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!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A Bad Mistake
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."
"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."
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Justification
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.
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.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Receieved
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.
"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.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Next Wait
"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.
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.
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