Spits and Wiggles

Saturday morning at 10:00 a.m. We agreed to meet halfway, at a cafe in St. Charles.

It’s 35 minutes from our house, compensating for autumn rain and straggling road construction, we’d plan to leave at 9:00. Because that way we’d actually leave around 9:10, and arrive a few minutes early.

Man Cub had a sleepover at Nana’s house the night before, so he could spend the morning with her and the kitties.

I didn’t set an alarm, because on the laziest mornings I can hardly stay in bed past 7:30. I just can’t get comfortable past 7:30 a.m. for some reason.

And with only two people in our bed, we were sure to sleep like the dead. We’d probably wake up even earlier – either in sudden alarm at the absence of a four-year-old or from an abundance of good sleep.

And we did.

At 7:00, Timothy rolled over and asked if it was hailing. We listened to the morning rain and talked about the boy we were missing. A faint, gray glow was beginning to poke through the window blinds to stripe the floor.

At 8:00, I checked the time on my phone. I didn’t even know I’d fallen asleep. I counted minutes. If I got up now I could shower … but really … I hadn’t showered until noon the day before. And my pillow was so comfy. I wasn’t even 24 hours from my last shampoo. I’d be fine. I just wanted to stretch in the sheets and listen to the drizzle on the window.

And then my phone emitted a very gentle ping. 

“Who is texting you?”

I rolled over to squint at my phone. Had I been asleep again? Or just listening? I couldn’t really tell.

OHMYGAWDITS9:30ITS9:30GETUPGETUPITS9:30HOWDIDTHISHAPPEN?!HOWISIT9:30?!

We erupted out of the bed. Flew past each other into bathrooms and closets and clothes. Grabbed phones and accordion folders and bags and were out the door in about 7 minutes, trying to find emails and GPS apps and addresses and phone numbers. Texting and emailing and apologizing and praying. Not the first impression I wanted to make.

The social worker texted back and said our being 10 minutes late wasn’t a problem, and where she was sitting in the cafe … but I didn’t get it because my phone was the GPS.

So when we got there, we walked in and scanned the tables. A middle-aged woman was sitting near the door, alone, with a tablet and keyboard on the table in front of her. She looked up and met my eye, so I walked over and smiled, “Are you Meredith?”

“Um …” She looked back and forth between Husband and I, as though she were deciding, “No. Sorry.”

Awkward.

We walked around to the other side of the room and found her, and the rest of the morning was fine. We drank coffee, and counted the number of times a barista brought the wrong food order to our table, and talked about … everything.

And we scheduled the other two appointments: one for Monday evening and one for the following Sunday afternoon.

So the paperchase has a soft finish line and the pressure is on.

Movie Night Fundraiser: Save the Date

It’s time to par-tay! Save the evening of Saturday, December 9 for us, if you’re local. We’re going to borrow the cafe at Watershed Church for a movie, some fun treats, and some super cool raffle prizes.

(And if you’re local and you want to help out, let me know. Love to have some extra hands to help set up/clean up. And I’m talking to some people/small business owners about sponsoring raffle gifts.)

Turns out November is National Adoption Month. Quick update below, but first … I need to ask.

(Man Cub drew the panda. I know you thought it was me, but … art cred.)

Here’s the thing.

There are 30 days in November.

Could you spare $1 per day this month?

I wondered how many people would will be willing to mark National Adoption Month by sending $30 to help us bring our new little guy home.

Anything at all would be a huge blessing. We can’t really apply for grants until the home study is completed and approved, but, in the meantime, the finances are starting to crunch.

Anything at all would be a huge blessing, but 85 people who could share $30 would enable us to finalize the home study.

(Or 28 people who could share $100. #justsayin)

But that’s a huge number.

The goal in my head is 30.

30 people who could share $30 this month.

If you want to be one of them, you can:

• Click on the image above to go to our PayPal.me page.
• Hand it to us, if you see us IRL.
• Hit me up privately for a mailing address.

