A Very Merry Unbirthday to You!

Well we had our day in court today, and it’s great news- Mena is officially our daughter, now. The proceedings went well, we were granted the benefit of only having to appear once as opposed to twice, before being allowed to begin on things like birth cert & passports- plus then another 10 days. Thank heavens! But before I get into all that happened at court this morning, I’ll begin actually on Sunday’s visit instead, because it is a Mena story I will remember forever.

We came to visit like normal, and the poor thing was really under the weather with a cold. But she looked so cute with her cheeks all pink and flushed, and her soft golden curls all framing her face. The other kids were playing outside so we just had an inside visit and played quietly. Luckily I had popped some children’s Tylenol in my bag before we left home, just in case, so I was able to pull them out and ask if we could give her one. The doctor had to go check out what was in them and then returned and said yes, so we did and in about a half and hour she was back to her perky old self. And then at about 4:45 like clockwork, she had to go to the bathroom. Now, I’m probably not going to ever share another bathroom story again because in terms of dignity I don’t know if I’d want the whole world to know about me on the can, but this one is kinda different so I’ll take the heat when she gets older for doing it. She said she had to go, so I took her down into the elf bathroom off her playroom, it has 3 mini sinks at shin level, and 3 normal sized toilets all in a row along another wall. No doors or separators, so bathroom time can be supervised. So she climbs up to the john, and I sit on the seat on the one in the middle, waiting for her and holding the crepe paper-newsprint toilet paper. It’s just us, and we’re a funny duo in there. So I look over and say to her, “Little dude! This is a milestone moment for us. I’ve never wiped anybody’s bum before- and certainly not a poopy one. This is going to be a real bonding experience, it’s the first time ever I’m wiping your butt!” And she just kind of looked up, and speaking perfectly normal right back at me as if we were 2 adults having coffee tawk, she answered back very seriously with her big blue eyes fixed on mine. Then when she finished the important stuff she was saying, she gave a cheeky half-smile to indicate her speech was done. It was really funny and so cute. Then she wiped her own butt once, and I wiped it again to be sure, and she pulled up her gitch and flushed, walked to the sink and washed her hands like we two colleagues in the bathroom at the same time who happened to catch each other and continued talking. Priceless! I love my kid. She is such a character!

Now for yesterday, her birthday: We arrived as normal, with a white, pink and yellow cake in the shape of a teddy bear that we got from the grocery store. It was like a miracle it was even there in the first place- like a beacon of light in the bakery case calling us. It looked a little weird in that home-made type of way, so I was thrilled! It was $10, so we bought it and some paper plates, small spoons, colourful napkins, and a log of strawberry ice cream which is how the sell it here. (BTW this is such a smart idea to do it this way, as you eat it it takes up less space in your freezer! Hello?! They sell it chilled but not totally frozen and it’s wrapped up in a plastic type of sausage casing like those Pillsbury cookies. Leak proof! Ingenious!) We had all the stuff covered in a plastic bag so nobody could see what we were bringing in to the orphanage to avoid being pounced on by a bunch of 4 year olds. Oisin had another bag full of crayons for all the kids, plus some butterfly deelie-boppers and a magic wand for Mena, the beautiful stuffed rabbit which was her main present, and then a little sparkly necklace I bought last year in Boston with my friend Emily when we went to the Osh Gosh outlet… which had another damn konig on it, ha! We walked into the playroom and supervising were 2 ladies- the nicest one who has dark hair an pretty brown eyes and is so lovely and involved with all the kids; like a perfect kindergarten teacher. And the other one is one of the ones we call the old Battle Axe. Perennially grumpy, bossy, old-fashioned bingo-lady. So we say that we brought cake and ice cream for all the kids for Mena’s birthday, and the ol’ bitch gets all in a flap and says she must check with the doctor and that she doesn’t think we can serve it to them. Natasha’s eyes flicker just almost imperceptibly because she’s as disgusted as we are, and she flaps out of the room and down the dark hallway to have a medical conference on birthday cake. A few minutes later we can hear her hooves clicking back down the hall towards us and she comes in and says it will be impossible to give the children any birthday cake, as who knows where it has come from or what ingredients it may contain… like we might want to poison our own child. I say to Natasha, jeez, we have the grocery store label off the bloody box, but we know it’s no use. Well we weren’t going to leave it all there for the witch to carry off on her broomstick later to serve to her own family, so Oisin said he was taking it back to the car. When he came back, we just handed out all the crayons to the kids, and presented Mena the birthday girl with her deelie-boppers and magic wand as the other kids clapped and freaked out. Then we gave her the necklace & bracelet with the unicorn which she liked, but she didn’t want anything around her neck, so she just admired it instead. And then excitedly, I slowly pulled the bunny out from behind my back and presented it to her. It’s a really beautiful stuffed animal- part of the World Wildlife collection that a portion goes to the fund for endangered animals- very life-like and beautifully proportioned but soft and cuddly. She took one look at it and drew back horrified. She was scared of it! So we both were all, “No no! Bunny is cuuuuute! Bunny is niiiiiiiiiice!” and wiggled him like he was going to give her a kiss on the cheek except she smacked him a million times to get the hell away from her!

So we really fell down the rabbit hole for this Merry Unbirthday, just like the song in Alice in Wonderland. It sort of was the 4th birthday that wasn’t. Oh dear. I think we’re going to have another proper party when we come home this time with cake and balloons and real party stuff. Natasha was so sweet, she bought her a little drawing board with the magnetic dust inside that you draw with a magnet pen and then swoosh the thing from side to side to erase it. That was a huge hit with Mena, thank g-d. At least the kid got one present she liked, LOL!

The rest of the kids drew pictures on paper that (get this!) the old Battle Axe CUT IN HALF so they didn’t even have a full sheet to themselves because I guess it’s still Soviet times where we have to ration ourselves to half a picture when we can see a stack of paper on her desk in the corner. The kids were so pleased to have their own boxes of crayons! That was really fun to watch them all drawing, and we scootched around on the miniature chairs giving everybody a thumbs up on their beautiful artwork. And then we hear, “Marishka!” barked out loud, and some urgent sounding orders from the crayon Gestapo, and she goes over and forces Mena to use her right hand instead of her left one. I thought Oisin was going to belt her one. But he’s so restrained and cool and good in situations like this; he just quietly sat down beside Mena blocking the ol’ Bitch’s viewpoint and gave Mena back her crayon in her left hand.
They wanted to wind the kids down after all the excitement, so the 3 of us moved into the little room off the playroom so we could visit and play together on our own. Mena loves our iPhones and each time we pull one out to take a picture she is fascinated by all the things they do. So I wanted to show her that they could play music and show pictures at the same time and I put on a Robbie Williams video as all of us cuddled on the couch. I couldn’t resist this next part- Oisin gets so annoyed when I joke that Robbie is my “free pass” and that one day if he looks over and sees all my clothes are gone from the closet, it’s because I’ve run off with him, LOL. While the video is playing and he’s looking so fine, I say to Mena, “See? This is your *other* Daddy! It’s Robbie!” and Oisin’s face was so hysterical- his lips were a tight, white line and his eyes stared straight ahead in dead shock and sI nearly died from trying to hold in my laughter and I knew he wanted to swat me on the arm so, so bad, but couldn’t because You Can’t Hit Mommy. LOLOLOL! Oh, if I could have that moment back, I so would just for a photograph, I’ve known him for 13 years and I’ve never seen him make that face in my life. Hilarious!
I have a good story about court, but I’ll save it for tomorrow’s post instead. In any case, everything went perfectly and we’re on the home stretch now, peeps. I should be home in 3 weeks (as it turns out we can’t proceed any further with passports and the birth cert until the 10 days go by) if nothing else gets delayed. So we’ll keep you all posted on a date of a proper homecoming party most likely in December which we’ll do instead of our traditional “Hannamas” booze-up that we do at our place every year. Cake and ice cream guaranteed!
(And here’s a link to an Oliver Stone length home movie of Mena and the other kids just fooling around with crayons etc. Nothing really happens in it, it’s probably only interesting to the grandparents or die-hard family members. Don’t feel guilty if you can’t watch more than 30 seconds of it.)
***The internet connection keeps crashing- check back for the video link later. I can’t upload it to YouTube in time between the crashes. I’m ready to scream!***

Soon, Grasshopper!

