Que sera sera

Happy New Year!

2010-02-14T12:42:00.000-08:00

The Chinese New Year has begun, so please forgive my lateness in wishing you a happy one. Traditionally families will devote time to clean the home from top to bottom, so as to sweep out bad luck from the last year and to welcome in the good. There is a family feast and presents given. This is the year of the Tiger. Those born in the Tiger year are said to be vivacious and brave.

Update, Nothing to Update

2010-01-19T15:08:00.000-08:00

It's been a few months with no news. But, there's been no news.

Today we received an email from the Agency with the status of dossiers at the CCAA. As much as I wanted to see our LID date listed under "Pending Referral" it stubbornly remained in "Translation".

I can't help but wonder if things would have been sped up had I had the dossier translated before it was sent to China. Though I shouldn't linger too long over those musings. They don't lead anywhere productive.

The Log-In Date

2009-11-16T14:08:00.000-08:00

I fully sat down today with the intent of making an update about the adoption workshop we attended yesterday. But I also have a bit of good news to add to this. We have received word from the Agency that our Log-In Date came today. Our date: the 4th of November 2009.

The Agency sent along a travel guide as well with information about China and what to expect when we travel - rather silly since we are facing a three year wait for our referral to a child. But the fifty pages will give me thirty minutes or so of reading, that should make a dent in the wait right?

So, about the workshop yesterday at the Jewish Family Services office. It was an informative event though a bit on the doom and gloom side with the experts cautioning the prospective parents to expect the absolute worst in terms of development and behavior. Which was rather sad since we did get talking with other people who were just starting to consider adoption. Andrew and I referred them to some other, more positive, resources on the subject of adoption.

The highlight of yesterdays event though was the near smack-down an adorable set of twins (adopted from China) had over a cup of pretzels. They were the image of sugar and spice, all smiles and coy looks. Until one went for the others pretzels, but dad whisked one of them off before matters got worse.

So - the big wait begins. But the blog won't be silent, I'll be making regular updates on things. We will be able to see the process of our dossier each month as it moves through the CCAA. And in addition to that I'm going to be learning Mandarin and we will be experimenting with cooking traditional Chinese dishes. I know from other couples who have gone through this wait that we need to find things to do in order to keep our sanity.

Suggestions?

FedEx to China

2009-11-02T15:22:00.000-08:00

On Friday I heard from the adoption agency that our dossier has been approved by the Chinese Consulate here in the States. It was being sent by FedEx to China. They expected it to arrive today. We are also being transferred within the agency to a new representative who will be working with us at this stage of the process.

What this means:
1) The paperwork is done. We are entering the waiting period for our referral to a child.

2) The waiting period for the referral is still somewhere around three to four years.

How things happen from here:
Our dossier will be received by the CCAA (China Center of Adoption Affairs) where it will be logged into their system. We will receive a log-in date (known as a LID) by which we can access the CCAA and see the status of our dossier. The dossier will be moving about to various departments within the CCAA as different pieces of paperwork are approved.

We are expecting to know our LID within three to four weeks.

The Next Tier

2009-10-02T13:36:00.000-07:00

Well, the I-800A is now behind us. We received notification for a new fingerprinting appointment. Oddly enough just the day after what I thought was our original set appointment. So in the end we didn't really feel like we lost any time with the mistake.

The fingerprinting was completed, very quickly I might add, at the processing center in Chula Vista on the 26th of September.

Today, we received an email from the Department of Homeland Security informing us that the application was approved by the Hague Adoption Unit. We only need to wait for the paperwork in the mail before sending it, along with the rest of our paperwork, to the coordinators in Texas. And shortly after that our dossier is on its way to China!

Now, I really should phone my husband and share this good news with him!

A Bad Mistake

2009-09-05T10:11:00.001-07:00

My cell is ringing and caller id is displaying a strange number. It's only three digits long. I pick it up and answer, curious to discover who is on the other line. It turns out to be a woman from the Hague offices for international adoption.

"Did you have your fingerprints scheduled?" she asks, referring to the prints for the I-800A application. I nod, useless over the phone.

"Yes, it was scheduled for September twenty-fifth," I tell her.

"September, no I have August," she says.

"Um - let me grab the letter, I'm sure it was for September."

I yank open the door to the china hutch and pull the notification letter off the top shelf. The papers are in my hand and I scan it again my eyes sliding to the date near the bottom. Ice slides into my veins. This isn't good.

08/25/2009

Sharply I bite down on my lip to keep the worse of what crosses my mind from coming out of my mouth. I sink into the leather side chair and say softly, "Yes, it is August."

There is a brief ray of hope when I think for a moment that it isn't yet the twenty-fifth. Then it flames and turns to ash when I realize it is well past the twenty-fifth of August. This is a bad mistake. I'm suddenly afraid everything is in jeopardy.

"I'm so sorry, I thought it was for September not August." I explain. I really can't believe we missed this appointment.

"That's okay, people make mistakes," she says. It does nothing to console me, I feel hollow and stupid. The Hague representative goes on. "You'll need to be scheduled."

"Of course. Oh, I'm so sorry."

"I'll put in a request to have you rescheduled, but they are very busy. It may take up to two months," she said. Each word feels like a lead weight dragging me further down. I listen without saying a word. "If you don't hear from anyone in ten days you can contact me."

I write down her email and phone number. Finally I find some words.

"Since they're busy, is there any chance of going up to Los Angeles to be finger printed?"

"No, they are just busy as everyone else. The real shame is this is the only thing left you needed, you're ready for approval," she says. The chipper tone is more like a blunt object.

"I really am sorry," I say again. We confirm that I have her phone number and then hang up. I sit on the edge of the chair, staring glumly at the original notification letter. My heart feels hollow. Not wanting to, but having no choice I open my phone again and dial Andrew.

"Honey, hi. I have some bad news."

