see him stop and kind of spread his legs and look down. He was peeing, and was confused about why it wasn’t running down his legs, like usual! As much as it sounds appealing to have him potty trained, it just ain’t so….

Finally, it was bedtime. 7:30 at the orphanage, so we headed to the bedroom. He was perfectly willing to lay down and let me read him a story. He had his stuffed monkey with him, and a stuffed dog Habiba has. He wanted the blankie I had brought pulled up to his chin. He even looked sleepy. This proved no indicator, however, as sleep was not elusive but determinedly staved off. There were toys to be played with, after all. The dog jumped around. He kissed the dog. The dog kissed the monkey. The monkey kissed me. The suitcase in the corner needed to be explored. And the idea of bouncing on a bed. And standing on a nightstand. That is why the call it a nightstand, isn’t it? Habiba came in and admonished him to sleep and stop playing, as I didn’t know how to say it. It was very effective. She left and he wanted to be tickled. And incredibly, he wanted to talk.

Our quiet, speechless little boy, turned downright chatty. He said ‘dog’ in Russian. Then in English. He said Monkey. He said ‘boy’ in Russian. Butterfly. Bird. Mom. Ball. Nose. Some things I couldn’t understand. He must have blurted out 20-25 words. I said most of these words in English after he said them, and he repeated nearly all of them. He was very pleased with himself. Especially so since he was also avoiding going to sleep. He kept saying ‘Mom’ and pointing at things, and I would tell him the name. It is how the kids at the orphanage address the caregivers when they are playing. They would say it to me repeatedly when I was there: ‘Mom,’ ‘Mom,’ ‘Mom.’ Then I started to sing “Frere Jacque” to him, a song we sang a lot in the orphanage to calm him down when he was crying. He sang the first two lines with me, and then giggled. What exactly has been going on in his little head all this time? Then I told him I was finished and he needed to go to sleep. He looked at me and said ‘Nyet’. No tilting of the head, just a big, fat, ‘NO’. I said ‘yes, sleep’, and he rolled over and giggled and tried to crawl away. I said ‘Nyet!’ to him, and he looked at me and yelled ‘DA!’ or yes! I couldn’t believe it. Finally, at 9:45, he fell asleep. His feet moved back and forth, searching for the confines of the familiar toddler bed at the orphanage. His hand rubbed the sheet. He bent both knees and tapped his heels together a few times. As I watched him quietly, the ruby slippers came to mind, and the words: “There’s no place like home.”
(This is what I look like when I finally go to sleep- half on and half off the bed, but asleep!)

Safe travels to my other two boys, whom I already miss terribly. They left Arkalyk this evening, and won’t be home until Friday night. I will count the minutes until Milan and I are home with them.

Monday, April 30, 2007

The Day of Reckoning

Today was the day. Our court date. The day every family adopting in Kaz approaches with a combination of anticipation, excitement and apprehension. The judge stands between you and your child, ostensibly the guardian of the child’s best interests, but perhaps more truly the guardian of their own bureaucracy, as everyone works diligently not to make any mistake that might come back to haunt them in the future. The judge is responsible for rendering a decision about your fitness as a parent to this Kazakh child, and for giving permission for the adoption to proceed. If the judge ‘agrees with the petition’ to adopt the child, the court date is followed by a mandatory 15 day waiting period before the adoption is finalized. The waiting period is mostly a formality, to ensure that birthmothers have adequate time to consider their decision, although it would seem best this be done prior to a court date… in reality, most judges require either the birthmother appear in court, or submit a signed and notarized letter (referred to as a petition) stating their intent NOT to appear in court and giving their approval for the adoption to proceed. It is, of course, not always possible to find the birthmother, but in a country who’s population numbers only 16 million, and for whom community ties are so strong, it’s tough to get lost in the crowd. Almost invariably the birthmother is found, but not always with a happy ending.

In our case, this birthmother petition bit proved tricky. Tuma/Milan’s birthmother was difficult to find, and when she was found, didn’t have the proper documents to allow a petition from her to be notarized. There was a lot of discussion about how to proceed, and faxing of documents back and forth, and many, many phone calls. In the end, it required people going to her house and taking her to the court in the city in which she lives, so that her petition could be witnessed by the judge. Then the judge there was to send a telegram (yes, a telegram- not a fax, not an email, a telegram) to ‘our’ judge confirming her answers to the questions. After that was received, our coordinator would call us (or so went the plan) and tell us when we would have court. And then we would pass the secret code word to the… well, suffice it to say it was convoluted.