If you can’t be one of those 30 people (or even if you can), could you spare 1 minute/day this month to say a quick prayer for us? Pray for wisdom and peace and finances.

Status Update: Paperwork and Home Studies

Still collecting paperwork, and I’m hitting a new kind of difficult lately.  Read more…

A small crowd of people is scattered across one side of the stage, each attending to his or her own task — eating, working, sleeping, reading, etc. International Community enters opposite.

International Community: (wailing tragically, almost desperately) Oh the children! Someone help the children! So many! (Falling to his knees, reaching toward the crowd) So helpless! So much need! Help them! Help them!

Extras either ignore International Community and slink off stage, opposite, or hurriedly finish their tasks, shouting reasons why they cannot help as they gather their things and rush off stage. One Person is left, watching the scene quietly, pensively. Person watches others leave and turns to consider International Community. Finally:

Person: (decidedly) I will. I don’t have much to give – love and a family and a safe home, but that’s enough, right? That’s really what people need.

International Community: (standing quickly, suddenly haughty and proud) Really? How many bedrooms do you have?

Person: (confused) Um … what?

International Community: What is the square footage of your home? Property?

Person: (stuttering, still confused) I don’t … what does … ?

International Community: (interrupting) And what is your net worth? Do you have debt? What’s the value of your life insurance and retirement plans?

International Community approaches Person and delivers a quick poke to the ribs.

And let’s talk about you: Are you healthy? Really healthy? Has anyone in your family ever been sick? With anything? Ever? What kind of health insurance do you have? You don’t have health insurance? Are you one of those people who doesn’t believe in modern medicine? I need a doctor’s note. Oh, and I need it notarized. And the notary has to be valid for a year.

Person: (trying to interrupt, irritated) But you just said …

International Community: (ignoring Person) What does your work history look like? Are you employed now? Are you a good employee? I need a letter from your boss. Also notarized. Valid for a year.

Oh, have you ever been in trouble with the law? Arrested? Why? When? Can you prove it? 20 years ago?! Are you reformed? Really, really reformed? I need a police report. Also notarized. At least one year.

What about your family? Are you married? Happily? How happily? How did you meet? Why did you marry him? Ever been married before? When? To whom? What happened? I need certified copies of every document imaginable to support your statement.

And your parents? Are you close? Were they good to you? Abusive? How did they discipline you? How did they raise you? How do you feel about how they raised you? Did they warp you? Siblings? Names and places of residence. How are they? Are they warped? Where did you grow up? Did you move a lot? What was the best part of your childhood? What was the worst part of your childhood? How well did you perform in your third grade grammar class?

Person: (trying to interrupt again, insulted) I don’t see what …

International Community: (still ignoring Person) Who do you hang out with? Good crowd? Bad crowd? How do they feel about you adopting? Are they ethnically diverse? How diverse? Do you live in a United Colors of Benetton ad? How could you make your social circle more diverse? Are they supportive? Will they help you? I need friend notes. Of course they have to be notarized. You’d probably go make up friends otherwise.

What kind of person are you? Race? Height? Hair color? Religion? Talents? Skills? Hobbies? I’m going to need a full autobiography.

And what are you going to do with this child? Will you teach him about us? Will you say nice things about us? What resources – that you’ve never considered before this moment – are available in your community? How will you raise him? How will you discipline him? How will you prepare him for a happy, successful life? What will you tell him about his birth parents?

Person: (humbled and a little angry) Yes?

International Community: (scanning Person skeptically, then casually) I’ll think about it.

International Community turns to exit, takes a few steps, pauses, pivots slightly – almost facing Person again, but not quite – to add:

International Community: That’ll be one year’s wages.

Scene.

Two (very) small victories last week that I have to share … mostly because I’m clinging to the memory of them as I try really, really hard not to be overwhelmed by paperwork and worry.

I shared this one on IG a few days ago:

But the one that happened before that is just too dramatic to type with my thumbs. Here goes.

The Paper Chase

I am simultaneously creating and gathering paperwork for a home study, U.S. government application, an application that officially gets us in the pool of parents who can be considered for children, and a dossier (a Chinese government application). You should see my spreadsheet.