Justification

2009-08-27T18:40:00.000-07:00

It's rather comforting that after a bad day, the recent edition of Adoptive Families arrives in my mailbox.

The house is stifling in its heat. Even with the windows open, ceiling fans spinning and the fans at top speed it seems to grow hotter by the minute. The pets have vanished to cooler places - the travertine floor in the bathroom, in front the screen door, panting before a fan turning at top speed. I suffer in the living room, curled up on the sofa with the magazine in hand and wondering who ever thought leather was a good thing to sit on in the dogs days of summer.

There's plenty of ads. I ignore most of these as we've already got our agency selected. The articles are all the same. Really they are. Different names, different faces. But they all boil down to the same themes. Insecurities about the process, the delicate emotional dilemmas of open adoptions, the heart-rending wait before being matched with a child, the rudeness of strangers.

I've never been insecure about the process, and we won't have the delicate situation of an open adoption. But, yes I know about the heart-rending wait and I've felt the sting of strangers ignorance.

Unbidden the days events rush back to me.

It's just two of us in the office, with idle chitchat between us while making phone calls and completing paperwork. People at work know I'm in the process of adoption. They ask simple questions and show polite interest in how we are progressing. From their tone though it's just possible to detect the unease behind the questions. As though they were being asked to handle some curious specimen of insect and aren't really certain if it's harmless.

But today the casual question leads to more. I'm asked to remind my co-worker where we are adopting from. I say China and then I'm asked if its because they are the fastest. No, I say that we choose them because of stability and the history of the program. I give those answers that don't really provide too much information but maintain the appearance of being polite.

Then suddenly in less three questions I find myself being questioned about why China has such a large population of girls available. Because, my co-worker points out, of the Asian families she knows here in the States it is the girls who care for the parents. I try to explain how things started as tradition, that this is a custom which goes back centuries. Before I can even finish the next statement comes with whiplash ferocity.

"I don't know, I wouldn't feel comfortable having my daughter-in-law care for me. I'd rather have my own daughter."

I falter through another answer, defending centuries of social tradition. I try to explain how customs vary between the East and the West. Finally I point out that the ability of women to work so they could support their mothers has been something of a recent occurrence pretty much all over the world, rather pointlessly. It's quickly apparent that there is no answer which will satisfy my co-worker. This is a mind already made up.

So I shrug my shoulders and say how sad the situation is then lift the phone and proceed to make a call.

I love sharing the joy of this experience with my family and friends. It's wonderful to also have a network of people to turn to when things get stressful. But I don't understand why some people feel adoptive parents should have to answer for the faults of the child's nation or of the birth family. To know such the blessing of a child is bestowed upon you out of the remains of tragedy is not an easy reality to swallow. Adoptive parents don't owe answers to the curious. We are not information kiosks there for the satisfaction of strangers.

Receieved

2009-08-06T06:53:00.000-07:00

When I pulled three envelopes from the mailbox bearing the return address of the Home Security Offices I felt a little tight in my chest. My mind turned towards my husbands Green Card and wondered if something had gone wrong with that. Staring at the envelopes I walked numbly back into the house, calling out to Andrew.

"That's the 800-A," he said coming into the dining room, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He leaned over my shoulder to look at the envelopes. I glanced at him as I sat at the table. I laid the mail down but kept those three Home Security envelopes in my hands.

"Is it?" I asked, doubtful and still worried there was a problem with the Green Card. I opened the first of the envelopes and pulled out the letter inside. Quickly I scanned the document but found nothing about the Green Card, instead it was a notice that we had an appointment scheduled for fingerprinting.

Breathing a sigh of relief I reread the document just to be sure it was an appointment notice. Indeed, our I-800A application had been received and we have been scheduled for our fingerprinting on the 25th of September. The relief fades and I find a bit of irritation settling in.

Next month? The end of next month? We've been fingerprinted so many times, and no one ever wants to use another agencies fingerprints. They could save a lot of time and simply make use of those other records.

Not to mention we could have been told weeks ago they'd actually received our application instead of just leaving us to wonder all this time. Even a little postcard saying it was now in the queue for processing would have been nice.

But of course, they say jump and we jump.

Doesn't mean I'm not going to grumble though.

The Next Wait

2009-07-21T21:11:00.000-07:00

"I thought you would like to know the I-800A application, and the money order has been sent via UPS," Andrew said, his voice metallic through the cellphone.

This was news I was happy to hear. The submission of the application had been delayed last week after I'd nearly fractured my knee in a jogging accident. All concerns of the adoption evaporated from my mind as I spent the week with my knee buried under ice packs. For days I was couch bound unable to stand without crutches or pain.

Everything fell on Andrew's shoulders; feeding the pets, taking the dog out, watering the plants, cooking, dishes and playing nurse to me. There is still a fair amount of work waiting for me, but it can wait a few days longer when I don't need a brace on my knee just to walk. For now I am happy to fret over the lapse in housework and bask in the good feeling of having our I-800A application submitted.

Checking up on the status for Immigration services processing these applications, it seems like we might have a forty day wait ahead of us. Fingers crossed it's that short - I've heard it can be more than ninety days.

Sorry, the Princess is in Another Castle

2009-07-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

We are still progressing through the paperwork. The homestudy was approved by the Agency and so we moved onto the next round. With the completed homestudy in hand we must now assemble paperwork for our I-800 A application and submit the completed the application to the United States Office for Citizenship and Immigration Services. This application, required for international adoption, is our demonstration to the government of the United States that we are eligible for adoption and capable of providing appropriate care to the child.

Andrew is in the office reviewing the collection of paperwork that makes up the I-800 A application. With the back and forth struggle of the homestudy documents and the errors that kept popping up we are being cautious over this latest step. Perhaps a bit overly cautious. We’ve been reviewing the documents for a month now. But, I’m really nervous about submitting anything to a federal agency that might have errors. So, Andrew is making the final review of the application. Tomorrow we will get a money order and, along with the application and supporting documents, send it off to Citizenship and Immigration Services.