We had our first indication of trouble when at 10:15, Habiba still had not arrived for her 9:00 appointment with us. We headed over to the orphanage, figuring if she need us, she knew where to find us. When we returned home, she still had not been heard from, so I called. “I am sorry, I am very busy,” was the answer I received. The court hearing with the birthmother had not happened in the morning she informed me, but would happen in the afternoon. She would call later with more information. At 1:30 she called to tell me that we would be ready between 4 and 6pm to go to court, that the judge would call as soon as she had the telegram, and we would race over to the courthouse. Habiba would arrive at 3pm for our debriefing.

At 4pm there was still no Habiba, but we were dressed and ready to go, and Marzhan arrived to hang out with Jaden while we were gone. We set Jaden up with a movie, and sat down to wait. Habiba called about 4:20 to say that she would come at 5:30 and we would go to court about 5:45. We sent Marzhan home for an hour rather than her wasting time hanging out. Five minutes later, Habiba called to tell us Ceric would arrive in 10 minutes, and we should meet him downstairs. Now we had a problem, as Jaden hadn’t been planning to come with us, and we had told Marzhan she could leave. Habiba couldn’t find Marzhan, and asked if Jaden could just come along, but would have to stay quiet. Not a trivial thing for Jaden. We quick-talked Jaden into coming, while spraying his un-ironed clothes with wrinkle-releaser. He wanted to wear his tie, and although he was concerned about staying quiet for even the 10-20 minutes we were told it would take, he was going to give it his best try. We raced downstairs. Habiba and Ceric pulled up with Marzhan in the front seat. Habiba told Jaden it would better for him NOT to come now, and he should stay with Marzhan. Well, that resulted in an insta-melt, as he now had himself primed to come, and could not be dissuaded.

We piled into the car and off we went, repeatedly emphasizing to Jaden the need for silence in the courtroom. We hustled into the courtroom, a stark affair, with roughly painted wooden floors, crude wooden benches, and ‘Some Assembly Required’ furnishings. On one side was a defendants ‘cage’, built from welded re-bar, and painted Kazakh blue. The Kazakh flag hung behind the judge, with a Kazakh coat of arms next to it. The windows were covered in white lace curtains, which are de rigueur for all buildings here. We took our seats in the front row with Habiba and Jaden behind us, a slight which was not lost on him. After a few minutes the prosecutor and court stenographer arrived. The judge swept in behind them, wearing a burgundy robe with white vinyl go-go boots. She was in her late 50’s or early 60’s, with bleached white hair, which was a startling effect on a woman with strong Kazakh features.

The proceedings were very formal, with the judge asking many questions of us. “Why did you choose to adopt,” “why did you choose Kazakhstan,” “You already have a boy, why did you not come to adopt a girl,” “Will your other son be jealous,” “Why did you bring your other child, is it because you have no relatives to leave him with,” and “If he gets sick when he is older, will you want to give him back?” During many of the answers, she gazed out the window, leaving the clear impression that while she felt she needed to ask the questions to consider she had done her job, she already knew the answers. She wanted to know why we had been in Arkalyk for so long. No good answer there….

She asked additional questions of the head doctor from the orphanage, who was in the courtroom, and the social worker assigned to our case. She found one document in our 3 inch stack that was not to her liking, and after 10 minutes of deliberations with Habiba, Habiba left to go and fetch the original. It was hard to imagine this happening in a U.S. courtroom, where judge, prosecutor, witnesses, etc all sit and chat while someone runs out to fetch a document…. During all of the back and forth in Russian and the waiting, I found myself looking at the busy scene in the street and courtyard outside the courthouse. The window glass is rippled, cheaply made. It created a fun house effect as people walked past, alternately elongating and shortening their legs, their bodies, their heads. It seemed a reflection of the machinations that have taken place to get us to this point.

