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 night
stand, 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.