We’re getting closer to the end of the paperwork. Yet there's still a feeling of frustration when one thing gets approved only to find there's another document waiting for approval from another agency.

2009-06-03T08:39:00.001-07:00

Some wonderful news, the homestudy is finally approved. We now move onto round two of the paperwork chase.

Dotting the 'i'

2009-05-29T19:57:00.000-07:00

To celebrate - I am officially old enough to adopt from China. I passed my thirtieth birthday last Monday in the company of my husband at a good local restaurant.

To rue - We are still struggling with the first phase of the dossier. The homestudy, the major part of the dossier is as of yet incomplete. It continues to bounce back and forth between agency, social work and us. Voicemails and emails are not returned as quickly as I would like and the problems rest in limbo.

A couple of months ago the agency sent back a stack of paperwork to us claiming it was incomplete. I fumed that most of these things had either failed to be mentioned prior to the original submission or were finding nonexistent problems with the papers.

An example of the latter was my employment letter. The agency requests the letter state a promise of continued employment or states that its against policy to make those promises. The women in human resources wrote that, “her employment is continued and current”. That seemed quite fine to me and the person who wrote it, but was apparently not what the agency wanted. There was also the issue of the hours I work, which upon my second visit to the HR department I learned was firmly against the policy of County.

Only it wasn’t.

When I asked the supervisor to put this policy in the letter she added, “Well, it’s not a written policy so I can’t say that we don’t make statements about the hours you work. But I can’t write that you work a certain amount of hours a week, because you might not work those.“

I suppose it was my mistake thinking that the HR department of the County was there to help me - an employee. I did get the letter, despite the migraine caused by puzzling out the logic of the supervisors unwritten policies which prevented her from typing anything I needed the letter to say. And the joys of government employee logic continued as I dealt with the next item of paperwork, my birth certificate.

Apparently some government employee working for the State of Florida had decided that I didn’t really need two middle names. I never even noticed that my name had been shortened when I’d sent the certificate off to the agency. With the number to the office of birth and records of Florida found on the internet I spent a delightful afternoon trying to my have birth certificate fixed.

“Do you need them?“

“Pardon?“ I asked, a bit stunned for anything more eloquent.

“Do you need both middle names?“ the bored voice in Florida asked.

“It. Is. My. Name.“ I tersely replied and before I could utter another word was disconnected. I’d spent almost forty minutes on hold before I’d managed to get through. Redialing I began a mantra that whomever answered this time wasn’t responsible for the rudeness the first time. And indeed the next person I spoke to was apologetic and remarkably helpful, they sent me three copies of the corrected document and at no charge.

Well, that was two down. We just needed to arrange for a notary to stamp a few more documents. And there was something arising with a discrepancy of numbers between a couple of forms. The biggest of our paperwork headaches was just around the corner.

Update Coming Soon

2009-05-27T17:20:00.000-07:00

I realize that it has been awhile since I've updated this blog. And I also hear the grumbling about it. The adoption is progressing, and we are wrapping up the homestudy.

There will be a full post at the end of the week with more exciting details.

"I" is for Image and "N" is for neurotic

2009-01-14T17:02:00.000-08:00

The social worker is coming to our home this Friday for the final meeting in the homestudy. The house is clean, but it could be cleaner.

Instead of cleaning I decided to go through the closets this week and sort things for donation. In addition to needing a good dusting and carpet cleaning, there is now a large pile of old clothes and miscellaneous items that need to be taken to a thrift shop.

I also noticed that two of the three plants on the patio have died. Instead of taking things to the thrift store, dusting the blinds, or borrowing my mothers carpet steamer - I run to four different nurseries looking for the right plants. I judge each one for what it will do to our image when the social worker comes up to the house. I finally walk away from Lowe’s with a pot of decorative grass and a pineapple plant.

There’s still Thursday to clean. If I could stop worrying that the kitchen towels look faded.

Slip the Mind

2009-01-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

We forgot about getting our fingerprints.

When Andrew points this out I curse and wonder how that managed to slip by. He puts on the dining table a stack of papers for LiveScan, with whom California requires persons to get fingerprints processed by. I’ve done it a couple of times, once for a notary license and again before I could start teaching. So it is that I start to think we actually need an appointment, and cannot, like Andrew said just walk in. In my list of phone calls to make the next day I scribble down a note to call the LiveScan office.

Sure enough, when I call the next day the gruff voice tells me that an appointment is needed. I jump up to the calendar hanging on the wall and grab the dry-erase pen. I ask for the first available appointment on the coming Saturday. The other end is silent, and when the man comes back he curtly tells me nine in the morning. Just as I say that nine works for us he cuts in and corrects himself to nine-thirty. I book the nine-thirty, thank him and hang-up. I write the time on the calendar and notice our third and final home study visit is approaching. Next week to be exact.

I tap the pen on my lower lip and eye the kitchen. It’s clean. But it’s old. A bit beyond the simple coat of paint. There’s only one counter, and it’s the sink base that is currently falling apart. I have a suspicion that the sink base is original to the house, which would put its age at century plus nine years. The lino is old and very ugly. We’ve been holding off on the kitchen for a while now, but I’m starting to regret that. I wish the fact my kitchen is ugly could slip my mind as easily as the fingerprints. Even as I tell myself the kitchen is fine, that I’m worrying about nothing I can’t help but wander back to my laptop and start looking at Craigslist for skilled labor services.

Unwelcome News

2008-12-16T16:10:00.000-08:00

We are in the midst of paperwork. There is a questionnaire we must complete and return to the social worker, each answering some forty odd questions. Much of them seem to be repeated, a change in wording here and there make it look like a new question. A few of the questions are a bit irritating, things about race and culture and values. They are questions that require the intangible to be given body and texture. Impossible task, but we soldier on.