She was back after another 10 minutes or so, and we continued. More questions, followed by a break for the judge to consider her decision, which Habiba declared meant she was ‘drinking tea’. She returned about 5 minutes later and proceeded to read a long document outlining the proceedings of the entire hearing, the laws of Kazakhstan regarding international adoptions, the process required to get the birthmother’s signed petition, the way Tuma had come into the orphanage, etc. At long last, she got to the end, which was a rather abrupt announcement that she ‘agreed with our petition’, as well as our request to change his name to Isaac Milan. Then she said ‘congratulations’ and walked out of the room. That was it, it was over. She was halfway out the door before Habiba finished translating what had been said. We suddenly were parents of another child, for all intents and purposes. I turned to hug Jaden who blurted out “But I don’t even know the decision!” He was not happy to be in the dark. I told him the news and he started to cry. When I asked him what was wrong, thinking maybe he was upset he hadn’t heard the judge say it or Habiba translate it, he said “Mom, I am crying because I am so happy!” Even in a kid as emotional and sensitive as Jaden, it was an over-the-top moment.

We came back to the flat to drink tequila with Habiba, the head doctor, and the other American couple here adopting. Toasts were made as were plans to spring Tuma/Milan from the baby house. We will bring him here Wednesday around lunch time. Bruce and Jaden will board the train Wednesday night for Astana, and then on to home. Tuma/Milan and I will see them off, and then come back here to introduce a child who has never seen the inside of a real home to the mysteries of appliances and flush toilets and neighbors. And freedom, to pee when he wants, eat when he wants, and sleep- well, hopefully that will be more when I want.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

A Small Fortune

Just when you think you have a handle on things around here, something goes completely off the rails. Bacha, who was our cook for the first month, had a rotten experience recently. And while we felt really bad about what happened, the way it played out was so completely turned around from what we would have expected, we also had a good laugh about it. Here’s the story: We have been paying Habiba for food and lodging in 10 day increments, roughly. It was time for us to give her the next installment, and she wasn’t planning to come to the apartment until later in the evening. So she told Bruce to give part of the money, about $400, to Bacha so she could go shopping. He did, and we went off to the orphanage. When we saw Bacha later that day, she seemed like something was wrong. Now, Bacha doesn’t speak a word of English, so there wasn’t much to go on, granted. That evening, she was also subdued. Habiba said she wasn’t feeling well, and had a headache. We suggested she go home.

Then the story came out. Habiba told us that earlier in the day Bacha had gone to the hospital for something. She works there as a nurse, so it wasn’t clear if she had gone as a patient or for work. At any rate, at some point she needed to go to another floor, and left her purse sitting where she had started out. I am sure you can guess the next part- when she went to change money later in the day, two of the four $100 bills were missing from her wallet. This seems like a lot for most people, but this is a substantial amount of money for Kazakhstan, where a 2 bedroom flat will run you $20,000 and a days work might yield $10 if you have a decent job. It represented nearly 3 weeks of work at the wage Habiba was paying her to cook for us. She was devastated, and we were devastated for her. It was what transpired next we couldn’t have guessed though.

After discovering the money missing, Bacha did what anyone would do. Anyone Kazakh that is. She went to the fortune-teller. More on her later. Me, I would have picked the police station. Apparently that never came up, despite the fact that Habiba’s husband is a police officer. The fortune-teller tells her “The money was stolen by one woman at the hospital, and although she feels guilty, she won’t give it back.” We could have told her that for free. This was relayed to me with a totally straight face, so falling on the floor laughing was not an option, despite being my first instinct. There was no question that what she was told was taken with great seriousness, and that they believed there to be deep insight behind the words. It was right up there with the rockets changing the weather. And not whistling indoors, as you will never have money if you do (Jaden is particularly disturbed by this idea, since he just learned to whistle and wants to do it regularly). Or not drinking a cold drink or you will have a sore throat.

Superstition runs deep here, despite the years of Soviet pragmatism. Or perhaps because of it. Jaden and I have been discussing survival strategies of plants and animals a lot lately. Humans put into inhuman situations are faced with the same scenario: develop a survival strategy or perish. The Kazakhs did just that, integrating their folk beliefs and rituals into the everyday, as their religion, culture and language were stripped from them. And although the Russians have pulled out of direct political supervision of the country, their influence is still felt. Many people of Kazakh ethnicity have married people of Russian descent. The result is that Kazakh is no longer spoken in many homes. Islam is making a comeback here, and most people identify as either Muslim or atheist. Just don’t ask them to give up their vodka. The clan units, which were comprised of very extended families are disintegrating, the members no longer being rely on each other as the once could, in a post-Soviet every-man-for-himself survivalist culture.

