The Fate of Russian Orphans

Here are some absolutely horrifying statistics released by the Russian Ministry of Education (and this was in 2000--God only knows how much worse the situation is now!).

There are over 4 million orphans and homeless children in Russia. Officially, there are 700,000 orphans living in 2,000 state-run orphanages. That means that Russia has more orphans today than after World War II! Statistics show that only one out of ten Russian orphans becomes a functional member of society. The others are lost to drugs, crime and suicide. Millions of Russian children are on the run, living on the streets or in underground sewers desperately needing basic food, medicine and clothes.

About 15,000 Russian orphans leave orphanages each year, once they are 16 to 18 years old. After leaving their orphanages:

• 50% - fall into a high-risk category
• 40% - become drug users
• 40% - commit crimes
• 10% - commit suicide

The Paperwork Pregnancy

The adoption process has been called a "Paperwork Pregnancy." In my case, it's going to be a pretty good parallel, since they expect my whole process to take 7-9 months. I'm hoping that means I'll have Sergey home sometime around late summer or early Fall.

The first trimester is the home study and its associated paperwork. My social worker just got back the last piece of paper she needed in order to proceed with the interviews, so this is about to kick into high gear. I'm almost through the first trimester. Here's an idea of what we had to get for that:

• Four legal copies of my birth certificate
• Four legal copies of my divorce decree
• A Xerox copy of my son Rick's birth certificate
• A Fire Department inspection of my home
• A Health Department inspection of my home
• Four notarized letters of recommendation from non-relatives
• A notarized legal guardianship form
• Four notarized confirmations of employment details
• A child abuse clearance form (both me and Rick)
• A financial statement
• A financial responsibility statement (different from financial statement)
• A sex offender clearance form (both me and Rick)
• Fingerprinting by the police and reporting of any past crimes (both me and Rick)
• A copy of my official driving record from MVA
  

It's getting the reports of inspections or clearances back that seems to take up the bulk of the time. Getting the other necessary documents goes pretty quickly; mostly ordered and paid for on-line, and then they show up in your mailbox in a few days.

One thing that has struck me during this process is how absolutely blessed I am in my choice of friends. I asked four people to write letters on my behalf. The social worker gave me specific guidelines with questions that had to be addressed in these letters. What is remarkable to me is that all four people said yes, and the letters were simply incredible. Either my friends love me enough to tell really big whoppers so I can adopt this child, or they all truly hold me in a level of esteem that I had never guessed would show. Every single one of them wrote a beautiful letter. I had no idea I was so wonderful to them! :) One of the questions they had to address was about what they saw as my weaknesses, and a couple of them actually said that because I get involved in so many things, they think I have trouble saying NO.

I wonder why they'd say that?

Anyway, once the home study is finished and sent to WACAP, that'll be the end of the first trimester. Almost there!

Then will start the second trimester. That one will deal primarily with pulling together more documents and refining the authentication of the ones I have for a dossier that gets sent to Russia. The Russian authorities have to check over everything in the dossier and decide whether I am fit to be a parent to one of their finest, and if/when they give their approval, I'll be given very short notice to travel over to the orphange for a short trip. During this trip, I need to convince Sergey that he wants to be adopted, since children over 10 must consent to the adoption in court. I'll be going with pictures of our home, his room, our pets, the cars, ourselves, my parents and their house, our church, the Maryland School for the Deaf where he will be attending school, and anything else I can think of that would help to get him interested in coming to America. (The Deaf School actually let me borrow a videotape that I can take to show him. I'm hoping he will be enthralled by the art rooms, the indoor swimming pool, etc. I got a tour of the place the other day, and it was fabulous.) This trip only lasts about a week and marks the end of the second trimester.

