Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
To my daughter, who is two
Dear Emmeline,
I'm sitting on the couch in the living room of the house we brought you home to two years ago, and above me, I can hear you running around your room more than an hour into your "nap." Your father and I have been up to reprimand you at least three times, once having removed a wad of wipes from your bed and another a pile of toys you took from the toy bin. (Your dad said when he walked in you looked at him, smiled, and yawned.) This moment, perhaps as well as any other one, embodies what it has been like to be your mother for the past two years.
If I could choose a few words that describe you, I would say busy, independent, spirited, and tough. You have been a busy little girl since conception. I remember sitting in one of my first classes as a PhD student, while one of my classmates looked at me with this strange face. She could see the sharp kicks I was getting from you in utero and couldn't believe how strong you were. Once you were born, you squirmed. Once you could crawl, you were off. And now that you are totally mobile, well, you are everywhere -- most recently climbing the couch and standing on chairs to reach the light switches. Yesterday, your dad and I just laughed as you stood on a step stool in the bathroom for ten minutes or more turning on and off three switches. In the last few months, you have become very independent, sometimes thanks to the six inches the step stool gives you. Independent is not one of the many words you know, but there are three others that pretty much say it all: "Emme do it." It's usually four words, though: "No," -- in response to whatever we are trying to help you with -- "Emme do it." You are also a very willful child. When your daddy came home from the hospital after I gave birth, he told your grandmother, "She likes to be held." And you've been fussing your way into whatever you want since then -- or trying to. You fussed as a baby. You cry now, until I tell you that I don't know what you want unless you tell me. You've been in the "terrible twos" of tantrums for at least six months. You just have certain expectations in life, and "no," "not now," and "wait" are not words you like to hear. But you're learning. Sometimes when I've told you the same thing over and over again, you parrot it back to me with the same intonation. So I know you're listening, even if it's not something you want to hear. Spirited is maybe a nice way to say willful. You have this adult-size personality in this little bitty body. (We haven't weighed you recently, but I doubt you're much more than 25 pounds, the size your brother was at age one.) And yet you take a lot of energy to keep up with. You make these great faces, roll and cut your eyes, and recently have begun to harass your older brother, who is surely the meeker of the two of you. "Sit down!" you tell him at dinner. And when he's acting up, "Time out." He doesn't think much of it (and for that matter, neither do I, though it's hilarious to watch). And in the midst of your busyness and independence, you fall down, a lot, and usually don't make much of it. Complete strangers have commented at the playground on how tough you are. I suppose you've been made this way, quite literally, through the four surgeries you've had since birth. Who else has hunks of skin removed and sewn back together without needing really any pain medication afterwards?
You are lots of other things, too. At two, you can already converse with me, though not everyone else would understand it. You used to answer every question with "yeah," like Sandra Bullock at the beginning of Miss Congeniality. You've recently switched to "okay." You are daytime potty trained (with an 80% confidence margin), which is just fantastic. You love to read, maybe even more than your brother if that's possible. "Read" was one of your first words, always used as a command. Sometimes I think you say you need to go potty just so we'll read to you. You can almost sing the ABC song, can count to ten, and can sing several little tunes. You know your siblings' names and love to go pick up Oliver when I get you from daycare. Your teachers at daycare think you're hilarious.
There are so many little things I wish I could capture about you right now. Your funny run. The sassy glint in your eye when I go up to get you after nap and you're sitting in your bed completely naked. The way you and Oliver play together. The way you lie down on Lucy's bed with her and pat her, or how excited you get to feed her. How you laugh with glee after she takes the bone out of your pocket (one of your favorite games with her). The way you ask to watch something before bedtime -- "Daniel Tiger?" you ask. Or "Poppins?" Or one of my favorites, "Soobya," which translates to "Scooby Doo, where are you?"
One of the things I love most about you is that you are a momma's girl. When you feel sick or scared or upset, you want me. (Of course, when I tell you "no," you want daddy, but still.) You love to sit in my lap, and when I don't realize that's what you want, you climb up and insert yourself in my lap -- usually with a book. I can't tell you how many times I've been sitting at the computer, checking email, and you're suddenly there in my lap asking to do letters on Starfall. It's that kind of persistence and determination that I think will get you far in life. I just hope that at the end of the day, you still climb into my lap and read with me -- for a while, at least.
In the next few weeks, we will bring home your little sister, and I have no idea what you will think of her. I am confident that, over time, you will come to love her just as you do your older brother, but I don't think you will instantly be the doting older siblings that Oliver was with you. And that's fine. You'll have lots to teach her in time, and she you.
I hope you know, more than anything, how much I love you. I tell you so every night, and I'm pretty sure that some nights, you try to tell me back. I so wanted to have a daughter, and you have been so much more than I could have hoped for. And I cannot wait to see who you become.
With love and nostalgia, your adoring momma.
I'm sitting on the couch in the living room of the house we brought you home to two years ago, and above me, I can hear you running around your room more than an hour into your "nap." Your father and I have been up to reprimand you at least three times, once having removed a wad of wipes from your bed and another a pile of toys you took from the toy bin. (Your dad said when he walked in you looked at him, smiled, and yawned.) This moment, perhaps as well as any other one, embodies what it has been like to be your mother for the past two years.