The reactions seem to me to be two sides of a similar coin. On the one, you focus on the small, the controllable. Don’t drink cold drinks. Don’t whistle inside. On the other side you focus on the mystical, the things that cannot be controlled. People wear amulets to protect them and hang up talisman’s to ward off the evil eye. I was told to put one on Jaden because Kazakh people fear beautiful children, and might put an evil eye on him. It was the fortune-teller who told me this, mind you. Feng-Shui is very in vogue here. And people’s business is kept on the down-low. You don’t talk about your business, you keep a low profile. Every question has 3 different answers, nothing is as it seems. They still refer to the Kazakh version of the FBI as the KGB, despite the fact that the KGB has not been a fixture here for over 15 years. It is akin to a child who has been mistreated and has learned to look over their shoulder and protect themselves, and continues long after the need has passed.

Bacha went to Almaty to escort a child who is being adopted, and who’s parents are picking her up there after the paperwork is all finished. In her absence our new cook is none other than the fortune-teller. Who also happens to be the vice-principal of the largest school in Arkalyk. Her school is 1st –11th grades and has over 1100 children and 70 teachers. And the director of a very big summer camp near Astana. She employs several of Habiba’s friends and family at the summer camp. She took a week off of work to be our cook. Habiba says she simply wants the chance to work with Americans. Zoula is a big personality, full of fun and laughing constantly, a great spark in our days. She analyzed our birthday’s one day with the Enneagram. After looking at Jaden’s and with the help of the dictionary she announced he is an “energy vampire.” I was laughing for days. 15 minutes with Jaden will tell you that. She has a son Jaden’s age, and has taken to Jaden. She calls out to him constantly, and he will hang out and talk to her, although her English is very limited.

The other night Jaden and I went to Zoula’s apartment so Jaden could play with her son, Batik. While there, she asked if I wanted my fortune told. I would never pass up such an offer. She whips out a plastic page protector for a 3-ring binder, filled with scraps of paper from books, cards, coins and the like. From this came a deck of Special Fortune-Telling Cards and she asked me to cut them. Then she laid them out and looked for images that fit together between the cards. This she repeated 3 times. After which she carefully consulted the cardboard strip that the cards had come in and wrote a list of words in Russian. The next step necessitated the dictionary, and lots of muttering and thumbing. When she finished, she proudly presented me with a list of words: Road, walk, disappointment, regain sight, happiness, wealth, and money. Naturally, I felt most enlightened by this list.

To get a better read on things, she needed a blue pen and my palm. Zoula traced my lifeline carefully, bending my hand this way and that to make sure of accuracy. There were two triangular shaped areas on my lifeline that she informed me were ‘operations’, the biggest will be when I am 65 she says. I know you are all relieved to learn I will survive the operation, and live to be 86 years old. I know I was. Not so thrilled about the surgeries though. I am going to start looking into alternatives as soon as I get home. Feeling that there was still territory unexplored, she told me to throw the I-Ching coins. Or the 3 10-cent Tenge pieces, in this case. She counted carefully, and consulted some pages she had ripped out of a book with the descriptions of the results. At this point it became necessary to call Galina, who was our first translator, as you may remember. She asked Galina to translate, and proceeded to read her the words from the page. I had images of her buying a “Tell the Future and Amaze Your Friends!!” booklet in a dime store.

Apart from the translator, it was like a goofy evening you might have spent with a friend back in high-school. Without the beer. In the end, it turns out the coins say “everything will turn out alright.” According to Habiba, Zoula is ‘never wrong’. Of course, Habiba called Bacha in Almaty the other day to ask her to ‘throw the peach pits’ to see what will happen with our family, as she is nervous about Tuma’s mother. Apparently this is Bacha’s method of foreseeing the future. And she just so happened to have her peach pits with her in Almaty. Habiba said she has done it for ‘more than 10 families’ and is very accurate. She also says everything will be OK. So it must be true. We go to court on Monday, to face the judge and her decision about whether we will be allowed to adopt the child formerly known as ‘Tuma’ (for more on Tuma and his new name, see Jaden’s post at http://www.kazbrother.blogspot.com/). I hope the Fortune Teller’s arts are as magical as everyone here believes them to be. We will let you know on Monday night. Cross your fingers for us!
"You expect me to answer to WHAT?!?!"

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Loved Ones

I don’t know where to begin. I’ve never written anything as personal as this blog has turned out to be for Lynne, Jaden and I, not even in a journal of any type. Now I feel compelled to continue to express some of what’s going on in my life.