The third trimester starts with a long wait, because I have to return here and wait for a court date. I'm told it's usually about 6-8 weeks, but sometimes faster, sometimes slower, depending on the region and how many adoptions are going on and how clogged the courts are. Once I get the court date, I go over again for that. We'll show up in court, he'll (hopefully!) consent to the adoption, the judge will be super-impressed that we were meant for each other, and then there is a 10-day waiting period where we can do pretty much nothing. This allows me to change my mind. Yeah, right! I understand that sometimes it can be waived if the judge feels there is a good reason, so I'm going to try to play the card of Sergey being a special needs child and needing to get evaluations done before being able to start school, etc. Once the 10 days is either over or is waived, we can start the serious business. We have to go to the various consulates for medical exams, visas, passports, etc. I have no clue yet just how much paperwork is involved with this one, but it must be pretty extensive, since the second trip usually lasts 2-1/2 to 3 weeks. Once all of that is complete, we get on a plane and come home.

At any rate, my first trimester is nearly through. A couple of interviews with the social worker, and then she'll write up the the report and send it off to WACAP, where the dossier portion will start.

Tonight's my first formal interview with her. She's coming to my (messy) house after work. I wanted it perfectly clean, obviously, but it's been a busy week (as usual) and that just didn't happen, so she will be seeing us as we really live. At least she'll know we aren't just "putting on the dog" for her!

Wish me luck!

Anticlimax

What a letdown! After all of the back and forth messages with the health department (who had lost my paperwork--thank God I had made a copy and could re-fax it to them!), the inspection was finally set for yesterday. I spent the weekend, when I wasn't working, frantically scrubbing and cleaning. Even managed to drag Rick into doing some of it, too. Monday night, after I got home from college, we were both up late scrubbing and cleaning the last problem spots. When we were too tired to do any more, we called it quits. I figured if anything would flunk us, it would be the basement (which is a disaster area--looks like Katrina paid a visit) or the garage.

Rick swore he had cleaned his room, but I didn't have the energy to walk in there and check it, so I took his word for it.

So, Tuesday afternoon finally arrives, and the inspector shows up right on time. Young guy. Looks like he's almost Rick's age. He starts off with a few questions, and then does the walk-through of the house. The basement didn't faze him a bit. He never looked inside the garage. As he headed up the steps to the bedroom level, he sees the "Please do not disturb" sign on one of the bedroom doors and says, "That must be the 18-year-old's room, huh?" Right-O. He opens the door and steps inside one single step (from whence one can see absolutely nothing because Rick has his bookshelves lined up to create a hallway entry area to the room so that he can't be spied on from the outside hall). The guy stands in this narrow corridor, looks AT THE CEILING, and says, "Looks okay to me!" Turns around, shuts the door, and moves on to the next room.

He checked the water temperature, the fire extinguisher, asked a few more questions, and left. His only recommendation was to get a carbon monoxide detector. In total, the guy was there less than 20 minutes!

THIS is what I lost sleep over for a week????

I Hope You Dance

It keeps happening.

The song "I Hope You Dance" has a special meaning in my family, because I did that song at my sister's funeral. It was popular 5-6 years ago, played all the time, and the message is something I felt Donna would have wanted to pass on to our friends. But I'm starting to think there's more to it than that, because it pops up again at the strangest times.

The first time I noticed it was when I went in for my heart biopsy. They don't give you anesthesia for that, so I was awake on the table, and this song came on just as they started taking little nibbles out of my heart wall. It wasn't even a country station--the doctor was playing a mix radio station. Interesting coincidence.

But then I started noticing it coming on at other times, seemingly always when I needed some sort of guidance or calming. Right before my chemistry final, when I was feeling very sick from flu and praying I would be able to make it through the test. The night my adoption loan was approved and I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing (this process is a little scary, after all!). Seems like every time I'm facing the question "Should I?", I hear this song.
Then yesterday. I was very exhausted from trying to be ready for the health department inspection. Call it paranoia, but Rick and I spent a lot of time trying to get things just so. About the only thing I didn't do is alphabetize the canned goods in the pantry. After a few nights with little to no sleep, I was feeling very stressed out, and I could feel my heart rate and blood pressure going up as I got closer to home and my appointment with the inspector.
What should happen just as I turn into the road leading to my housing development? Of course--the one thing that could calm me down at that point. On comes the song, some guy dedicating it to his wife.