There is a police clearance letter looming on the to-do list. From what I gather this is a letter from our local police department affirming we have no outstanding warrants. It must also be notarized. I call the police department, who direct me the sheriffs’ office. The sheriffs’ office directs me back to the police. So, I let it drop. I can handle that next week when school is out for winter break.

Nor should I forget we must also start working on our application letter. This letter, for those of you not in the know, is our only communication with the agency in China who will approve us for adoption. It is our direct appeal. Our social worker, and Pepper our Agency representative – have both cautioned us to avoid anything political. We are also encouraged not to mention anything about the surplus of children available or the abandonment of babies. ….well, duh. Our letter should focus on why we choose China, why we want to adopt, who we are. Again we are told to put the intangible into words, to give what is in our hearts verbs and nouns and adjectives. I’m frustrated that people tell us this with such ease; as though we go everyday summing up our greatest dream in a paragraph.

Then, the email comes.

There are so many fees involved with adoption. People ask how much adoption costs and I have to correct them – it’s not the adoption that costs. It’s all the assorted fees in paperwork, paying social workers and notaries that all starts to add up.

One of the fees facing us is the donation to the orphanage. Now, this isn’t due until you are in China – and you aren’t in China until you are matched with a child. For us, this is three years away.

But the email sitting in our inbox tells us that the donation has gone up, by two thousand dollars. This money goes to the orphanage and the money, desperately needed, goes to help the children left behind. I fully support the donation and, in time, the amount required. Right now this news doesn’t sit so well. I can only console myself that at least we have three years to save up. And I try not to think about it going up further in these next three years.

We’ve just left base camp to climb a treacherous mountain whose peak cannot yet be seen. Each day gets us a little closer to the top, a little closer to seeing the unknown peak waiting for us. Then the clouds drift apart, the sky opens a little and we can see. The peak is still too far, crowned in mist and impossible to observe. But what we can see is that the path is just a little bit harder, that bit more treacherous than we first imagined.

I pause and inhale deeply.

Exhaling, I close the depressing email and deepen my resolve.

A Home Study

2008-12-07T16:04:00.000-08:00

Three weeks. That’s how long it took Andrew and me to select our homestudy agency.

Two. That’s the number of homestudy agencies we had to choose from.

You wouldn’t think it would take that long to interview and gather information about each of the two companies. And it didn’t. What took so long was deciding who we were most comfortable inviting into our home to dissect our lives. That is not an easy choice. And if it hadn’t been for Pearl calling on one rainy October afternoon, I don’t think we’d be any closer today to picking an agency than we were then.

What set Pearl apart was that she listened to my questions, and she gave full answers to each one. The other agency rattled off answers to my questions as though they were inconveniences. I got the clear impression from them that I should have known the answers to everything I was asking. So that October afternoon, I stood in the rain asking Pearl every question that came to my lips while my class was going berserk in the background. And she answered them all, taking the time to make sure that each question was satisfied.

Both of the agencies had sent emails with information attached, or envelopes in the mail stuffed with brochures. Really, those are meaningless things. Anyone can print a shiny brochure or type an email with rosy descriptions of how wonderful we’ll feel when we choose you. What you can’t do is create the kind of confidence Pearl did on the phone with a letter or email.

So, I announced to Andrew when he came home that evening I’d decided what agency we would be using. We assembled the application, wrote another check and …. waited.

An Irregular Interuption

2008-11-06T15:16:00.000-08:00

When the phone rang earlier this week I snatched it from the cradle, expecting something about the adoption. My heart immediately sank when I heard the secretary from our dentist’s office. Rose was far too excited as she informed me that not only were they ready to complete the implant that was started earlier this year, but also making arrangements to be in on a Friday to do it. I jotted notes as she explained everything to me. Yes, I would have a ride to and from the dentist’s office. No, I would not be driving that day. Yes, I understood the risks associated with anesthesia. Yes, I could come in the day before and complete some paperwork.

I hung up with Rose, still feeling none of her excitement, but a rather unpleasant dread. The way a lobster feels when he stares at a pot of boiling water.

On the page of notes I’ve taken there is a single thing that stands out. It seems like its written just that bit bolder, set off slightly from the other scribbled notes. I’m still holding the phone and I dial Andrew’s number while I look at that little bit. The way it’s off to the side, it could be unimportant. Just a little nothing added as an afterthought. No matter how much I wish it was, it sits there as the most important thing on the paper; the remainder of the balance due for the procedure.

“Hey, it’s me,” I say when Andrew picks up his cell. “Bad time?”

“No,” he says, sounding chipper and I ruefully think that won’t last.

“I heard from the dentist, about the implant. They’re ready to finish it off,” I say. I take a breath and tell him how much it’s going to cost us. There’s a moment of silence. I’m the lobster, dangling over that pot of water.

“Okay,” Andrew says slowly. He’s quiet again.

“I’ll need you to bring me and pick me up, can you manage that?” I can’t help but feel I’m asking so much out of him. The guilt feels hot and sticky. It’s so much money, and the in the face of all our other expenses … I feel sick just thinking about worrying about it.

We hammer out the details. Andrew remembers an early morning meeting, which for me means I’ll be dropped off at the dentists half an hour before my appointment. I’d rather not be dropped off at all. I haven’t forgotten the five hours I spent in the dentists chair this spring as they scrapped the remains of a dead root that had fused to my jaw. Nor have I forgotten the uncomfortable feeling of the bone graft that was required afterward, to replace bone lost, and the months it took adhering to my jaw. Some more practical voice in my head pipes up and advises me to find a secure spot under the bed until all this nasty dentist business goes away.

I ignore the voice and, trying to get on with the business of the day also ignore that this dental appointment looms over me, well under me like a pot of boiling water.

The Paperchase

2008-10-31T18:29:00.000-07:00

There is a large FedEx envelope wedged into the security door. As I pull into the driveway I am both excited and angry by the sight.

