Monday was a hot, humid day, the kind that melted my hair down flat against my head and gave me that little boy hairstyle I strive for so often. Dave and I were fed and then taken to the local Department of Education by our adoption agency workers Andrei and Viktoria (or Vika), who was also our translator. Dave, Vika and I headed to the director’s office where we sat for our meeting. What followed was 60 minutes that felt like the Spanish Inquisition to me.
Irina, the director, was not the least bit happy that a couple of flaky Americans were coming to disrupt the life of one of her own, the children she works to protect. Her eyes conveyed a high level of frustration mixed with an attitude of “I’ve had enough of this”. As we were continually asked what our motivation to adopt was, over and over, she blurted out that another American family, just like us sat here and told her the same things, but then chose to, for lack of a better phrase, give away the children they adopted to American agencies.
For maybe thirty minutes, we went back and forth about other family's issues and our awareness of what will be involved in raising Anya. As Dave described our embarrassment about misguided American adopted parents, her heart began to soften. Irena eventually did release the papers we needed (they were already filled out-I think she just wanted to push and push us to see what would happen), but with a stern you had better do this right look.
One of the funny moments (at least in my eyes) was when Irena looked me squarely in the eyes and emphatically told me in Russian, “You know, she is very, very short!” with a so what are you going to do about that? look. We were warned by her that many American are willing to adopt a Russian child with physical disabilities, but aren’t ready for the mentally disabled ones like Anya. What?!? I realized later that the attachment issues adopted children go through may be what she was talking about. But now I had a little red flag in my spirit. Is Anya really mentally disabled?
Next, we headed off to the distant orphanage that Anya calls home for a 2.5 hour car ride, one way. We traveled at up to 105 mph in a nice BMW SUV, passing cars at up to a literal 36-48” apart, over roads that are seldom, if ever maintained. Vika, our translator and even Irena from the Department of Education, warned us that the orphanage director, Ekaterina, is a hard strict woman. Great. Following us into the office were two other woman (Natalia and ?). One was from social services and the other an inspector (no pressure though). Although concerned, they had softer spirits about them and it was evident they really care about Anya’s welfare.
Again, why, why, why, why and why do you want to adopt? They announced that Anya is very capricious (a rough translation of part of her personality) and stubborn, to which I replied, “Yes, that is what attracted me to her as my other four children are the same. Actually, Dave and I are too.” Dave added, “She will fit right in.” We spoke of the love that has grown in our hearts for her and our compassion for her.
Next were genuine questions asking if we were aware she speaks Russian only, what we would do about that and how could I say that Matt connected with her. That one really stumped them.
As a last line of attack, they went on a rant about her mentally ill disability. Dave and I really started to get discouraged. Did Matt and I really misread her so severely? I finally thought, “Well, we’ve come this far, do we adopt a demon child with retardation who will be living with us forever?” I pursued their line of attack with questions and since their answers weren’t valid, I felt a bit better. The most opposition came when they told us she is so ill that she cannot care for herself.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. The answers included that she is unable to perform basic life skills. I asked again for specific tasks. After a few moments they started listing things she could do: feed herself, brush her teeth, clothe herself, etc. I asked again, even more specifically for one thing she cannot do for herself. There was a long discourse between the four others and I never got an answer. Once again, I asked and orphanage director finally said, “Well, she can’t be left alone.” I bit my fat tongue instead of sarcastically answering, “You know I was going to give her a knife, some matches and leave her alone in the house for twelve hours. Thanks for the tip though.”
Next we were asked to come meet Anya, whose home is across the field from the boys’ home where the director’s office is. As we crossed, someone basically said something about we’ll just have to see how she reacts to us as part of the decision. All my years of knowing Dave and myself kicked in and I instantly thought of how almost all babies, little kids and dogs flock to Dave and how many babies can’t handle my personality and cry when I try to interact with them. I whispered to Dave. “You go first and I’ll lay back low since babies hate me and love you.”
We were ushered through a gate and up onto a gazebo type structure. I faced away from the direction she would approach from and Dave stood facing her. She came up the stairs and was told to sit on a bench. I sat at the other end and motioned for Dave to sit next to her. We left the toys in the car and Dave went back to get them. Anya was nervous and the other ladies told me so. When Dave got back, I pulled out a sticker book where you pull off an insect sticker and find its silhouette to place it on in the book. Dave showed her how to do it and she was hooked-on the book and on Dave.