Court in two days!

Mena’s birthday tomorrow!

It just occurred to me this morning that for the rest of our lives, Mena’s birthday will sort of be a 2-day affair: we’ll always be celebrating our family’s “Gotcha Day!” on the 27th and her birthday on the 26th. That’s kind of neat. Double celebrations are sort of par for the course in our family- my own birthday and my Dad’s are two days in a row, and Father’s Day and my sister’s birthday have always been clumped together too. Why stop now!

The only thing I am kind of bummed about is that I won’t be able to ask Mena what kind of cake she wants this year, so I can bake it. My Mom always did this for our birthdays, and truth be told, even as a little kid, this choice was even more exciting than the presents- imagine! Somebody is asking you what *you* want like a grown up, and poof! It appears exactly how you wanted it! I don’t mean just cake flavours either, it was an entirely decorated edible universe. I remember the “baby cake” best- it was a year when a particular little collection of plastic funny baby figurines was so popular at school; the name of the toy escapes me now, but they smelled softly of baby powder and they were all doing funny things like sucking on a big toe, doing a handstand, lying down with a cute little bum up in the air. My Mom made an entire cake that had a bunch of the babies all doing funny things all over it, and she went to either a toy store or a cake decorating supply shop and got little baby shower accessories like miniature bottles the size of a fingernail and teeny plastic teddy bears and used them also on the cake to round out the tableaux. It was such a hit, all my friends were so excited to have a piece and it was agreed that I had the Coolest Mom Ever. LOL! I knew this would be a tradition I would repeat with my own kids, so having to go to a bakery to buy a store-bought cake is a bit of a let down. I was thinking I could try to find some little plastic “konig” (horse) toys to stick into the icing, but I haven’t seen any the right size here, and it’s almost impossible to shop for anything anyways, with the jumble sale effect in shops as previously mentioned. Mena seems to have that ingrained thing about ponies where she wants to brush their hair, and she finds them fascinating. Again like with the lipstick, I don’t know where this comes from- it’s not like they have lots of little pony dolls at the orphanage, and ditto for beauty routines that could be spied on with the adult ladies. And no TV commercials or cereal boxes for outside influences either. It’s weird. But cute. Ha, the other thing is I think I’m already turning into Geek Mom in like, the record-breaking span of less than 2 weeks- she’s already getting sick of me blabbing on about konigs and it looks like “I’ve been told”. Once we glommed on to this identifiable word, we point them out all excited whenever we see them; if there is a picture of a princess and a konig in her colouring book, then Mom’s Excited Voice comes out and, “We should colour the picture! Oooooh Mena, should we colour this one? Hey? Should we colour the pretty konig? Mena? Yes? Yipppppeeee for the pretty konig! Lookie-look-look!” Etc.

The last time we visited, I was about to reach for the tiny konig on the shelf like I always do with Excited Voice, and glancing at me with both a sense of pity and slight disdain like I was a simpleton she had the misfortune in being shackled to for the endless responsibility to entertain- she wordlessly waved her hand at it in disgust, (like a miniature John Cleeves a la Basil Fawlty no less!) as if she just couldn’t take any more of my village-idiot blathering on about a stupid plastic horse. Ouch.

Yesterday Ois was feeling like crap so he stayed back while I went to visit Mena on my own. Neither of us can seem to shake this cold we’ve caught. It seems like just when the sinuses are finally empty, we catch some new mutant variant of it again and almost instantly, we’re back coughing again and full of snot. I think it’s the orphanage kids who are doing it to us. Somebody always seems to have a sniffly nose in there and with all the hugging we’re doing and what-not, it’s no wonder we can’t get rid of it. So I did the usual routine: collect Mena from her playgroup, go upstairs to the big blue toy room, sit down on the couch and take off my jacket as she does her excited little dance around my purse on the floor because she knows I have goodies inside, then I scoop her up onto my lap like a baby for the feeding of treats which is what all the attachment books say to do. Treats involving anything to do with sucking are best, FYI, because the primitive brain makes the immediate connective link with eating/sucking with the comfort of a parent. So juice boxes are good, sucking lollipops, anything like that. We’ve been doing those tiny kid-type yogurt drinks followed by a cookie. Then when the snack is done, it’s Mena-directed playtime: whatever she wants to play with from the shelves we do. Usually it’s drawing pictures or a page in a colouring book, followed by the game Ois invented of “hide-the-pachenka” (cookie) where she plops down a bunch of tiny, plastic doll furniture and he shoves bits of cookie in any of the parts that open like the little drawers or in the tiny fridge, or the baby bed, and then Mena finds them and eats them. Then we might play with the lipstick and mirror and all of that- until she says she’d like to play outside if her other little friends are out there. So this is what we did yesterday.

I had brought my iPhone as usual, and because Mena loves to dance, I put it on and we danced a bit to Amy Winehouse. Any mistake I may have made with the konig was forgiven by the addition of having the magic powers of making music play out of nowhere (or my pocket) and my Mom Coolness was restored, thank G-d. So we went outside and I was like fresh blood in the water to a bunch of orphanage sharks who all encircled me within 15 seconds wanting to know where the music was coming from. The other caretaker ladies were laughing at this helpless spectacle in front of them- kids stuck to my various limbs like Ukrainian velcro. Then I got the idea of making everyone hold hands in a circle with me, and we all swayed and danced on the sidewalk declaring defiantly that they tried to make us go to rehab but we said no, no, no! More kids came to see what was going on and I added their little hands and our circle got bigger and bigger, then I showed them how to twist low to the ground, then come back up again while the ladies shouted “Americano dancing!” and the kids copied me in peals of laughter. It was the most fun so far I’ve had at the orphanage, and I wish I could have videotaped it- all the little smiling faces and shining eyes and pink cheeks out in the chilly October afternoon with the almost neon yellow leaves from the chestnut trees crunching under our feet as we all danced. Another memory forever.

Here are some of my buddies:

I don’t want to give out any identifying information on the kids, so no names. The one thing they all have in common though is that no matter how deeply sad some of them are in their eyes, (especially Miss Leopard Hat, who is smiling here for the first nanosecond in the weeks we’ve seen her) the moment they know somebody is going to take their picture it’s like an exciting permanent record in time for proof that they are here, they exist, and they matter.

It’s really not just a photograph of something going on that they want to carelessly record for the fun of clowning around with friends and being a little star in the spotlight for a few brief seconds. It’s not a birthday party, or goofing around in the yard, or opening a pile of presents that will be looked back upon years later in a photo album when childhood is long gone. They know they’ll never see these pictures again, much less printed out to be looked at over and over. Maybe that makes it more of a kick in the stomach that you can clearly see that there’s something much more serious going on in their minds and it visibly transforms their faces as they come into focus through the viewfinder: “I am here. I am really here. You can see me. Nobody can forget.”

So I stand behind the camera with my throat buzzing like it’s full of bees and I’m grateful that nobody can see my quickly blurring single eye and I hold my breath and I have faith… and then I just press “click”.

Almost 8 Weeks

So this Sunday/Monday will make it 8 weeks that we’ve been in Ukraine. Holy Moses, it feels like forever and also it feels like in some ways it’s flown by. The countdown is now on to come home- court is next Weds 27th, Mena’s 4th birthday is Tues 26th. Oisin will be sticking with the original return date on his ticket, which will be home on Nov 1st. The plan is for me to have power of attorney for the last couple of weeks here to finish all the loose ends while he returns home on paternity leave, and then Mena & I will fly home on our own when everything is done.