The package has been left like a beacon to anyone passing on the street. I can’t recall how many times I’ve spoken with couriers about this. Really, I don’t mind going to pick up my packages from their offices. It’s better than it being left on my doorstep. I’m not just worried about the overly curious passerby who might help themselves, but the weather as well. One delivery man left a box of books in a puddle, and no one wanted to claim responsibility for that.

When I take the envelope from the iron scroll work covering the door I’m surprised by its weight. My eyes scan the senders address, it’s from the Agency. A strange feeling of detachment settles over me. I let myself into the house, greeted by a set of hungry cats and one excited dog. I put the envelope on the dining room table, drop my keys on top of it and get about the business of the evening.

It’s not yet six and I inform the cats that regardless of their complaints there will be no food. The dog waits at the back door for me, her tail lashing out her happiness; but if it’s over seeing me or getting to go outside, I don’t know. As I putter around the kitchen putting things away I keep glancing at the table where the FedEx envelope waits. In that same detached manner I continue fidgeting in the kitchen, putting the last of the groceries away, all the while glancing at that FedEx envelope.

When there’s no more work to be done in the kitchen I pick the envelope up. Carrying it into the office with me, it sits on the desk as I turn on the computer and move a few things around. When I finished reading the last email in my inbox I take the envelope and turn it over. My fingers pinch the small tab and rip it back, opening the envelope and tearing off a paper strip. I drop the curling paper strip into the waste bin and peer inside the yawning envelope where a bundle of papers sit.

Despite the fact I want to sit down and really study every piece of paper, I don’t. I simply scan the first page then quickly thumb through the rest. There are a lot of them.

This is the paperchase. Andrew and I are poised at the threshold of having to gather an enormous amount of paperwork documenting varying aspects of our lives. I know about it, I’ve read about it and could recite from memory all the documents we’ll be required to get. But right now, in the actual moment, I don’t even want to face it. Birth certificates, marriage certificates, notaries, medical exams, financial statements, biographies, adoption statements … they hover around me like abstract concepts.

The papers find their home back inside the FedEx envelope and I set it aside for Andrew. My excitement is gone. Evaporated like so much steam. I try to dismiss it, chalking it up to the arduous task of the paperchase.

Tension

2008-10-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

As soon as the check arrives from Big Savings I can’t help but think that this money could have been wired to our account by now. Standing in line at the bank I avoid mentioning this to Andrew, mostly because I don’t want to be reminded it would have cost for the convenience. When the bank tells us that due to the amount of the check there will be a hold of seven business days it’s a little harder to keep “I told you so” from entering our conversation.

Through the week I continue to poke Andrew about the contracts. The Agency has three different service plans to choose from, though we only need to consider two of those. Andrew and I are hardly the kind of family that needs private security and a full time nanny while in China. Not that I wouldn’t mind a private translator.

The cheaper plan appeals to Andrew but I make a point of not knowing how to handle getting all of our documents authenticated. The mid-range plan does this and provides extras like care packages sent to our child’s orphanage. After reading stories of care packages being sent from waiting parents being lost in the mail, and faced with the daunting prospect of authenticating documents I’m sold on the mid-range plan.

There are a few things we don’t need – like the personalized website, and I doubt we’ll need the cell phone in China, after all our phones have worked everywhere else in the world. Despite these things I’m still committed to the mid-range service plan.

In the evening Andrew reads through the contracts again, and I watch him, his head bowed and lips just slightly pressed together. Paper blankets his lap and covers the sofa cushions surrounding him. I fidget while waiting to hear something from him. Minutes begin to accumulate on the clock sitting on the bookshelf. My attention wavers between the television and a book. No part of me really cares about the presidential candidates or pretty red-headed War at the moment.

“Maybe you should call the Agency tomorrow,” I say. Andrew looks up at me and his chin dips in a short nod. His thin arms are folded in his lap. He’s still not sold on the mid-range plan.

“That’s not a bad idea, I will,” he says. He starts to gather up the papers, neatly arranging them back into a pile.

“After all, they can explain it better to you than I can,” I say. I close my book and lay it aside. Andrew rises, returning the stack of contracts and information booklets to the dining room table. He nods and expels a syllable of agreement. I stare at his back then pick up my book again.

“Call them tomorrow?” I ask. A syllable of agreement. I close the book and stare at him. “I’m in the same place you are, I know as much about these programs as you do. The Agency can answer your questions far better than I can right now.”

“I’ll call them,” he says with a slight edge to his tone.

Quickly I seal my lips and keep from saying anything, because nothing could come out of my mouth now that isn't thick with my frustration. I can't push him and I have to be careful not to do that.

Everyone Should Get to Fly

2008-10-02T21:19:00.000-07:00

I wake up feeling like there is a marathon awaiting me today. Twenty miles of non-stop running, panting and pounding my way towards a finish line that I can’t see much less imagine. Each morning dawns with this creeping feeling that the most grueling part waits for me still.

At least I can be grateful it’s the weekend. Andrew and I planned on going to a street festival a few blocks up the road. We eat separately, each perusing the news online. The dog, Holly pads between the rooms, shoving her head in my lap and grinning up to ask politely for a bit of a handout. I pick a crumb of toast from my plate and Holly snatches it from my fingers. As the coffee cup begins to empty, its caffeine jump starting my morning, I think that maybe today will not be so hard. There will be the festival to distract to me, and we’re taking Holly as well.

Though it’s still early the day is getting warm fast and I worry as we walk. We neglected to bring the dogs shoes along and she is pulling towards spots of shade to stand in. The shoes are not just a fashion accessory, though I do get a kick out of the looks on children’s faces when they see a dog wearing shoes. When I get asked by the curious why my dog is wearing four yellow canvas and rubber shoes, Velcro-ed securely to her paws, I suggest they try walking a mile barefoot on the blacktop while its over eighty degrees.