The reality of a new son is drawing near, but still so far. Yesterday, Tuma let me hold him, he laughed with me, he stared back at me, showing no signs that he wasn’t going to love me soon. He obviously is feeling more comfortable with me, he even peed on me, which I believe is the true sign of letting it all go. He’s only peed twice while with us, the first time was the day he really began to connect with Lynne and then yesterday. It’s so obvious to us now that Tuma is going to be fine. He smiles brightly and has a playful spirit. When he gets to Boulder he will continue to improve exponentially, his future is bright, and it’s almost like he starts to see it.

But still we have so far to go, as we have the new hurdle to jump over. The judge has found his birthmother, grandmother and SISTER (9 years old). (Will he ever meet his sister? We would be in favor of that when the time is right, his mother too, but not for years…). They are in Astana, which is the capital city of Kazakhstan, the city that is a 15 hour train ride away. This is the city we have to go through to take him home. Our adoption coordinator is trying desperately to find his birth mother and have her sign (another) petition that states that she wants to see Tuma adopted. We should know more in days, or hours… The paperwork saga continues and we are amazed at what’s going on in the background. (If I tell the whole story I would have to swear you all to secrecy and I don’t even know who you all are). The papers we need from the states are with DHL and we have tracked them in Brussels as of 3am today, due to arrive in Astana on Saturday where they get to take the train ride to get to us on Sunday so we can have our court hearing on Monday. If all goes well, Jaden and I leave on Wednesday from Arkalyk to Astana. Then on Thursday we fly from Astana to Almaty, and then on Friday at 3am (yes am) we fly to London, and catch a flight from London at 3:30pm to Chicago, and then on to Denver for a 9:40pm arrival. It will be so bittersweet to be home, without Lynne and Tuma. Lynne has another 30 days or so in front of her, mostly here in Arkalyk, and then 3-5 days in Almaty.

As Lynne wrote in her last post, my oldest friend’s father passed away this week. Len was buried in Philadelphia yesterday. I wish I was there. He is in now in peace at the same cemetery as my dear mother and sister, may they all rest in peace. Len was one of my earliest sports mentors. You who know me know my passion for sports, all sports, playing sports and watching sports (unfortunately more watching these days then playing). Len had season tickets to the Philadelphia Eagles games, and when one of his friends couldn’t make it, I often got the call as his sons weren’t as into football as I was. I have vivid memories of Franklin field on freezing cold Sundays drinking hot chocolate and watching Roman Gabriel try to lead the Eagles out of the basement that they often dwelled in. Then, in the summer, our families spent a few summers together in the Pocono “Mountains”. Len would always ask me to go check on the Phillies scores and report back while he and his wife and my parents played bridge or whatever their activity of the evening was. This was the early 70’s, so again, it was fruitless, the Phillies were terrible, but we always held out hope, kind of like Rockies fans these days, although I think most of us have given up on that…but hey, I hear the Nuggets are actually on a hot streak, and remember how terrible they were just a few years ago? Len was a kind, gentle man, with a big smile and great laugh. He will be sorely missed by his family that now has roots in Vermont, California and Australia as well as the Philadelphia area.

Today I learned that my aunt Adrienne passed away. First I hear about Len via an Instant Message, then I hear about my aunt via email. Adrienne was my mother’s only sister, her only sibling. She had been sick for a few weeks and in bad shape, so this was not a shock, but it hurts, it really hurts not to be there with my cousin and the rest of the family. I am saying this publicly – Jeff – it will be hard for me to come visit you as soon as we get home. You need some time for yourself, come to Boulder. You’ve been promising me for years. We’ll bike all over town, we’ll laugh, we’ll cry, we’ll make each other feel better.

I have one story I want to share about Aunt Adrienne that will help to capture this wonderful woman. When I was about 8 years old or so, my parents went on a vacation and Adrienne and my cousin Jeff came with us to stay for the week. I was a rascally kid and when Adrienne said it was time for me to do something, I never made it easy for her. She asked me to take a shower, and of course I said “No!” After a few rounds, she threatened to pour chocolate syrup on my head. Of course I dared her to, never believing she would. And of course, I wouldn’t be telling you this story if she didn’t. She always made us laugh. She always made everyone around her laugh. Adrienne and my mom would laugh together for hours, I usually didn’t know what they were laughing about, they just loved life and I loved them.

My Aunt Adrienne was one of my favorite people in the whole world for most of my life. Why didn’t I see her more often, or speak to her more often? But won’t we always think that about our favorite relatives that live far away? Phone calls are almost free, emails are free, it’s the time that’s the problem. But what is time for if not to stay in touch with our loved ones?