This rural farmhousey-thing…. achh, I dunno that it’s working out so good. I hate to be a complainer, but I think by the time we leave, I am going to be well ready to be in my own house and in my own bed. Last night we moved into a room upstairs, because the lady said it was “super super!” rather than remain in the only room on the main floor that was huge. I have no idea why she thought upstairs was super- we’re right beside an older Italian couple and I don’t know who the hell is snoring in there, but they may as well been in bed with us for all the sleep we both got. We assumed it was the man, but who knows- the way that lady talks with such a deep gravelly voice, it could have been her for all we know. And the bed! I cracked one eye open this morning and said to Oisin that is was like sleeping in a shoebox lined with newspaper for a dead pet. Dudes, the charm is sooo beginning to wear thin. So here’s a little list of stuff I am sick off, and will not miss when we’re back in Canada:

1. I’m sick of what are essentially crepe paper birthday streamers made of newsprint masquerading as toilet paper. You think I’m being funny, but I’m telling you that’s exactly what the “economy” version of toilet paper is here. Exactly that wide, exactly that thin. Damn, I’ve seen better packing paper from Chinese factories when they send over samples of goods for review before export. A wet hand every time, folks.

2. No more toothpaste in “interesting” flavours like chamomile or chili pepper. I’ll stick with the Crest, pls thx.

3. No more tea in restaurants that tastes like it’s been stored in a mildewy basement for 10 years before it ends up in your cup. Hot basement juice, anyone?

4. No more weird stores where everything looks like a flea market/jumble sale. It’s sensory overload- when I look for something, I can’t focus on a bunch of random stuff all piled together on a table- it’s easier on the eyes and brain when like things are clumped together. Marketing 101! Put all the boots together. Put all the pillows together. Put all the geometry sets together. Don’t show me blenders and erasers and a calendar with kittens on it and eyeliners and hubcaps and mittens and sets of screwdrivers! Jesus, it’s like Canadian Tire was under a natural gas reserve and exploded as far as the eye can see! How do you know where to go to buy anything specific? And better yet, how on earth would you ever instruct a MAN to go to the store to get something? You’d say goodbye at 9am  and you’d be lucky if he returned 12 hours later! Wait a minute. Maybe this is the master plan to get all the husbands out of the collective hair. On second thought, they could be on to something, here…

5. No more sending blood in DRINKING THERMOSES on TRAINS in the lap of the CONDUCTOR for 14 HOURS like he’s driving with a SLURPEE between his legs after having to buy the glass vial and needle YOURSELF. That may just win the All-Time Weird Award. No, forget it. It DOES win the All-Time Weird Award. Period!

6. I will not miss the generic gamey beef & onion filling that shows up like a lingering pervert in a raincoat at virtually every meal somehow. Remember the Simpson’s episode where they show the octopus-like conveyer belts all coming out from a big single vat of bubbling crap in the basement under the food court to all the mall restaurants? Yes? Like that.

7. No more fucking Nescafe.

8. No more fucking Nescafe.

9. Did I mention no more fucking Nescafe?

10. Kopec and Grivna confusion. This is a good country for rappers who like to flash around piles of cash. You can literally sleep on a mattress completely stuffed with money, and if you exchanged it all, you’d probably come out with about $4.00. Canadians can no longer complain about having their pockets stuffed with change- come to Ukraine and start having to count out 1/80th of a penny for shits and giggles when you are at a shop! On the upside, we’ll have a lot more tokens the next time we decide to play poker!

Movin’ in Mukachevo

We’ve been offline because we have moved… again. We’ve left the hotel in Mukachevo, and now we are about 25mins outside the city limits in a rural area in the Carpathian Mountains- there’s a name here, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is.

We moved mainly because- well, actually, I’m not sure. We went to see this place because Vladimir our driver knew about it, it’s actually within walking distance of another orphanage and it’s in a very pretty place. It’s the same price as the hotel, was but it has a washing machine which is the main draw. It also has a kitchen in the basement, so we can cook our own meals, though eating in restaurants is cheaper sometimes if you know where to go.

Funny enough, the only Ukrainian adoption blog I have read pretty faithfully was from a North Carolina couple who adopted a little girl named Pavlina. When we arrived here at the house, the owner showed us a guestbook where people had written a bit about themselves and their experiences in the area, and lo and behold we are staying in exactly the same place as the other family from the blog! Out of all the places in the entire country- here we are. I liked their blog because they also had double cats and had a similar sense of humour as Ois & I, and were on the same roller coaster adoption ride. I’ll have to give a link later in this post so if you want to read about their experiences, you can.

The main problem with being here is the lack of internet- when we originally came to check out the place, we were told it worked, but not for the certain type of 3G network we have. There is a guy coming in 3 days or so to sort it all out though, so hopefully it will be up and running. In any case, we’re now in a very large rural home, one half of it the family lives in, the other half is intended for guests. It is beautiful being out in this area- the trees are all aflame in colour, and truthfully, it looks a lot like Vermont with the rolling hills and greenery and pretty houses dotting the mountains. So we’ll have to hopefully upload blog entries and check Facebook in town if we can get to an internet café after visiting Mena. Vladimir-the-sweetheart (as he’ll now be known) has made a deal with us for $20 a day to drive us the 30mins into town, he waits at the orphanage while we visit Mena for a couple of hours, and then he drives us the 30mins back again. Sometimes we’ll go twice a day, other times once- for the same rate. As I keep saying, I don’t know how we managed to have horseshoes up both of our arses for meeting such lovely, good-hearted people who somehow save our hides like this everywhere we go, but we do.

Anyhow, Mena stories: Today was raining and there was lightening in the grey skies as we arrived at the orphanage. Each day we’ve made the same routine- we arrive at about 4pm, and we enter Mena’s playgroup/classroom where all the little kids are, and they freak out en masse. Everybody wants a hug and a cuddle- one little boy and girl in particular. The little boy looks like he is Roma (Gypsy) and his back is very stiff, and he is very delayed. He definitely has a major disability of some sort yet he is just a ray of sunshine and I love him to bits! He is always giggling and smiling, and when I pick him up for hugs and kisses and cuddles, he arches his back and grins and laughs at the ceiling. You can feel his entire body melt into you with affection and pure happiness, his dark eyes sparkling. He is just the sweetest little guy! Another little girl with sandy hair and brown eyes is the same way- she is such a pretty little girl, full of energy and joy, and she is aching to be picked up and cuddled. The interesting thing is Mena’s reaction in all of this; Ois is worried that the other little ones will think we are adopting them too, but I know this isn’t the case. The caretakers explain to the kids what is going on, and which child has the Mama & Papa. Mena doesn’t get upset or envious, and she doesn’t want to jump into our arms to prevent someone else getting cuddles. She is a very astute and bright little girl, and though she is attaching to us for certain, she is not threatened when we hug or cuddle her little friends. She seems to understand we will be her “forever” Mommy & Daddy, so it’s OK to give attention to the other children too. It’s so hard to switch off your emotions to the other children, and just focus on leaving with your daughter when it’s time for us to head back to our hotel. It is just so unfair that those other children are stuck there without permanent families and when I’m looking at the ceiling at night, I don’t know whether I want to cry or scream. They are ALL gorgeous. They ALL deserve to be wanted and loved forever. And there are so many people in this world who could provide a loving family to them- but they are prevented either by personal finances or government bureaucracy, or getting time off work- or any other thing or a combination of all of them. And even though the road to international adoption is full of bumps and potholes and hairpin turns, I have to admit I’m already thinking about what it would be like to do it again.

We’re in the basement kitchen as I’m writing this, there is another older couple from Italy who has just come downstairs and are preparing their supper. They’ve put out placemats and have polished their cutlery (dollar store, people- dollar store!) and have put out paper towel napkins and a bottle of wine. I can’t help but think that they think we are Americano animals, having eaten our roast pork chunks with potatoes and onions and cabbage rolls pretty much in thoughtful silence- straight off the old Corningware plates and plastic table cloth, no placemats in sight- and having bits of cut meat fly off the slippery plates and into laps, and mashing fresh peppercorns primitively against a plate with the back of a spoon- ha! Oh well, whatcha gonna do, eh? I love the creativity that comes into play when there is a language barrier. I think it makes the world and people so interesting, and it’s almost the part about travelling that I love best. Anna, the lady who owns the house with her husband, had to call a neighbor next door who speaks English to tell us that we can move to an upstairs bedroom as planned this evening. And this morning I would have been lost without my little “Point It!” book which made it possible to communicate with Sveta, Anna’s 12-ish year old daughter that we needed towels. I will also give a link to the book at the end of this post: we’ve used it whenever we’ve been someplace where you just can’t communicate or figure out how to say something like, “I want a room please with a sitting-down toilet, and please no goats for supper.” It is the greatest picture dictionary for travelling ever- with over 1300 items clumped together intelligently to help grease the wheels of international sign language. It’s a God-send.