We gave her a magnetic puzzle book and she really liked that too. Dave spoke out of the side of his mouth, “Monica, she’s been doing the bugs stickers correctly and she just did this Tangram puzzle perfectly.” She whizzed through matching, critical thinking skills puzzles and a giraffe puzzle as well. She soaked up the challenges, but it made her tired and the workers even asked her if she was. She said yes and shortly thereafter, she went back to the house.
The most amazing things happened. The workers saw that Anya really is intelligent and were flabbergasted at how I didn’t force her to do what I wanted, but gave her choices and she responded favorably with them. Apparently as they watched us, their hearts melted toward us. Their physical countenances actually changed. The social worker said, “Monica, it is obvious you have thought very carefully about Anya, gifts for her, her intelligence and that you do understand her.” I did tear up a bit. Ekaterina decided that we are just best friends now. Another comment, made in amazement, was about how patient Dave is with Anya. I hadn’t pondered the typical role of male Russian with their children, but Dave is far from the stereotypical Russian father, if present at all.
Before we did the books with Anya, we showed her a photo album of our family and home. She hadn’t said anything at all up to this point. We showed her the pictures and there was one of Matt alone and she said, “I remember him.” There was an inaudible gasp from the ladies in the peanut gallery. Their jaws almost dropped. Dave and I went back to Anya and started with the books and puzzles. The ladies were looking at the album and called me over as they were frantically turning pages. “Moe-nee-ka, where is the picture about which Anya said she remembered your son?” I showed them and at that point, they believed all that I had said earlier in the meeting! For the rest of the time, they kept complimenting me on my parenting and Dave’s way with Anya. Next, the social worker asked about the “dwarf society” I spoke of being involved with earlier (Parents of Little People and Little People of America). I ended up schooling them all on the occurrence of dwarfism, what causes it, what dwarfs can do, sports and social groups for dwarfs, what the medical issues are and how to adapt the home environment for dwarfs. What an awesome, thrilling time it was. We walked back to the car and I asked the inspector, as I stretched my arms out, “May I?” and she hugged me. The social worker was next and I wondered if she would lessen her grip and let go. And last, I hugged Ekaterina and she barked, “Tomorrow,” in my ear.
In the car, I told the other three that I felt like I just competed in the Parent Olympics and won a gold medal!!
Irina, the director, was not the least bit happy that a couple of flaky Americans were coming to disrupt the life of one of her own, the children she works to protect. Her eyes conveyed a high level of frustration mixed with an attitude of “I’ve had enough of this”. As we were continually asked what our motivation to adopt was, over and over, she blurted out that another American family, just like us sat here and told her the same things, but then chose to, for lack of a better phrase, give away the children they adopted to American agencies.
For maybe thirty minutes, we went back and forth about other family's issues and our awareness of what will be involved in raising Anya. As Dave described our embarrassment about misguided American adopted parents, her heart began to soften. Irena eventually did release the papers we needed (they were already filled out-I think she just wanted to push and push us to see what would happen), but with a stern you had better do this right look.
One of the funny moments (at least in my eyes) was when Irena looked me squarely in the eyes and emphatically told me in Russian, “You know, she is very, very short!” with a so what are you going to do about that? look. We were warned by her that many American are willing to adopt a Russian child with physical disabilities, but aren’t ready for the mentally disabled ones like Anya. What?!? I realized later that the attachment issues adopted children go through may be what she was talking about. But now I had a little red flag in my spirit. Is Anya really mentally disabled?
Next, we headed off to the distant orphanage that Anya calls home for a 2.5 hour car ride, one way. We traveled at up to 105 mph in a nice BMW SUV, passing cars at up to a literal 36-48” apart, over roads that are seldom, if ever maintained. Vika, our translator and even Irena from the Department of Education, warned us that the orphanage director, Ekaterina, is a hard strict woman. Great. Following us into the office were two other woman (Natalia and ?). One was from social services and the other an inspector (no pressure though). Although concerned, they had softer spirits about them and it was evident they really care about Anya’s welfare.
Again, why, why, why, why and why do you want to adopt? They announced that Anya is very capricious (a rough translation of part of her personality) and stubborn, to which I replied, “Yes, that is what attracted me to her as my other four children are the same. Actually, Dave and I are too.” Dave added, “She will fit right in.” We spoke of the love that has grown in our hearts for her and our compassion for her.