I am very sad today.

Peace,

Bruce

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

A week on the Roller Coaster of Adoption


News from this weeks’ section of track has it’s ups and downs, as any good roller coaster should. I remember as a child, going to the original Elitch’s Gardens in Denver, and riding the wooden roller coaster. The thrilling twists and turns, the curves and hills, and the terrifying yet exhilarating rides down, hands in the air, half-sure you are going to fly out of your seat at any moment and find yourself airborne.

But ask yourself this, at which point on a roller coaster are you ‘up’ exactly? Is it the climb, as you feel the car slowly pulling you up the hill, followed inevitably by the descent? Is it only that brief moment as you are balanced at the very apex of the hill, knowing that within seconds you will race dizzyingly down the other side? Roller coasters have their ups and downs to be sure, but as metaphor, I am not sure it holds up. We hope that the ‘ups’ in life will last longer than a few moments, and that the getting there will be less arduous, less filled with the anticipation of the drop to follow. And when the downs come we hardly lift our hands and shout with glee, reveling in the adrenaline pumping through our bodies….

This week seems it was filled with moments, both gleeful and arduous, sorrowful and stress-filled. I will give you the run-down. First, we have struggled with getting some revised paperwork we need for our court date. The frustration comes because even after 5 weeks in Kaz, we still don’t have it. We finish our official bonding period tomorrow, incredibly, but can’t have a court hearing until the paperwork arrives. And until the court hearing, Bruce and Jaden can’t leave, and the 15 day waiting period can’t begin, and none of the paperwork necessary to Tuma and I leaving can be started. And the paperwork is not, of course, as simple as running a few copies and faxing them over. Documents must be official. Very official. Copies must be notarized. Notaries must be authenticated through something called an Apostille, which must be done by the Secretary of State for the state in which the notary is licensed. The entire thing must be translated. Then it must be sent to the Kazakhstan Embassy to be authenticated yet again. Never mind that Kaz is a signatory to the Geneva convention, one article of which is designed to eliminate this last step. Everyone is mainly intent on covering their collective behinds, so the more official stamps and signatures they can collect the better. We have waited for over 10 days with no word on when the documents would get here or whether there was any ‘work-around’ or when we might be able to have our court date. Definitely a down. Now, word is that the documents will be here by Sunday, with court tentatively scheduled for Monday. That will give Bruce and Jaden time to get to Almaty by Wednesday, for the next step of their journey home early Thursday morning. That would be an up.

As for Tuma, that has been mostly an up. When I go to pick him up from his group now, he runs over with his arms up to be lifted. He no longer cries. He has actually begun to venture away from the couch, and as long as I stay in one spot for the most part, he no longer needs to be glued to me every second. He has discovered things he has never had the chance to before. Like eating something when he feels like it, not just when it’s time. And drinking just a little from the bottle and then putting the top back on, just because he can. Running to get the ball by himself, kicking it with his foot to see what happens, and throwing back to his papa or his brother. Imagine an environment where you never get to see what happens when you kick a ball, because as soon as you do, someone else has taken it…

He loves upside down tickles and being swung around. He giggles and giggles… it’s so sweet. We still don’t know what his voice sounds like though, because he still doesn’t talk. But he will go to get the bottle when I ask ‘do you want a drink’ or ‘do you want juice’ (in Russian), he will bring me an object when I ask him to (sometimes, he is 2 after all). He will not answer to his name when we call him unless he feels like it, which is not often. He is learning to drum on stuff. We have jam sessions with markers and various objects- his bottle, a Tupperware full of rice as a shaker, the marker box, whatever. We all bang away together. Throwing tantrums remains a fixture. Nothing like the bird day though. These are mostly of the ‘noodle’ variety. You know, where you go totally limp and lay on the floor trying to get yourself worked up. The mind of a 2 year old is a mysterious place.

(Hmmm.... what does daddy taste like?)
He is learning new things so quickly, remembering from day-to-day. He will ‘drive’ a car on the floor now, not just idly spin the wheels with his finger. He won’t let Bruce hold him still, but will let him throw him up in the air for a few minutes, and will let Bruce give him treats and play ball with him. He still wants to clock the bird with just about anything he can find, but will actually stop himself sometimes now when I say ‘nyet’. Believe me, it will take more than the opinion of a 2 year old to turn me against the bird. But thanks to everyone who worried about me/us!