Coincidence? Don't think so. If you listen to the words of that song, the message is clear. I think God and my sister are up there smiling, having come up with their own little version of the Nike "Just Do It" slogan. Whether it's school, or the adoption, or whatever challenge I need to overcome next, I think God is telling me to go ahead and take a chance at doing the things that will bring me happiness. It's very comforting to get little signs like this occasionally. It gives me hope that this really will all work out.

What NOT to take to a Federal Building

The WACAP rep contacted me for an update on the homestudy process. I told her the paperwork phase is nearly done, so I should be able to start meeting with the social worker soon to start getting the interviews done.

Then she asked if I had turned in the I-600a. This is the form that gets filed with immigration to allow an orphan to enter the US as an immediate relative and a US citizen. (Once I get my adoption decree in Russian court, Sergey will be a US citizen as soon as we set foot inside the US consulate over there.) This form also sparks the fingerprinting that is done at the federal level--and my social worker had requested that we not submit for that until she advises us to, because the fingerprinting is only good for a certain amount of time and then would have to be redone. She likes to give her clients as long as possible.

I told the WACAP rep that I was waiting for the social worker to give the go-ahead on that form. NO, NO, NO!!! Apparently since this is a waiting child adoption, it is being fast-tracked and she expects my whole process to be done within 7-9 months at most. Get this done now, if not sooner! They need me to be ready to go as soon as Russia approves me for the first trip.

So I filled out the I-600a and, instead of mailing it in, made an on-line appointment to turn it in personally, because I am told that if you take it in personally, they will fingerprint you on the spot instead of issuing you an appointment by mail.

Our appointment was yesterday. Left work early, drove all the way home to pick Rick up from school, and then drove all the way back to the city. The parking garage was about a few minutes' walk from the Federal building we needed to go to, but we had plenty of time. We were 15 minutes early.

Then we got to the front door. Let me mention at this point that Rick is wearing the black leather duster coat he got for Christmas (what his friends have referred to as his Matrix coat or his Columbine coat) and had on sunglasses. He's looking very cool.

What does one see immediately upon entering a federal building these days? Yeah, you guessed it--METAL DETECTORS. Well, I can't go through them because of the defibrillator (they could turn it off). So, I start digging through my wallet to get out the card that tells security I have to have a manual search. Meanwhile, Rick is standing there frozen, and when I look up at him, all the color has just drained from his face. He hisses at me, "Mom, I didn't know about this--I still have my pocket knife in my pocket!"

Now all the color has drained from MY face. We are inside a federal building and my son has a knife. I immediately went to the first guard I saw and explained that my son had forgotten his Swiss Army knife was in his pocket, asking if he could leave it with a guard until our appointment was over, since there was not enough time to walk all the way back to the car and still make the appointment on time.

The guard said in a very loud voice, "Ma'am, please have your son leave the building immediately." And she said it loudly enough that every other guard nearby turned and looked, their hands dropping casually to their sides, where I would assume they have firearms.
So I turned to my son and hissed, "Get out!"

Since we didn't have time to go all the way back to the car, I wanted him to bury it in a flower bed. Have you ever tried to get a guy to part with a Swiss Army knife? That scenario just wasn't gonna happen.

We ended up finding some very nice front desk guards in an adjacent building who were willing to hold the knife until our appointment was over. By the time we got back to the federal building, they still remembered us. They let me around the detector because of my handy-dandy little ID card for the debrillator, but they basically made Rick strip down. Seemed like it anyway--he had to empty out his pockets AND take off his belt, since it had metal on it. Y'know how kids buy their pants so baggy these days that they NEED a belt to hold them up? Well, by the time he got through the metal detectors, his pants had fallen down just about to his knees and he was muttering some very bad words under his breath as he tried to put himself all back together.

But we made it to our appointment still with 3 minutes to spare, and we did indeed get our fingerprinting done on the spot, everything in one fell swoop.

What NOT to take to a federal building? An 18-year-old!!! (Y'all thought I was going to say a knife, didn't ya?)

I am now done except for getting two of my reference letters back and having the home inspection. (Playing voice-mail tag with the department of health inspector I was assigned to.) We're almost there!