With that being said, it’s time to lug all our stuff up to our new bedroom. It’s 8:15pm and we are like senior citizens with nothing to do. We’d go for a walk but it’s raining and it’s pitch black in the country. So I guess it will be more Ukrainian MTV and books downloaded onto the iPhones until we go to sleep. Tomorrow we’re going to visit Mena twice: once in the morning and then in the afternoon. It’s her 4th birthday on Oct 26th, so I’m going to find out if it will be permitted to bring a cake for all the kids to share- I have the million boxes of crayons I bought for 25 cents each at Target before we left, so all the kids will get a present too. And I am hoping that I will be able to find some party hats and some balloons someplace in Mukachevo so we can really mark the occasion in style. We want to make it a fun afternoon for everyone- and have all the kids feel excited and loved and important, even if it’s only for one afternoon.

Point-It: The best picture dictionary for travellers, ever!http://www.amazon.com/Point-Travellers-Language-Dieter-Graf/dp/3980313026

Leslie, Crawford & Pavlina’s Ukrainian Adoption Blog: http://leslieandcrawford.blogspot.com/2010_09_01_archive.html

Update #2

It’s 1pm Kiev time, and Natasha has just told us we have our court date! It’s Oct 27th, one day after Mena’s 4th birthday. This is such good news- we were bracing ourselves for the thought of being here for another month, having to sleep in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere!

So here’s how it goes: Court in 8 days. Then after the decree is made (and please G-d, it goes in our favour) we have to wait 10 days for it to go into effect. If 10 days go by and nobody contests the adoption (family doesn’t magically turn up out of the woodwork) then Mena will officially be our daughter forever!

Now we are at 18 days. Then we go back to Kiev with Mena, and tie up all the loose ends there with Ukrainian & Canadian Embassy paperwork and passports, the interview with the Canadian immigration officials, another medical I believe, and then we buy her a plane ticket and we fly home for good. It will all be over and the only thing to do from that point will be normal family life. Yippee!

So tentatively speaking, we are looking at being home around Sat Nov 13th if all goes to plan, and I’m not missing any Ukrainian holidays where stuff is shut, we don’t have any last minute hitches, etc. Pray for us! And hopefully we’ll see you all soon!

A Cold, A Lounge Singer and a Bit of Pork Fat

Day 4 of my cold and it’s still a misery. I’m hoping that by this afternoon and drinking some more of that fakey-lemon medicine you put in hot water I’ll be good enough to go visit Mena. I’ve missed her like crazy, and all the pictures Ois takes and the phone call she made yesterday to me isn’t as good as a real visit. It was adorable yesterday afternoon- when Natasha was talking on her cell phone, Mena kept asking, “Mama? Mama?” so Natasha got the idea to call me sick in bed so Mena and I could talk to each other. It was kind of like a parallel conversation between two senior citizens though, as neither of us knew what the other one was saying, so we were just babbling away one-sided, taking turns.

I’ve got no new kid stuff to report, so I’ll tell you about where we are staying instead. I think we are in the “fancy” hotel in the town, which is $25 CNDN a night. It’s nice enough, though very basic. It’s spotlessly clean and the lady downstairs that runs the place loves us, so that’s good. The restaurant is absolutely excellent. Seriously, the food in Mukachevo is miles ahead of Kiev; everything is local and when you order a salad stuff is literally just pulled out of the ground for it, so you can imagine how fresh and delicious it all is. We’ve both eaten so many latkes by now, I can’t even tell you. I’m surprised we don’t need to make more holes in our belts. Ukrainians are just about as BBQ-crazy as Canadians. Last night we ate in the little restaurant and we had shishkabobs grilled over a wood fire that were so delicious, we’ll be thinking about them forever. I’d been wanting to try Salo, which is the beloved national dish here, but nobody else has wanted to try it with me so far- however Natasha loves it, so we ordered some last night finally! It’s basically very thin slices of pure pork fat served with raw garlic cloves. You eat it on black bread with a bit of salt & pepper, slicing the garlic clove up so you get a bite of it with each bite of the bread and salo. Everybody has their way of doing it, and they have a salo festival where people bring all different kinds, like a beer festival. Some brine it with spices, some bake it in the oven, there is a million ways to do it, but it all amounts to thin slices of fat on bread in the end. It also depends of course on what you feed the pig while it’s alive- beets apparently add sweetness, etc etc. In any case, it arrived, white, quivery, translucent almost. The bread was fabulous- tangy and grainy with the genius addition of coriander seeds sprinkled on the crust which added almost a floral touch to the flavour. It wasn’t unlike putting butter on bread, in the sense of the richness of fat spread onto something baked; far less weird than it sounds. It tasted and had a mouthfeel like butter too, creamy, cool, rich, and it had a soft flavour of it’s own- it wasn’t tasteless. With the bracing bite of garlic added in, it was really good in fact. Natasha said it wasn’t the best version she’s ever tried, so when we go back to Kiev she wants to bring me some from the place she buys it for herself- she says it’s the best in her opinion in the entire country and she could live on it.

Everybody in the world here seems to know I’m sick, and I have complete strangers asking about the state of my health as if I have the bubonic plague, and not a simple cold. Everybody has advice for me: drink this, eat that. Stay away from Russian medicines, they’re not as good as Ukrainian brands. Go to my pharmacist- not the one he told you, his pharmacist is an idiot and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Put this goo inside your nose, put this cream on your chest, drink this herbal tea at 2 o’clock if it’s raining and you dreamed of pink llamas the night before. All of a sudden I have 50 honourary Babas all fussing and wanting to take care of me, it would nearly be easier just to roll over and die so you could get a little peace and quiet!

I’ll tell you what I’d like to do though- I’d really like to have a hot bath. We have a peculiar little bathroom here, it’s very, er- compact. When you sit on the john, your chin is precisely level with the sink that clearly was intended for the 7 dwarfs. It’s about the size of a dinner plate, and the piping goes straight down so you can see all the treasure people have lost down there- most notable is a toothbrush, perfectly vertical. It’s kind of like those novelty beer glasses that have an eyeball in the bottom, so when you finish your drink there it is staring back at you. Each time I lean over to brush my teeth it’s there looking back at me. The shower is also a source of amusement. I was on the can the other day thinking about what the difference is that makes us accept something or get annoyed with it- where that line in the sand stands and why. I was looking at the two random pipes that protrude up out of the shower floor like a duo of turtle heads, and I was thinking about that if any builders would have did that in my bathroom, I would have freaked out. Yet if you saw the same thing in an outdoor shower at a public beach, you probably wouldn’t care less. Why is that? It’s equally as bad, right? Anyhow, that’s like a lot of stuff here- odd little things that seem to be perfectly acceptable, but leave you scratching your head. The showerhead is the same story. Remember that Seinfeld episode where Elaine & Kramer have flat hair because of the low-flow showerhead? That’s me. We have precisely about 3 minutes of lukewarm water that progressively gets colder and colder until you can’t stand it and you have to jump out. I’m pretty sure I have about a week’s worth of conditioner build-up in my hair by now; the water pressure is like a dehydrated 80 year old man with a prostate blockage piddling on your head. None of this is worth even mentioning to the lady that runs the hotel though- I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like she can magically do anything. So there is no point in whining about it. We’re just happy to have some hot water in the first place.