Holly finds as much shade as she can, a hundred pounds of dog dragging whomever is holding the leash into the various booths and collapsing on the floor. Despite her size this is not a dog with a high energy level. She is enjoying herself more when she’s rolling onto her back or offering a paw as people approach to fawn over her. I don’t think there’s ever been another hundred pounds of canine who so clearly expresses puppy as Holly.

But I was not entirely right in my earlier assessment. There is the festival, yes, but it is not distracting at all. I pass by booths and see those things I would steer my child towards. Parents lift babies and toddlers, showing them off to the older women who come to coo over them. One little girl gives Holly a secretive smile, spinning herself closer to the dog who does her own belly crawl towards the child. Tiny hands and wet slobbering tongue meet.

Suddenly I’m aware that my throat is tight. I’m holding back tears as I think bitterly about how long the wait is ahead of us. I’m glad that Andrew has gone off for a bottle of water and is not here to see this.

When we continue walking, coming near to the end of the festival I slowly resign myself to facts. I ignore that empty space, a tiny child sized space that haunts our days.

A flyer and a button are shoved into my hands. I look down, reading the top of the flyer quickly.

Dirty Dog
Pet Wash &
Boutique

Looking into the shop I see it is clean, empty save for two people behind the counter. I smile at the woman who has handed me the flyer then steer the dog inside. Holly is overdue for a nail clipping. She clicks everywhere she walks. I ask the woman at the counter and she affirms that they do nail clipping.

Andrew and I slip behind the chain-link gate that keeps the grooming area sealed off. The woman takes Holly from us and begins to slip her into a blue vest. I watch absently, looking around the place, smiling at the two dogs kenneled at the other end of the shop. It is not until I see chains being clipped onto the vest that I take greater interest in the process. Andrew is equally focused on it and I sense a bit of nervousness in his expression.

The woman explains. Being aerial for nail clipping is easier on a dog, reliving them of the burden of balancing on three paws. The harness also wraps about them like a hug and provides comfort. That makes sense, I try to imagine standing on one leg for a pedicure and decide that –

Aerial?!

I look at Holly and silently hope she doesn’t panic. My mind wants to envision her rising up a few feet, strapped in this strange looking gear and going into a panic. A hundred pounds of dog, frightened and airborne? I’m as far from the adoption as I could be right now.

Nervously I watch as the woman pulls down on a rope and Holly rises into the air. The dog looks around a bit, more curious by her defeat of gravity than worried. I bite my lips and suppress a laugh. Holly hangs there, grinning at us and gobbling a treat from the woman’s hands. I turn away. The dog is goofy defined. Any sadness from that morning is gone, replaced by this intense need to laugh. I look back and the woman is sitting on the floor, holding Holly’s paw and clipping the nails. All the while the dog is looking pleased, tail wagging.

Some days I can forget the feeling that I have a marathon waiting. Some days there’s Holly.

I'd like to thank kind folks at Dirty Dog, whom we'll be visiting again soon, for their kind handling of Holly and of us. www.dirtydogsandiego.com

Customer Service Isn't Dead

2008-09-25T16:49:00.000-07:00

I feel bad closing out the account, and can hardly blame the abrupt tone when I tell the operator this. With the way the market is I understand Big Savings’ reasons for being a little less than warm when a client calls to say they’re closing their account. But this decision wasn’t motivated by fear of a bad market. With the fees for various agencies starting to appear in the horizon the money is currently needed elsewhere. The agent on the phone shotguns me a series of questions, then asks the one I’ve been dreading.

“What do you need this money for?”

This is too personal. In fact, I’m aware that I don’t even have to answer this question. But I swallow and dive in anyway.

“….my husband and I, are adopting, we need the money for various fees,” I reply.

“Congratulations!”

I wince and pull the phone from my ear as the final syllable Diane’s enthusiasm rings from the speaker. Surprised I put my ear to the phone again and hear her continuing, “…that is so exciting. Are you just starting out? Of course you’ll need the money! How soon are you going to need the funds?”

I flip to my calendar and do a quick calculation.

“Honestly, as quickly as possible,” I tell her. Instead of the trite apology and a recitation of some policy that prohibits a quick dispersal I expect, Diane outlines a few ways to achieve just that. The biggest issue is going to be the delay for the postal service, or I could pay to let my bank accept a wire straight from Big Savings. Knowing my husband would balk at the idea of paying for something that could be gotten for free I tell Diane that we’ll go with getting that check in the mail. It’s a delay, another one, and part of me fumes over the idea of waiting a week for what I could have tomorrow.

Somewhere in New York Diane is giving me detailed directions to complete the forms I need to submit. And then, deciding that directions alone will not suffice she guides me to their web page so I can print out the form. She waits as my printer chugs along in the background and in New York it turns past five o’clock. When the aging Canon spits out the form I sit at the desk with the phone held between my ear and shoulder as Diane goes through each section of the form. I listen, making notations where she directs me to and all the time I wonder about the change in her attitude.

Something about my adoption touched this woman, and her eager helpfulness makes me wonder if she has some personal connection to adoption. Was she adopted herself? Maybe a sibling?

I make a few x’s in the boxes Diane directs me to then flip over the page and start on the next. Perhaps she wanted to adopt, or did adopt herself.

Another x, followed by a set of initials.

I have no desire to pry into Diane’s reasons, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for anything other than gratitude.

The form is finished and Diane asks several times if I have any questions, she stresses that I can call at anytime and if she isn’t at her desk to tell one of her co-workers to get the file from her desk. I thank her and promise my husband or I will call first thing in the morning to follow up on our request. Whether Diane realizes it or not, she is a part of my adoption. She is one link in the chain that will lead to our child, and her help is as appreciated as her friendliness.