One question on one form asks if you’ve ever been arrested, and Timothy had to answer yes. Twice.

Cue drama. Now we need a certified court disposition about each case.

I called my aunt, who is a court reporter in Springfield to ask what a certified court disposition was and how to get it. I asked her what kind of headache I was in for.

“Well it all depends on whether the county is caught up on transferring their documentation to digital. Most of the bigger counties are, but for McHenry county — for a case 20 years old — I’m not sure. Someone might have to actually pull a piece of paper out of a box somewhere.”

Lord help me.

Monday Morning at the Courthouse

I checked my work schedule for the following week to find the biggest block of unscheduled time. No one likes Monday morning meetings, so I had no digital place to be until 11:30 a.m. Fine. The sooner the better anyway.

The county courthouse opens at 8 a.m. It’s a 40 minute drive.

I blocked out my calendar, and notified my co-workers that I would try to be back for that 11:30 meeting but I really had no idea.

I got up early and made myself look pleasant. I loaded my accordion of paperwork and a set of 4T clothes in the passenger seat. I wrapped my sleeping man cub in a fleece blanket and tucked him in his seat. I drove through Dunkin’ Donuts.

For most of the 40-minute drive I prayed and prepped my team. (Man Cub woke up in the DD drive thru, of course.) We’re going to be patient and happy and kind. No one likes Monday mornings. We are going to smile and wait our turn and cooperate and be people that other people want to help.

We will probably have to make a few stops in the building – because I have no idea where to go or who to talk to. We will have to wait in some lines. We will have to jump through some hoops. We will have to sit and wait. We can do it. We will do it with smiles.

We didn’t get there until 8:30. (I underestimated the DD drive thru at 7:30 a.m.) The parking lot was filling up fast. People were streaming in the building.

“It’s okay,” I told us. “People are here for traffic court at 9. We’re not going where they’re going.”

I dressed the boy in the backseat and we ventured inside.

Miracles Do Happen

We slid through security fairly quickly and looked around. To the right was a counter with one window (out of six) open, and no line. Maybe she can tell us where to go.

We wove through the ropes that were standing at the ready to receive long lines. Man Cub at one hip and my accordion of paperwork tucked above the other, I gave the woman behind the glass my best, most sympathetic smile.

She was not impressed.

“I’m not sure where to go. I need a couple of certified court dispositions.” She swiveled toward her computer.

“Name?”

I spelled it, because that’s what we do. First name. Birthday.

“When was the court case?”

“Um … we’re not exactly sure. There were two, but they were about 20 years ago.”

Typing

“Driving on a suspended license?”

“Yes.”

“How many copies do you need?”

“Two of each, please.”

The printer next to her hummed to life.

“Notarized?”

“Please.”

“Eight dollars each if I notarize them.”

“Perfect.”

I was so overjoyed that this was happening right before my eyes I would have given her almost anything.

I set down the accordion and started to frantically dig through my purse for my wallet. This was too easy. The other shoe was about to drop. Somehow, I knew I had to pay and get out fast, before something came up. Before the universe saw what I was getting away with.

I slid my cash below the window and she slid the papers, and a receipt, out. We were done. 10 minutes later, we were done.

I floated to a nearby chair to file my new treasures and kept telling my small assistant, “We’re DONE! That was so EASY! I can’t believe we’re DONE!”

He didn’t seem to care.

I am not pregnant.

For the first time in almost 10 years I can honestly say that I don’t want to be pregnant.

I know that everyone who makes comments or prays prayers or shares dreams, etc., about pregnancy loves us and 100% means well. I know.

But the idea of getting pregnant, in this season, is nothing but stressful for me.

Yes, everyone knows one of those stories. So-and-so tried and tried to get pregnant, gave up, started the adoption process, bam – pregnant. I’ve heard those stories too. Everyone knows someone who had some friend …

But where those stories ended with happy, kind-of-twins situations, they were involved in domestic adoptions. And that cannot be our story.  Read more…