The funniest thing by a mile though is the nightly “entertainment” in the fancy hotel restaurant. They have 2 here: the restaurant with all the taxidermy animals and the indoor fish pond where the poor goldfish swim through a bunch of dirty coins and the pair of budgies that probably have lung cancer from second-hand smoke (this is the “casual” restaurant) and then the other one with the insane curtains layered over the windows like it’s Buckingham Palace and each place setting has 3 or 4 wine glasses that are all instantly removed as soon as you sit down as if they all have little holes in the bottom and are only for show. The elaborate centerpieces from the dollar store are tall enough that you have to crane your head around to see your fellow diners at the same table- it’s like a Ukrainian Liberace manages the place from beyond the grave! At night, they make the waiters get up behind a 1980’s Casio electric keyboard and sing Scorpions cover songs for your dining pleasure- OMG it’s a hoot! On Friday though I think they got their special singer in to kick off the weekend. He was about 6’4” in a white jacket, burgundy shirt and black pants; stocky as if he pushes an ox-cart by day, and he looked like he had a raccoon on his head. He was just given’ er as he belted out a broken English version of Lady In Red as he sang higher and higher until the sound cut out into feedback. It was magic! Like a cabaret act from Phoenix Nights! All we were missing at that point was Johnny Vegas drinking beer from a flower vase in his wheelchair! Natasha, Oisin and I were nearly crying with laughter. We should have been paying *him*.

Anyhow, it’s time to brave the will-I-or-won’t-I have-hot-water shower, and then we’ll wander into the town center for a cup of coffee before we leave to go visit Mena. Oh, and more good news: her bloodwork came back from Kiev, and she is negative for any scary stuff like HepC and HIV, etc. We weren’t really worried about it, but it’s still good to have that confirmation. We didn’t get a court date yesterday, so hopefully it will come today. Then our plan is to move just outside the city limits to a house-share in a rural area. We went to see it the other day and it was really nice. The main attraction is that it has a washing machine. If we don’t get there soon, we’ll have to start turning the underwear inside-out, LOL. Actually, Vladimir our driver is such a sweetheart, he told us to bag up our clothes last night and he drove down from his house with his wife to pick them up- she is insisting she wash them for us to help us out and refuses to take a penny- which we will not hear of. The lady at the hotel here told Natasha that she would do them, but she would charge $2.00 USD per item! Natasha started laughing at that and told her she was out of her mind. Vladimir feels so bad for us, that he is also “forgetting” to charge us for some taxi rides and for times he has to wait for us- like when Natasha needs to run in someplace to get a signature on a document and it takes 30 minutes. I just can’t tell you how nice people are, and how much they go out of their way to help. It feels like I’m in Winnipeg again. For all the ups & downs we’ve had while we’ve been here, none of it has ever had anything to do with people-things. It’s all been bureaucracy type stuff. Out of all the places I have ever travelled in my life, I have to say Ukraine has been the warmest, nicest, and kindest in terms of people.

A Week Ago, Today…

… we were thinking about our 3rd appt, and praying it would go well the next day. What a difference a week can make! Here we are, in a truly beautiful town, with beautiful fall weather, and we have our beautiful daughter. Amazing.

I have gone and caught myself a cold, though. I don’t even remember the last time I was sick but here I am stuffed up with a sore throat and tonsils the size of golf balls. I haven’t been able to visit Mena in 2 days now, which is the only thing that I look forward to as if it’s my birthday every day. I’m scared she’s going to forget me- or worse- think I’m like the other people who just disappeared. Ois has gone to see her though and today we had the brainstorm to record a little video on the iPhone so I could wave hello and blow her kisses. She loves the iPhone, I fear we’re going to have a gadget girl in the house on top of Oisin; she totally understands that when you tap a button on screen something happens, and when she looks at pictures she doesn’t just randomly smack the screen but she understands if you swoosh one direction you see say, photos of the cats at home and when you swoosh the other direction it’s photos of her and us. And she really freaks out when you switch around the camera so you can take a picture of yourself like a mirror. This is the greatest thing ever!

Yesterday when Ois visited, all the kids were playing outside because it was nice out. They were eating walnuts and a lady came with a big pail of cookies, so they all lined up and were able to each eat a few. Big excitement. There are a few older children (5-9) in the orphanage, although we’ve never seen them until now. Ois saw a few little girls and they know exactly why he is there, and they know that Mena will be going home to live with us. It’s a pretty sad thing for the kids that understand. Natasha was there with Oisin, and she told him about a conversation she overheard one of the little ones having with Mena. A little girl asked her how she was so lucky that she got to pick a Daddy, and Mena replied, “I didn’t choose my Daddy. He chose me.”

To be chosen and wanted by somebody. It would break your heart.

I wish that the idiots who make up these laws that keep these kids in limbo between the national system and the international one would just get out of their offices, and put a train ticket on their expense accounts and come and see for themselves what their political ideology really means for the children in state care. The human cost for their national pride is unnecessary human misery- so many people want to adopt these children, yet they are prevented at every turn by the Ukrainian government and the inbred corruption within the system that is supposed to protect their children.

I also am beginning to wish that we would have done a homestudy for 2 kids, now. It wouldn’t have cost practically anything more aside from photocopied documents and a bit extra for double medical stuff- and if you are going to be home with one kid, a second one wouldn’t be a gigantic life change in as much as going from no children to having one child. The kids at Mena’s orphanage are all so sweet, to think that over 90% of them will end up on the streets after age 16 and then into prostitution, the drug trade, or dead as a suicide before 20 makes me have to shut my brain off, or I’d be a useless mess the entire time I’m here. I’ve never felt so lucky, yet so unhappy all at the same time.

Anyhow, tomorrow Natasha will find out who will be our judge at our court hearing, and she may even be told a date. Mukachevo apparently is the first town in all of Ukraine to try a new computer system where you are given a judge for your case- before you could talk to somebody and request a judge that was available ASAP so you could get the first available opening. So Natasha says she has no idea when our date could be- it could be in 2 weeks, it could be in a month., or even longer. (Please G-d, let it be less than 2 weeks… anytime this week would be great, actually.) The only thing we *do* know is that Oisin can’t get any paternity leave money until we have a court decree for the adoption, and that is a financial crisis for us. We both have to be in court. But right after he will be flying home to go back to work while I stay here until the judgment comes into effect, and then to do all the legal documentation to tie it all up, plus passports, new birth certificate, etc etc. So it will be me and Mena on our own in Kiev once again. I’m excited at the thought of waking up in my own house, being able to make my own coffee in my pyjamas in my own kitchen, have 10 baths a day if I want to with all the hot water I want, and not to be at somebody’s beck and call for my own kid. Today, that is my idea of heaven.

Second Mena Day

Yesterday I left off at the fact that we needed to do bloodwork for Mena. This is along one, so grab a coffee.

The previous couple had Mena/Marika examined by a doctor who worked with the Canadian embassy, and also paid for a psychologist to come and do a profile on her. Although Xenia wasn’t really meant to talk about either of these things, she did, and we were so grateful. She even got their contact details so we were able to discuss what the doctor found out over the phone; which was that she was healthy as could be though very small for her age as most kids in orphanages are, and she had the typical minor speech delays that you would also expect with children in state care.

Now when people hear the terminology “delays” they are apt to get very worried especially if you don’t get the context of what it all means. What it *doesn’t* mean is a child who is a drooling mess who can’t make their mouths form sounds, etc. Nor does it mean any kind of mental or physical handicap. All it does mean is that looked at age for age, a child in an orphanage will be a bit behind a typical kid who has had one-on-one attention from birth from a parent. So instead of a kid who is age four according to a calendar with all the skills of a typical four year old, perhaps the child is more developmentally similar to a child who is three with all the skills of a three year old. We all know that kids do things to their own timeline anyways- some kids walk at one, other kids don’t walk till closer to two but at one perhaps they talk more instead. It is really no big deal and nothing to afraid of when you adopt because it only makes sense given the situation. They say to figure on a one month delay to every three months a child has spent in an orphanage as a basic guideline. And then when they join a family and get that care and deep attention from parents and siblings, they catch up very quickly with the immersion into a “normal” home.

Mena is already shockingly bright- we know that, and it’s not just new parent pride. She is able to express lots of her own ideas and thought and opinions, and she does it in a very detailed and unusual way. She talks non-stop and she notices everything in her world, to our delight. In the span of a grand total of 2 day’s worth of visits (about 8 hours or so) she completely stunned us by already learning a few English words and concepts. Yesterday afternoon was a great visit after the stupid blood test, they were short on orphanage staff so we were able to take her outside and play with her supervised only now and then from a window. So without any Ukrainian interference, her first proper word was spoken and learned: “Up!”