The First Sting

2008-09-18T19:36:00.000-07:00

“I wanted to let you know, Andrew and I started the process to adopt,” I say to my boss. My chest is uncomfortably tight with the breath I’ve been holding. In the other room I hear my boss give a happy exclamation amid the rustle of paper and plastic that is cluttering the office.

“Wow? Really,” she says, coming into the hall and leaning into the room where I’m working. I smile and nod, we’ve been so careful about who we tell this to. The process has just gotten underway. There will be many months, even years between now and the end of this that I’m trying to be careful. More for the sake of my heart, but I’ve seen what happens when things like this fail – it’s more pain then I want to put either of us through.

“We chose China,” I add. What I’m tiptoeing around is that I might be expected to miss work. Gathering paperwork, visits to various county, state and consulate offices, plus an eventual trip out of the country and then, maternity leave. My bosses face lights up more.

“Going celebrity huh?” she asks. Her hand is on her hip, that damn phone always hanging there with its black snake cord twisting up to the ear bud dangling from the arm of her glasses. Instantly I freeze my smile, it feels fraudulent on my face. “Just like Madonna and Angelina?”

“Well, no,” I start to explain but she is already going back to her office. For a moment I stare at the empty space she has left behind. The smile drops as my jaw tenses. I turn back to the computer, my hand locks around the mouse. On the screen the black arrow jerks left then right. I lift the mouse then drop throw it back to the cheap pad. It clatters but the rattle of cheap plastic makes me feel no better.

I’m angry for mentioning anything to her. Mostly I’m angry at the ugliness of her comment. Adoption is not a trend, and neither my husband nor I have decided to undertake this because of some celebrity. Our decision to adopt was inspired by our longing to share our home, lives and love with a child. We talked about all the options for doing this and chose to adopt. For four years we’ve been discussing this and to dismiss our feelings with such a callous statement is a reflection of emotional ignorance.

Do I …. quit?

I sit there motionless, comparing what I want to do with what I should do. Other issues with this job rise up and it makes the idea of getting up and walking out strongly appealing. Not without first correcting my boss about her idea of “going celebrity” and complimenting it with the bird. Sensibly I return to work. This won’t be the only incident of ignorance that I come across. I remind myself that she probably doesn’t mean to be hurtful, but simply didn’t know any better. After all, I’ve armed myself well – I’ve read plenty of literature and kept up with the articles. Yet, somehow all that reading doesn’t really prepare for the first time you get stung by someone else’s words.

News Arrives

2008-09-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

The waiting shifts. That restless animal called impatience is subdued. For now it no longer paces and claws at the confines of its cage. With our application sent off last week to Texas, the impatience gives way to anxious worrying. We have summed up our lives and hopes for a child in a mere eight pages that will be the scrutiny of an unknown person at the Agency. Of course, I understand that much of the process will be like this. Forms will represent us, they will be our diplomats, they will be our translators and they will carry with them all our hopes for expanding our family to include children.

I keep myself busy. There is school, more papers to write and more books to read. I complete it all mechanically. I have a deadline approaching on a few writing projects but find myself thinking only about adoption. When I turn towards one of the projects, the script for a comic book or a few personal creative pieces to be published next year, nothing comes. My fingers linger on the keyboard, poking out an occasional word that quickly retreats under the backspace button.

Hourly I switch back to email. I check my phone, sliding it open to see if I missed call. Then, after a week of neurotic behavior this appears in my inbox:

8:36am Application and Payment Received‎ - Hello Andrew and Jennifer, Thank you for your interest in pursuing an adoption from China . Your …

I stare at the screen, a dopey smile on my face. With a shaking hand I reach forward and click the link and scan the message several times before I’m actually calm enough to read it from beginning to end.

Application and Payment Received

Hello Andrew and Jennifer,

Thank you for your interest in pursuing an adoption from China. Your application has arrived and we are carefully reviewing it. Although our review process may take up to ten business days, we make every effort possible to review your application in less than four days. We understand how excited you must be and we don’t want to keep you waiting.

As we review the information you provided, we may need to contact you to clarify or obtain additional information. If you receive a phone call or email from Pepper, please contact us right away to prevent your paperwork from being delayed.

If you have any questions, please contact Pepper.

Again, thank you for choosing to give a special child new hope and new life and for giving Agency the opportunity to share in your journey.

Sincerely,

Saffron

Ten days? The good news has been slightly overshadowed by this, but I pick up the phone and call my husband. As I happily announce our application has been received by the Agency, Andrew greets the news with, “Okay.”

I frown.

“So, exciting huh?” I try to poke some response out of him.

“Okay.”

He’s busy, I can hear his keyboard clacking away in the background and so I sigh heavily and say my goodbyes. I’m still excited, even if it was nothing more than an announcement of another ten days of waiting. The rest of the morning is spent with my homework, too much time on Etsy, and watching ‘The IT Crowd’. I’m due back at school this evening for class and while I’m tidying up some English homework the house phone rings. I snatch it up absently, there is no caller ID in the house and I have no idea who is calling at three in the afternoon but suspect that one of the credit card companies is trying to sell us on identity insurance again.

“Hello.”

“Is this Jennifer?” a woman with a pleasant voice asks on the other end.

“Yes.” I stop what I’m doing, muting the sound on my laptop. This isn’t a sales call.

“Hi Jennifer, this is Pepper from the Agency,” the woman introduces herself. My throat has suddenly constricted and my stomach feels like it has been dropped several feet. “I’m calling to let you know we’ve received your application and payment.”

Oh. This must be a follow up to the email. I fidget with the volume on my laptop.

“We’ve reviewed everything and it looks in order, I’d like to welcome you to the Agency’s China Program,” Pepper continues.

Oh!

“Oh, thank you.” I’m a bit breathless with disbelief. We’re in. Oh my, we’re actually in.

“I’m going to send you our agency agreement and details about our different programs.”

“Well I can be sure my husband is going to want the cheapest program possible,” I say.