Today, he and Jaden played for the first time really. They played like brothers, running around, Jaden throwing the ball for Tuma and Almira (another little girl who’s adoptive parents are here for the bonding period). Jaden hugs him, kisses him, bops him on the head, and bugs him. Mostly it is the sweet and awkward attempts of a 6 year old to connect with this child, this kid that is suddenly (only not SO suddenly) his brother.

We did not see the Cosmonauts or the rocket landing or even the capsule parade through town this week, despite what the first picture might lead you to believe. We did see the huge trucks the Russian military takes out to the landing site with support personnel and equipment to retrieve the capsule though. The came rolling through town one day as we were out for a walk. Bruce and Jaden and I discovered them an hour or so later, parked in front of Arkalyk’s one hotel. The trucks were very impressive. Huge, with lots of gadgets. Each had stickers from the various missions they had been on. The stickers have the year, the flags of the countries involved, and the names of the Cosmonauts/Astronauts that were on the mission. Jaden and I hung around long enough that a few of the drivers came out. One of them spoke a bit of English, and we were able to find out when they were going out for the landing, and that it would be a 5 hour drive. Bruce wanted to know about taking a tour in their cushy bus-type vehicle. He joked that it would cost $25 million. There was some miscommunication about their plans, and we hoped they would be back here with the Cosmonauts and the capsule, but neither transpired. We did get a picture of one of the drivers in his Russian Milatary Space Program uniform. This was one of those whoop-de-whoos you find on the tracks every now and then.

We discovered the local masseuse about two weeks ago. I have ongoing shoulder and neck problems, and trying to corral a squirming two year old while sleeping on a bed with a sleep number not found on any mattress I have ever seen has turned my muscles into a network of steel cables. Bruce has been spending long hours bent over his laptop sitting on a wooden chair seriously lacking in ergonomics. Habiba sent over her massage therapist in response to my request. Apart from the bruising, her work is excellent. She rubs something on called Bom-Benge that lists ‘vasaline’ as the main ingredient. It smells just like the Ben-gay of the arthritis commercials, and greases up nicely. The best part of the experience is that the total tab is 500 tenge per hour- about $4.00. Definitely an up.

Habiba dropped a bomb on us today when she told us they have found Tuma’s birthmother. Kazakh courts require that the birthmother appear in court to agree to the adoption, or send some type of petition stating they will allow the child to be adopted. After checking quite a few places, there had been no success in finding Tuma’s birthmother. However, apparently there was a ‘breakthrough’ and it turns out she lives in Astana with her mother and her 9-ish year old daughter. Now, one would suppose that if she was planning to raise her child she would have come to get him before moving to Astana (the grandmother and daughter left for Astana only 2 weeks ago!). However, we won’t feel settled until we have her decision about the adoption. Until then, this is a twist and a turn, hopefully neither of which will lead to a down.

Bruce learned tonight that the father of a very close friend passed away. He grew up with this man and his family, and the loss is very personal and very deep. It’s funny how we hold a space for certain people in our hearts, even those we really aren’t in touch with anymore. We don’t view them as being out of our lives. The passage of time doesn’t change how we view them or remember them or feel about them. It feels like a thread you can pick up again at any moment, only you don’t. And then you can’t. His aunt has also been very ill, which has been, and continues to be difficult. She is his mother’s only sister, only sibling in fact. It is hard to be here, doing this, to feel so removed from and unavailable to the people in our lives. This one needs no label. It serves to remind us that regardless of the joys or suffering we experience, it is all temporary. We must enjoy the moments we are given and experience them fully whether they be ups or downs, for as they pass, we have seen the last of them.

Friday, April 20, 2007

A Very Bad Mommy day

Ok, so today I did the thing you should never ever do to a child. At least not to a two year old child. I didn’t want to do it. I tried really hard not to do it. I knew it was a dodgy thing to do. I tried to do anything but IT. In the world of baby thoughts, it made me a Really Bad Mommy. But in the end, I had to. I said ‘Nyet’. And he made me live to regret it. It all started with the darned bird. The orphanage has a pet cockatiel, and Tuma finds the bird endlessly fascinating. The bird is a nice bird, or a ‘tai tai ptitchka’ in my pathetic pidgin combination of Kazakh and Russian. It likes people, it likes to fly figure 8’s around the room, it likes the crumbs Tuma drops when eating. Her name is Katya.