They have some super tall grape vines in the yard, and we were playing under them. She was dying to get at the grapes yesterday because she wanted to eat them- big, fat, purple concord grapes. Who wouldn’t? Oisin kept lifting her up and she would squeal and kill herself laughing as she tried to reach for them. Without really intending on making it a lesson so to speak, each time we’d lift her in the air we’d yell “up!” and then we’d put her back down on her feet again. In practically zero time, she figured out exactly what “up” meant and she began to ask to be lifted in the air. So we made a happy fuss with tons of cuddles and kisses and her little blue eyes were just shining with elation. It was so, so cool. This is actually my favourite picture of her so far out of all the ones we’ve taken:

After playing outside for a couple of hours, we went in. The rest of her playgroup was in their room with one of the caretakers… who was watching her “stories” on TV while all the other little kids sat in silent, perfectly behaved boredom on the rug in front of her. When we came in, all the little eyes were on us and lots of smiles- the day before in the afternoon just before we left Ois was making funny faces at the kids where you take your fingers and put your hands upsidedown against your face to make a little mask and they were freaking out with laughter as he pretended to jump to begin chasing them. Clearly, this was the greatest thing in the natural world ever, some Irish guy making goblin noises like he was about to eat them all alive. One of the little boys actually had figured out how to do it, so when we came into the room he was so excited to show us! The soap opera caretaker left the room and of course all happy hell broke loose as it should- lots of giggling and jumping around. It was great!

I forgot to mention something so happy and sad and kind of profound though, when we first came back in the afternoon to collect Mena after the morning’s hospital stuff. As mentioned, yesterday she really wanted grapes, but the ones out side on the vine were not really suitable for eating anymore, so we asked Natasha to tell her that we promised to bring her some grapes the next day. So when we came into the room yesterday, I had a big bag full of them in my purse. Just seeing that we actually came back made Mena’s face light up like a million watt bulb and she came running to us for cuddles. We asked if we could give her some grapes and the lady said yes, so then we asked if we could give all the kids grapes (they seem to be a bit funny with the food in the orphanage, like they are constantly worried about mass diarrhea or something) so now she couldn’t say no. I washed them and put them on a dish, and here is the part that utterly broke my heart. Even though there were about a dozen little 3-4 year olds who see fruit as a treat like very Christmas and birthday rolled up into one, all of the kids shared so peacefully and kindly- there was not a single push or a shove, nor were any grapes stuffed into mouths quickly so more could be eaten. Their faces were just so radiant with pure, pure happiness and they were all so careful that each other all had some to enjoy, and they were eaten one by one and savoured like they were jewels. All the things we spoiled North Americans just take for granted- that if your grapes go bad in the fridge because you decided maybe you didn’t want them all after you bought them, or your kids could care less about fruit and would secretly toss it out at school so they wouldn’t have to eat it (I can remember kids in my class doing this in grade six in Mrs. Rebeck’s class, till she found out and then put an empty fruit bowl on her desk so whoever didn’t want their fruit could leave it in case another child was hungry and could take it instead). And then it was just watching the kids have such beautiful manners as they cared for each other to make sure every person around the table could share the bliss equally of having some fresh grapes. That sight will stay with me forever. They were like little fish in a feeding frenzy and soon the little branch was naked and picked clean and only happy faces remained.

But now about this morning and the blood test. We arrived at the orphanage at 8:25 sharp to pick up Mena and the Assistant Director who would accompany us to the hospital. But before I get to that, first some plain weirdness. The day before we were asked if we wanted to have the test done in Mukachevo, or Kiev. Mukachevo would be free, but we’d wait for results for at anywhere between 10-18 days, and because all of the equipment was older, the test could be less precise. Kiev would do it and have results back to us in 2 days, but it would cost $100 USD. Xenia was phoned and asked what she thought, and she replied she would rather have it sent to Kiev, so that is what we chose to do. But wait- listen to how it had to get done. So, because this is a small town and it’s not exactly like you can just FedEx stuff around willy-nilly, Natasha actually had to run around looking for a THERMOS because we had to buy our own medical equipment (a vial, a needle!) and then after having the blood drawn she had to put it in a thermos, wrap it in a plastic bag and run to the train station where she gave it to a train conductor so he could hand it off to Xenia or a staff member there who would take it to the blood clinic! Like, BLOOD samples, a potential BIOHAZARD, in a drinking thermos, sat in a seat beside a train conductor for 14 hours like his first mate, all the way to Kiev. We didn’t even know what to say to all of that, so we just said nothing.

When we entered the orphanage to pick up Mena she was already dressed and waiting and as soon as I came through the door her face just lit up and she came running to me with her arms held up for a hug and I flew towards her and scooped her up and covered her in kisses. The ladies said she was so excited that she was beside herself waiting before we got there. I fell in love all over again. We drove to the hospital with her on my lap looking happily out the window at everything. She had only been in a car a few times in her life so it was pretty exciting for her. Then we got to the hospital and went in. Ugh. It was a dark, basementy-smelling place where more than half the lights were off so they could save on electricity. The floors were all dreary grey linoleum, the walls were a drab peanut colour, and the very few chairs were vomiting up bits of crumbling yellow foam from their cracked vinyl seats. We waited upstairs for 15 minutes, Natasha carrying the weird empty thermos, then we were told to go downstairs. We waited aimlessly downstairs in a hallway stuffed with abandoned office furniture from the 1950’s stacked up in every which direction in the semi-darkness. Natasha was clearly embarrassed. Then we were told to go upstairs again. Then somebody barked at Natasha to go buy a glass vial for the blood sample, and a needle and a giant package of cotton so we could tear off about 2cm worth to cover the needle mark under the bandage for Mena’s arm. Incredible.

Finally we were shooed into the “laboratory” that looked like a cross between a Soviet dentist’s office, the place where a mad scientist would be stitching up random body parts to construct a personal Frankenstein, and a military field hospital. Army green metal machines the size of double Betamax's with random clocks and buttons dotted the room, some sort of sample swirling machine that looked like a replacement part from Chernobyl was in the corner, and long pincers and giant tweezers and clamps and little cardboard boxes with test tubes and what not were positioned on shelves. I don’t know why on earth we had to bring our own glass vial when clearly they had piles of them sitting there- but whatever. Ois was ordered to sit in a barber’s chair by the window with Mena on his lap, and I stood beside him, ready to distract with a little stuffed animal. I was just getting the happy-excited-energetic voice thing warmed up when out of nowhere some big fat battle-axe of a woman clamped a thing on Mena’s arm and stabbed her with a needle the size of a shishkabob skewer. She took about as much care as she was immunizing a farm animal, and was about only half as gentle. Mena screamed and thrashed like she had been betrayed and my heart was in my throat and Oisin was as white as a sheet as he hid her eyes so she couldn’t see the needle in her arm or the blood. It was horrific. Fucking medieval and barbaric and so lacking compassion for a child it was all I could do not to grab the woman by her throat and shake the living daylights out of her- to do that to a dog would have been inhumane- never mind a 3 year old terrified child.

We were both absolutely FURIOUS when it was over, and vowed that would be the beginning, middle and end of medical treatments in Ukraine. From now on, the only doctor that kid is going to see will be one in Canada. I don’t see the point of putting her through any of that for test results that we will only repeat anyways when we get back home, because even with the best intentions, everybody feels most relieved with having medical care of their home country, more so if it happens to be a first-world one.

Then to compound our anger, in the car I asked if we could stop immediately and get Mena something to eat or drink before travelling back to the orphanage. The kid had nothing since supper the night before, and was so hungry she had tears in her eyes. The Assistant Director told us firmly that it would not be possible as the children had to stick to a routine. A routine? Please! Like being stabbed and bled dry in a dirty hospital was in any way a “routine”? All we could do was hold her hand on the drive back in the car while Mena looked out the window silently, avoiding eye contact with either of us. I wanted to cry I was so upset and angry.