Pepper laughs, “It’s usually the men who do. Here’s the way it works most of the time, the women do all the legwork and research gathering paperwork and when it’s time to travel the men like to take over.”

I laugh, knowing right away she’s got it on the head. Andrew is a seasoned traveler, and I’m sure he’ll be chomping the bit to take over travel arrangements once we get to the stage. Pepper asks if I have any additional questions.

“When you send the agreement, we’ll get a list of all the paperwork we need?”

“After you complete the agreement we’ll do that. Depending on the program you choose there will be different requirements,” Pepper says smoothly. I marvel at her confidence. At my end of the phone I feel like every nerve ending in my body has been awakened.

“And you’ll let us know about who we can use locally for the homestudy?”

“Yes. Your local coordinator, April will also be able to recommend whoever she used in hers,” Pepper replies. I nod. A useless gesture over the phone.

“Okay,” I say, still nodding. I twirl a pen in my hand, poking the point at yellow square of Post-It. Pepper continues, letting me know the agreement will arrive by tomorrow and I ask her to please make my cell phone our primary number of contact. She congratulates me again and we hang up. For a few minutes I sit at the dining table and let the news sink in. It seems surreal.

I pick up the phone and dial Andrew. When he answers I try to be calm, and tell him that we’ve been accepted to the Agency’s China Program. This is it, we’re adopting. He seems to marvel a bit more at this announcement, but is still frustratingly English over it. We talk of more trivial matters, he announces he’s coming home early since he has to take a conference call to India tonight and I tell him I printed some photos I took of him and the dog at the tide pools the other day. Hoping I get a chance to see him before I have to go to class I say goodbye and hang up.

The homestudy. I look around the house. The table is still cluttered. There are a couple of wall sconces waiting to be put up. A box of jewelry I need to measure, photograph and list on Etsy plus lots of textbooks. I purse my lips, a little nervous about the thought of a homestudy. I don’t even want to look at the kitchen.

The First Step

2008-09-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

“Is this Jennifer from California?”

I say yes, infused with happiness that Ginger* knows who I am. Again my confidence in the Agency is justified. Ginger finishes answering my question about the bucket system of age dispersal. You may certainly request to adopt any age from China, but they assign children based on a bucket system. It goes something like this, you must be thirty at least to adopt and between that and forty a person is eligible to adopt a year and under. Forty to forty-five can apply for a child between a year and two and a half while forty-five to fifty, a child older than two and a half. Since I will be turning thirty the week our application is delivered to the Chinese offices we will be eligible for a child anywhere between birth and a year. I get the feeling after speaking with Ginger, that due to my young age we will probably receive a younger child.

Ginger asks me if there are any other questions, and I have suddenly forgotten the question that had been on my mind all morning. Frustrated and slightly embarrassed I confess to Ginger there was another question, but that I cannot remember it.

Sympathetically Ginger moves through a variety of topics to help me remember. The application. The home study. Deadlines and expiry periods for various paperwork. Waiting for a referral.

No. No. No. No. None of it does the trick. I’m sure the question will come as soon as I hang up the phone, and tell Ginger as much. She commiserates with a gentle laugh and suggests I keep a pad of paper close to the phone. I admit that’s a good idea, while not admitting that I keep pads of paper all around the house. Sitting at the dining table while on the phone and I am looking at no less than two large wire-bound journals, one sketch book, and two pads of post-its. It’s not the lack of paper. It’s just over confidence in my memory.

The important thing is I have the information needed to complete the application, which is done before I even hang up the phone. I don’t remember the forgotten question when I say goodbye to Ginger. But it doesn’t feel that significant. Instead I stare at the table; the clutters of text books, notebooks and calendars have been pushed aside, making a hole where the application sits. Completed it needs only to be mailed. I look at it for a minute, maybe more, and my imagination tries to fill in the uncertain future ahead. After a while I inhale and pick up the application. Exhaling noisily I drop it on the pile belonging to my husband so he can mail it.

*I will be referring throughout this blog to persons and offices sometimes using pseudonyms. This is for privacy purposes.

Operator, information please.

2008-09-02T20:17:00.000-07:00

The application has been sitting on the table, missing only a single piece of information. But our coordinator has been on vacation and the form goes incomplete. It’s not too long before that empty line on the form begins to feel unpleasant. As long as I have waited to actually start this process such simple delays are tests of my patience. The issue is that I’m not sure of the age range Andrew and I are eligible to adopt from in China, and this lack of information feels like a missing tooth. A useless space that is raw and sensitive. While we wait part of me grows jealous. The coordinator has her daughter already, she’s enjoying the benefits of motherhood while I try to answer questions like, “Why do you want to adopt from China?” I calm down by reminding myself that I’ll get there too someday. Just like us, our coordinator had to answer those questions too. So I settle with the single email and the single voicemail and wait.

This is a taste of the waiting to come, and as I start checking the email several times a day I know I’m not handling it well. What will I be like when the waiting only gets more intense? I consider apologizing to Andrew in advance, knowing that I’ll probably be unbearable sometime in the future.

To keep myself occupied I plan on investing my energies in learning Mandarin, and in this fundraising kit I found on Etsy. It’s not that I don’t have enough to do already. I’m getting down to the wire on a digital mural work needs, and my fall semester of school has started. The homework is already piling up, but neither John Updike nor James Baldwin works relate to my present. So I have decided to involve myself in a few activities which do relate, like learning Mandarin and this writing here. There’s nothing new about expectant parents writing about their own experiences in adoption. Its part of a growing trend and in the pitifully small adoption section of any bookstore there’s always one or two books written by parents who have adopted. I will chronicle the experience as my husband and I go through the process of adoption. I hope this will help to ease to wait. Maybe this will answer questions for some of you about the process. It will also be a record for our children of their journey home. Whatever the outcome, this is our story of adoption.