The trouble is, that Tuma’s method of interacting with the bird is primarily based on throwing things at the bird. The kids in the group throw things a lot. They all have bruises and bumps on the them from being beaned by each other with flying toys. It’s interesting to observe that it happens so frequently, that when a toy or a hand comes toward the head of one of these children, they don’t even flinch. I have learned to say “Don’t throw” and something that seems to me like it should mean “Don’t throw toys.” I usually follow this up with “throw ball,” hoping he’ll catch on. I try to put together words to mean “Don’t throw at Katya,” but either it isn’t having the desired effect or it doesn’t mean what I think it means. I could be telling him not to throw the bird for all I know.

But while I would prefer in some ways to place all the blame on my rudimentary language skills, my sharply honed instincts as a mother tell me different. The thing is, I kind of get it. You throw something at the bird, and the bird flies away, or at least hops up and down quickly. Birds are interesting. Flying is really interesting. You do it again, you get to watch the show again. Eventually the bird will get fed up and fly off to another room. There is only the remotest chance of him actually hitting the bird. How bad can this be? But in principle, it just isn’t the right thing to do. Plus, I have horrid visions of a newspaper article one day in the future “Mass Murderer found to have tortured pets as a small child.” So Mommy Guilt definitely plays into this. That and I know that the longer I let it go, the tougher my battle will be in the future. The self-serving element.

Today there was a twist though. He wanted to see the bird, and in fact, threw himself backward and grunted and pushed on me with his little feet until I took him to see the bird. Then he wanted to open the door to the cage, and so we did and let her out. And then he wanted to go over to the table where she was to see her more. Now, the amazing thing is how this all gets communicated with no words. It’s like a game of “Hot”. You know, “You’re getting warmer, warmer, warmer, HOT!” The warmer I get to what he wants, the less he cries, grunts and shoves on me with his feet. Invariably it leads either to the bird or back to his group of kids. I have tried to outlast him to see if I can get him to talk, just one word. I ask him “What do you want?” in Russian. He has more willpower than do I. I give in to the grunts and fussing before it hits the tipping point. In the end, the grunts had us sitting in a chair a foot or so away from the bird. And now he decides that since he has nothing handy to hurl at the bird, perhaps he could just smack her. I can’t remember the word for hit, so I am saying ‘don’t throw at the bird’, which was less than ineffective. I tried saying ‘nice bird’. But then I hit the end of my repertoire. I just ran out of things to say. So I said it. I said ‘Nyet’. The result was an instantaneous nothing. He tried to hit the bird again. So, I said ‘Nyet’ once more. Only more firmly. On the third count, I got up and moved away from the bird.

And then it was on. A battle of the wills with a two year old is not a pretty thing, or a quiet one either. He squirmed and fussed and grunted himself into a tizzy. Then he went to straight up crying. He is not a child who will be distracted. He pushes everything you offer away, either that or he grabs it just to lead you on, and then…. You guessed it, he throws it. The crying was a focused and intent MAD crying. He wanted it very clear, this DID NOT WORK for him. He wanted to hit that bird, darn it, and how dare I stop him? In fact, how dare I a lot of things! They crying escalated further. When he approached hysteria, I tried the trick of getting him to look at things, one after the other to focus him. You know, “Look at the ball, look at the bird, look at the car, look at the whatever.” I have found this to be a very successful technique. However, it does assume you know the word for ‘look’, as well as the names of more than 3 objects. It probably goes without saying that it did not work this time.

Finally, one of the caregivers from the baby group came through the room. Tuma is sobbing and heaving, and is nearly hoarse from displeasure. The nurse was carrying an infant, and told Tuma he should stop crying. Then she told him that if he didn’t stop, I would take the baby instead of him, and made a motion of handing me the baby and taking him (I was standing up holding Tuma next to her). What a message to send a child in this position. If you are not good, your mama will leave you at the orphanage and take another child. Now, in Tuma’s case that might be a selling point. But either way, not the message about parents you want your child to have. Fortunately I suppose, in the end, the message had little result. The tantrum continued, with nothing I did helping in any way. In a few minutes she returned. She took Tuma and within about 3 minutes he had stopped crying. She talked and talked to him, but he really wanted nothing more to do with me. I finally bribed him by saying I would take him back to his group to get him to come to me. But I learned my lesson, which I think was his plan all along. He is a stubborn little guy, with a temper to boot. I will think twice before using “Nyet” so lightly in the future. So what if my kid is a bird beater? At least no one will come in looking at me like maybe I am beating him.