Luckily she forgave us by the time we returned after lunch and her naptime, and then we did the grapes and went outside. Once we came back in after all the “up” stuff and the monkey bars we still had an hour left, so we were told we could go back upstairs to the big playroom and continue playing unsupervised. So we did wooden puzzles of animals, and as Mena got each piece correct we kissed and praised her and made such a fuss, she was so proud and delighted with herself. Then she was trying to point to something up on the top shelf- there were a handful of very nice brand new toys in their packages, and clearly there was something up there that she had been aching to get her little mitts on probably for months, so as a final middle finger raised to the day and being bossed around by the director who wouldn’t let her have any food in the car, I lifted her up and let her grab what she wanted. We opened the package of little girlie things- a tiny plastic lipstick, a little plastic hairbrush and hairdryer, a plastic mirror and barrettes and hair curlers- that type of thing. She thought she had died and gone to heaven and began giving Daddy a “special” hairdo unicorn-style, and somehow she knew exactly what to do with the lipstick and put some on all of us, including her teeny stuffed piggy.

It was so cute! The perfect way to end the day. When we said it was time for bye-bye, without any protest or fuss she put all the little toys back into their package, and we stuck it back up on the shelf so it looked unopened. Take that! Mena two, vs. orphanage, one! Game, set and match.

Tally of new English words learned: Up, leaf, eat, lipstick, piggy, chase! (Amazing, hey?)

Meeting Mena

As promised, here is the story of our first day meeting Mena.

It really couldn’t have been more different than visiting the region after our second appt- nevermind a different part of the country, it was a completely different galaxy. On Thursday we arrived in Mukachevo at about 6am and we were picked up by the guy who would be our driver during our stay in the region; a very nice man named Vladimir. He took us to the hotel Natasha booked, and we were ushered into our room by the lady who owned the hotel, messy be-head and all! There we crashed for about an hour and a half, as we had to be at the office of the Regional Inspector for 9am, so it was just enough time to change and freshen up, unlike Edward who literally got us off the train, into a car for 4 hours, and then to meet the inspector and we barely had enough time to brush our teeth- lovely. Natasha as a woman understands the concept of being at your best when making a first impression.

The office of the Regional Inspector was in the town center- a grand 100yr old building that she was obviously very proud of, and she gave us a tour after our meeting with her. We oohed and ahhed over how lovely it was- the hall where the town meetings are held, the pretty courtyard with dozens and dozens of marigold and rosebushes and cobblestones. I think she really loved us. She was a lady in her mid-50’s with poufy blond hair and crystal blue eyes, and she was a good soul, you could instantly tell. We had heard that another Canadian couple had previously visited Mena, began paperwork to adopt her, and then after 3 days of visiting with her left out of the blue without even saying goodbye. Mena was apparently devastated. Even at 3 years old she understood what was going on, and the Inspector was very protective of her. In her office we had a chance to ask about everything in her file- her history, her bio-parents, her siblings (all 14 of them!). The Inspector said to Natasha how impressed she was with us- unlike the other couple who was very clinical and cold, she was taken aback over the fact that we were asking questions with the intention that we would be able to tell her these details when she grew up. I explained that I was trying to put myself in her shoes when gathering information, so I would ask the things I would want to know if I was adopted. We asked if she wanted to see photos of our home and family, and she was so delighted we had taken the time to prepare this, that she called in her secretary to bring us coffee and then she broke out a special box of chocolates from a desk drawer and opened them just for us. It was a really, really nice thing to do and we told her so.

Then it was time to go to the orphanage. As we pulled up, again, it was a night and day difference to the other place: the building was perfectly painted, and piles of flowers lined the walkways. Outside, there was play equipment and fruit trees.

We went inside and the good smell of lunch floated through the air. We climbed the stairs and could hear the sounds of a bunch of little kids singing to a piano and an accordion, one of the orphanage staff said the kids were all rehearsing for a special autumn concert at the end of the month. We had to walk through the room and they were all so adorable, singing and doing a little dance routine as all the little pairs of eyes followed us. We were escorted into a large sunny playroom full of toys, painted bright blue and the Assistant Director met all of us. We sat down on the couches and it was explained to us that after the last disastrous  visit with the other Canadians, that they would not be bringing in Marika (Maria is Mena’s official name but they call her a pet name instead) to meet us, but we would be brought back out to the rehearsal and would watch as the kids performed and the Assistant Director would walk over and gesture towards Mena so we knew which child she was. As it turned out, she didn’t really need to do so- because somehow Mena knew exactly what was going on and as the Assistant Director patted her little head, her eyes were literally like laser beams burning through myself and Oisin. She locked eyes and wouldn’t take them off of us! It was so strange that Oisin and I stared at each other and Natasha said, “Oh my G-d, this is so weird! It’s like she knows!” It was really, really freaky. I’ll never forget that look as long as I live; just fixed and so intense!

We tapped our feet and clapped as the kids did their songs, then we were led back into the playroom and were asked if we wanted to meet her. Of course we said yes, and a minute later Marika was brought in holding the hand of a caretaker. She was just so relaxed and sweet and friendly- full of smiles and chatty. We gave her the beanie-baby kitten we brought and she was just beside herself she was so thrilled. We played with some of the stuffed animals, and we made the kitten come to life and she watched utterly captivated. The Inspector was such a wonderful woman who was really into her job and completely devoted to “her” children, she chattered away to Marika and proudly showed us that she was bright as a little button under the care of her orphanage. She knew her body parts and colours, animals and the sounds they made and she could count. She was just so lovely and playful and we were so grateful to have Natasha there to translate because as it turned out, this kid is *such* a character! She had all the women completely in stitches with what she was saying- we asked what her favourite foods were and she point blank looked at us and declared very dryly, “Well. I *don’t* like meat.” Then when it was time to go, she sighed and said, “Bye-bye. You know I have things to do.” We were absolutely dying laughing.

It was time to leave as the kids were about to have lunch, so we left and were able to come back later in the afternoon to visit. It was a gorgeous day so we got to take her outside to play. She toddled around, showing us the monkey bars and the play equipment as we followed her around. I could see some of the stuff they say in all the adoption books in effect though, which was interesting. Marika was extremely hyper-vigilant, noticing so many things that were even on the outer scope of the horizon that other kids would definitely not notice. But she took it in stride and kept us so entertained. Natasha could barely keep a straight face with some of the stuff she was babbling about, she told us between gasps for air that she sounded like an old woman sometimes! At one point she noticed one of the caretakers looking out the window at us, so Marika waved at her and smiled. The lady waved back. Marika waved again. The lady waved back again. Finally Marika exclaimed loudly, “That woman! I’ve already waved at her! Now go away!” Natasha was just dying laughing.

We had a great visit, but it was time to leave at 6pm. So she gave both Ois and myself kisses and actually called us Mama and Papa as she waved goodbye. We rode back in the car kind of flabbergasted at how things went, and when Natasha asked how we wanted to proceed, we said that we wanted to start the paperwork on the conditions that the blood tests would be clear- this probably sounds completely insane to anyone who hasn’t lived through this international adoption experience- deciding on a lifetime commitment on the drop of a hat, but all I can tell you is that this is pretty much how it is done, especially in the situation with the magic “special files” that appear tailor made to you. We were granted a child who is healthy and was everything we ever wished for in our greatest hopes and dreams. There is no need to wonder about anything more.

Later before bed, admittedly, we did have an hour of pure panic though. Somehow it all seemed too good to be true. So we looked our gift horse in the mouth and spent about an hour googling all the terrible health conditions and rare disorders we could find that we could possibly link to Mena: OMG, was her pinky finger too small? Was her top lip too thin? Maybe she had a rare genetic disorder! We were like a pair of idiots, and then we tired ourselves out and just went to bed. We had to be up at 7am because the following morning we were going to collect blood to do a blood test to be a million percent sure she didn’t test positive for any scary diseases. And that is where I will leave it for tonight: Because this morning was absolutely hell on wheels- and if you ever hear me complain again about the state of hospitals in Quebec, I give you full permission to hit me. Hard.

The Third Time’s a Charm!