Next were genuine questions asking if we were aware she speaks Russian only, what we would do about that and how could I say that Matt connected with her. That one really stumped them.
As a last line of attack, they went on a rant about her mentally ill disability. Dave and I really started to get discouraged. Did Matt and I really misread her so severely? I finally thought, “Well, we’ve come this far, do we adopt a demon child with retardation who will be living with us forever?” I pursued their line of attack with questions and since their answers weren’t valid, I felt a bit better. The most opposition came when they told us she is so ill that she cannot care for herself.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. The answers included that she is unable to perform basic life skills. I asked again for specific tasks. After a few moments they started listing things she could do: feed herself, brush her teeth, clothe herself, etc. I asked again, even more specifically for one thing she cannot do for herself. There was a long discourse between the four others and I never got an answer. Once again, I asked and orphanage director finally said, “Well, she can’t be left alone.” I bit my fat tongue instead of sarcastically answering, “You know I was going to give her a knife, some matches and leave her alone in the house for twelve hours. Thanks for the tip though.”
Next we were asked to come meet Anya, whose home is across the field from the boys’ home where the director’s office is. As we crossed, someone basically said something about we’ll just have to see how she reacts to us as part of the decision. All my years of knowing Dave and myself kicked in and I instantly thought of how almost all babies, little kids and dogs flock to Dave and how many babies can’t handle my personality and cry when I try to interact with them. I whispered to Dave. “You go first and I’ll lay back low since babies hate me and love you.”
We were ushered through a gate and up onto a gazebo type structure. I faced away from the direction she would approach from and Dave stood facing her. She came up the stairs and was told to sit on a bench. I sat at the other end and motioned for Dave to sit next to her. We left the toys in the car and Dave went back to get them. Anya was nervous and the other ladies told me so. When Dave got back, I pulled out a sticker book where you pull off an insect sticker and find its silhouette to place it on in the book. Dave showed her how to do it and she was hooked-on the book and on Dave.
We gave her a magnetic puzzle book and she really liked that too. Dave spoke out of the side of his mouth, “Monica, she’s been doing the bugs stickers correctly and she just did this Tangram puzzle perfectly.” She whizzed through matching, critical thinking skills puzzles and a giraffe puzzle as well. She soaked up the challenges, but it made her tired and the workers even asked her if she was. She said yes and shortly thereafter, she went back to the house.
The most amazing things happened. The workers saw that Anya really is intelligent and were flabbergasted at how I didn’t force her to do what I wanted, but gave her choices and she responded favorably with them. Apparently as they watched us, their hearts melted toward us. Their physical countenances actually changed. The social worker said, “Monica, it is obvious you have thought very carefully about Anya, gifts for her, her intelligence and that you do understand her.” I did tear up a bit. Ekaterina decided that we are just best friends now. Another comment, made in amazement, was about how patient Dave is with Anya. I hadn’t pondered the typical role of male Russian with their children, but Dave is far from the stereotypical Russian father, if present at all.
Before we did the books with Anya, we showed her a photo album of our family and home. She hadn’t said anything at all up to this point. We showed her the pictures and there was one of Matt alone and she said, “I remember him.” There was an inaudible gasp from the ladies in the peanut gallery. Their jaws almost dropped. Dave and I went back to Anya and started with the books and puzzles. The ladies were looking at the album and called me over as they were frantically turning pages. “Moe-nee-ka, where is the picture about which Anya said she remembered your son?” I showed them and at that point, they believed all that I had said earlier in the meeting! For the rest of the time, they kept complimenting me on my parenting and Dave’s way with Anya. Next, the social worker asked about the “dwarf society” I spoke of being involved with earlier (Parents of Little People and Little People of America). I ended up schooling them all on the occurrence of dwarfism, what causes it, what dwarfs can do, sports and social groups for dwarfs, what the medical issues are and how to adapt the home environment for dwarfs. What an awesome, thrilling time it was. We walked back to the car and I asked the inspector, as I stretched my arms out, “May I?” and she hugged me. The social worker was next and I wondered if she would lessen her grip and let go. And last, I hugged Ekaterina and she barked, “Tomorrow,” in my ear.
They also wanted to know if I had more toys for tomorrow and my response was, “Uh……yes?” So, we all went to the store later and picked up a magnet building set, a ball, play-doh, bubbles,a ball, etc.
In the car, I told the other three that I felt like I just competed in the Parent Olympics and won a gold medal!!
No comments:
Post a Comment