Well here’s the news you’ve all been waiting for- and no one more than us. While you peeps were eating your Thanksgiving turkey on Monday, we were being thankful for something very special too…. we are thrilled to report that it’s now officially a girl! This afternoon we’ve started the adoption proceedings on our little Mena. Sorry we kept this one under the table, everybody- but it went like this:

Last Thursday we found out that our 3rd appt would be Monday Oct 11th sometime in the afternoon. At this point, we were feeling so pessimistic about things, that we decided not to say a word to anyone until we had the appt, and knew if we would be booking flights home that evening. We just didn’t think we could take anymore messages of good luck and “think positive” etc, even though we know it’s all true and came with the happiest wishes. It’s just that when you live on a rollercoaster for so long, you don’t think you can stomach another up or down and it’s easier to retreat to lick your wounds for awhile.

Anyhow, Monday arrived after a weekend spent with the 2 other couples here in Kiev, having a pity party and fearing the worst. But it also felt pretty peaceful too, because whatever happened was going to happen- and the end was in sight. No more living in limbo. The chips were completely down. We arrived at the Dept office and waited in the hallway, while Xenia was like a cat on a hot tin roof- scooting in and out, speaking to a well dressed young man, going outside with him, coming back in. Finally it was our turn to go into the psychologist’s office, and Xenia whispered directions to follow Natasha’s lead. We sat down for the last time on the small beige couch and looked at all the binders on the bookshelf, wondering what was going to happen. I could see our dossier on Masha’s desk, while she & Natasha chattered away. Cell phones rang and were answered. Masha kept leaving the room and then coming back while we sat there, not quite sure about what was going on, though we knew something major was definitely going on. There was lots of talk about a fax they were waiting to come in. Masha began going through a different binder, and she stopped, and removed a page. I could see it was a boy who was about 5 years old and G-d forgive me, but both of us felt our stomachs sink to the floor; we chose Ukraine partially because of the blind referral system, and we really wanted a little girl . Natasha caught on immediately and remembered this- she asked Masha to wait- wasn’t there a little girl? A flurry of more phone calls and waiting. After about 15 long minutes she came back with a big smile, and showed Natasha a photograph. Natasha also smiled. Then she explained that Masha “officially” couldn’t show us the picture until she had received this fax, but she said, “She’s very cute.” At hearing the word “she”, both Ois and I were elated! The fax finally arrived and we were shown the very first photograph of a cute little girl with sandy hair and deep blue eyes- the girl who would be our daughter. It was an amazing feeling, to finally arrive at this moment after so much time and emotional energy- FINALLY we had seen the little face we had thought about and talked about so often!

We learned about her background, her family life, and where she was located in Ukraine- a beautiful town named Mukachevo, in eastern Ukraine, very near the Hungarian, Romanian and Slovakian borders.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mukachevo

We immediately accepted the referral on the spot, and bought the train tickets for a 14+hr journey from Kiev, which we would leave for on Wednesday (yesterday). Later that night we went out for a cheapie celebratory supper at the little Ukrainian restaurant around the corner with our friends to mark the occasion; they were thrilled for us.

It has been a very long day today, but one we’ll never forget. I’m going to keep you all in suspense until tomorrow, where I’ll tell you about meeting Mena for the first time, and all the great stuff that happened today. It was magic! Until then…

Congratulations to our parents, the new grandparents! And congratulations to my Grandma, who is now a great-grandma! And to my sisters, Michelle, Victoria & Janelle who are all Aunties, and to Dara & Ronan, the new Uncles!

Presenting Mena Devorah Grehan…

Daddy and Mena did *not* phone each other to colour-coordinate outfits, believe it or not…

Our first picture as 3!

And hey Mich, V and J… guess what?

SHE HAS THE PTASHNICK EYEBROW! ~screams~

LOLOLOL!

…And Your Bunny of the Day

“Two Bunnies in Cups”

Happy Thanksgiving!

http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/10/06/funny-pictures-video-two-bunnies-in-cups/

More For Monday, October 11th, 2010.

Pisces, Saturday, 9 October 2010
Your Week Ahead:

Plenty of people are well liked by others and financially secure yet that doesn't automatically make them happy or relaxed. There is a dilemma arising in your world now that can't be solved with money. It requires a change of heart on your part and a willingness to explore new horizons. You need to think differently about something or someone. You've got to go beyond a sense of disapproval, resentment or anxiety. You need to develop more trust, even if you feel your trust has been betrayed in the past. Enjoy the gains you are starting to make, let them inspire more inner confidence. This may yet be an amazing week.

Monday, October 11th 2010.

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
Here's what my sweetheart said.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
I tell them tenderly.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Ha, a few of you will get that Alan Partridge joke. That’s what it was like for us, so we decided to leave the house and force ourselves to go on a long walk, since it was so mild out. We looked up what was supposed to be a cheapie Chinese food place, and walked all the way there thinking about sweet & sour chicken balls (yes, we know, we know- trash, not “real” Chinese food, but the heart wants what it wants) instead of perogies for a change. We finally found it tucked behind a little alley and went inside… only to see the entire restaurant had been rented for a wedding. Oh, people, you can’t imagine the disappointment! So we walked a bit further and went to a sushi place instead.

Ukrainians are OBSESSED with sushi. Every second restaurant is a sushi place. The thing I am going to take away from Kiev will be a million shoe stores, lingerie stores, and sushi restaurants! Now, we’re not eating at the same type of quality places we’d go if this was a proper holiday, but I’m really thinking here that sushi must be hit or miss. Today’s was pretty good. But I’ve had some that were literally a bit of salmon the size of a pinkie fingernail wrapped in rice cooked to the consistency of oatmeal. And oddly, soy sauce is so expensive here! A little bottle of Kikkoman is over $10 CNDN. Isn’t that insane?

Then we walked home down Taras Shevchenko Boulevard, past the Botanical Gardens which are now in the throes of autumn. It is hard to believe that tomorrow will make it 6 weeks that we’ve been here. I actually get pretty sad when I think of going home, both of us just love it here and have already committed to returning sooner rather than later for a holiday. And the fact that it’s pretty much off the beaten track for tourism is such a bonus- you just know that in a handful of years you will see a Starbucks popping up here and there, and a Pizza Hut and Burger King. Kiev right now reminds me so much of Prague in the mid-nineties when it was 10 cents for a beer, and you could easily live on less than $15 CNDN a day including your place to stay. It just feels like you are somewhere else completely in the world, and I really love that.

We heard the bells of Volodymyr Cathedral ringing not in the regular ding-dong manner, but a beautiful repetitive chant full of different tones. If I ever figure out how to upload sound from my iPhone onto here, I’d make a link because I’m also taping sounds I like while I’m here, as well as taking photos. The Cathedral is a bright rich yellow like the colour of an egg yolk and the domes on the top are a deep navy blue painted with little golden stars that shine against the reflection of the sky. We went inside to take a look, and of course, the beauty again was stupefying. All the frescos that were stories tall and flecked with 24kt gold leaf, deeply shadowed, so everything looked like it was painted in faded jewel tones of burgundy, navy blue, ochre, plum, chocolate.

And then the yellow candles everywhere flickering in front of the gilded paintings of the saints, each in their special nook while ladies in babushkas prayed and crossed themselves and lit more candles. The smells of beeswax and the frankincense swirling as the church was blessed, and the choir of ladies sang- their voices carried up to the very ceiling of the domes… and again, there I started with the waterworks. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.

What else to tell you guys? While we’ve been here I’ve been doing a bit of family tree stuff because this whole trip has made such an impact on me. I keep looking at the faces of the people, especially when I see old photos in museums, and I guess I’m trying to see if I recognise bits of myself anywhere. I feel like never before that this is really “my place”, where I’ve come from and a sense of pride that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve been in touch with a guy that has some overlap on the Gorda side of our family, and now we’ve traced the Gordas back to 1803 in the village of Volka, which kept going back and forth between the Austro-Hungarian empire, the Russians, Romanians and Ukrainians. I’ve found my great-great grandfather’s paperwork from when he and his sons landed in Canada. Volka is now part of the Ukraine, and the entire industry of the village revolves around making wedding dresses, of all things! They are shipped all over Ukraine and Russia. I thought that was funny, it would be nice if we could actually go there but it’s like a 16hr train ride each way… so we’ll have to save it for another time.

Anyways, I didn’t take those photos of Volodymyr Cathedral, because obviously you are not allowed to, but I found them online and I’m including them here. Enjoy.