If I could choose a few words that describe you, I would say busy, independent, spirited, and tough. You have been a busy little girl since conception. I remember sitting in one of my first classes as a PhD student, while one of my classmates looked at me with this strange face. She could see the sharp kicks I was getting from you in utero and couldn't believe how strong you were. Once you were born, you squirmed. Once you could crawl, you were off. And now that you are totally mobile, well, you are everywhere -- most recently climbing the couch and standing on chairs to reach the light switches. Yesterday, your dad and I just laughed as you stood on a step stool in the bathroom for ten minutes or more turning on and off three switches. In the last few months, you have become very independent, sometimes thanks to the six inches the step stool gives you. Independent is not one of the many words you know, but there are three others that pretty much say it all: "Emme do it." It's usually four words, though: "No," -- in response to whatever we are trying to help you with -- "Emme do it." You are also a very willful child. When your daddy came home from the hospital after I gave birth, he told your grandmother, "She likes to be held." And you've been fussing your way into whatever you want since then -- or trying to. You fussed as a baby. You cry now, until I tell you that I don't know what you want unless you tell me. You've been in the "terrible twos" of tantrums for at least six months. You just have certain expectations in life, and "no," "not now," and "wait" are not words you like to hear. But you're learning. Sometimes when I've told you the same thing over and over again, you parrot it back to me with the same intonation. So I know you're listening, even if it's not something you want to hear. Spirited is maybe a nice way to say willful. You have this adult-size personality in this little bitty body. (We haven't weighed you recently, but I doubt you're much more than 25 pounds, the size your brother was at age one.) And yet you take a lot of energy to keep up with. You make these great faces, roll and cut your eyes, and recently have begun to harass your older brother, who is surely the meeker of the two of you. "Sit down!" you tell him at dinner. And when he's acting up, "Time out." He doesn't think much of it (and for that matter, neither do I, though it's hilarious to watch). And in the midst of your busyness and independence, you fall down, a lot, and usually don't make much of it. Complete strangers have commented at the playground on how tough you are. I suppose you've been made this way, quite literally, through the four surgeries you've had since birth. Who else has hunks of skin removed and sewn back together without needing really any pain medication afterwards?
You are lots of other things, too. At two, you can already converse with me, though not everyone else would understand it. You used to answer every question with "yeah," like Sandra Bullock at the beginning of Miss Congeniality. You've recently switched to "okay." You are daytime potty trained (with an 80% confidence margin), which is just fantastic. You love to read, maybe even more than your brother if that's possible. "Read" was one of your first words, always used as a command. Sometimes I think you say you need to go potty just so we'll read to you. You can almost sing the ABC song, can count to ten, and can sing several little tunes. You know your siblings' names and love to go pick up Oliver when I get you from daycare. Your teachers at daycare think you're hilarious.
There are so many little things I wish I could capture about you right now. Your funny run. The sassy glint in your eye when I go up to get you after nap and you're sitting in your bed completely naked. The way you and Oliver play together. The way you lie down on Lucy's bed with her and pat her, or how excited you get to feed her. How you laugh with glee after she takes the bone out of your pocket (one of your favorite games with her). The way you ask to watch something before bedtime -- "Daniel Tiger?" you ask. Or "Poppins?" Or one of my favorites, "Soobya," which translates to "Scooby Doo, where are you?"
One of the things I love most about you is that you are a momma's girl. When you feel sick or scared or upset, you want me. (Of course, when I tell you "no," you want daddy, but still.) You love to sit in my lap, and when I don't realize that's what you want, you climb up and insert yourself in my lap -- usually with a book. I can't tell you how many times I've been sitting at the computer, checking email, and you're suddenly there in my lap asking to do letters on Starfall. It's that kind of persistence and determination that I think will get you far in life. I just hope that at the end of the day, you still climb into my lap and read with me -- for a while, at least.
In the next few weeks, we will bring home your little sister, and I have no idea what you will think of her. I am confident that, over time, you will come to love her just as you do your older brother, but I don't think you will instantly be the doting older siblings that Oliver was with you. And that's fine. You'll have lots to teach her in time, and she you.
I hope you know, more than anything, how much I love you. I tell you so every night, and I'm pretty sure that some nights, you try to tell me back. I so wanted to have a daughter, and you have been so much more than I could have hoped for. And I cannot wait to see who you become.
With love and nostalgia, your adoring momma.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
This Christmas
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| Grandma and Grandpa visited. Grandma wore her 12 Day of Christmas sweatshirt and helped the kids make cookies. |
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| We watched the Grinch...for the 20somethingt time. |
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| The big gift for the kids was lots of (used from eBay) Duplo Legos -- Bob the Builder for Oliver, trains for Emmeline, and more than 400 bricks for them to share. |
| Emme sat with her Play-Doh for nearly two hours -- though it did require a new outfit when she was done. |
Labels:
Aunt Laura,
Christmas,
Emmeline,
gifts,
Grandma Kay,
Grandma N.,
Grandpa N.,
Maddox,
Oliver,
Wes,
Zola
Friday, January 11, 2013
Waiting for her
| Mailing our I-600 application in December! |
3/29/2012 – Submitted application to Children of All Nations. Contacted Jewish Family Service of Nashville and Middle Tennessee about home study.
4/3 – Application to adopt accepted by CAN.
4/6 – First home study meeting with JFS.
4/14 – Mailed in signed contract to CAN.
4/17 – Contract accepted.
5/23 – Liz’s interview with social worker for home study.
5/24 – Mailed in first mailer to CAN.
5/31 – First mailer accepted; began working second mailer.
7/11 – Wes’s interview with social worker for home study.
7/18 – Home visit with social worker for home study.
7/24 – Sent withdrawal letter to CAN.
8/3 – Picked up copies of finalized home study; mailed in I-600a to USCIS; emailed dossier documents for translation.
8/8 – Email confirmed receipt of USCIS application.
8/17 – Received biometrics appointment from USCIS for 9/6.
8/20 – Tried to do a walk-in for biometrics at Nashville ASC. Failed.
9/6 – Biometrics appointment at USCIS. Current processing times 60-75 days for I-600a approval.
9/20 – Heard about a two-week-old girl who is waiting.
9/24 – Another family in our group gets their I-600a approval one month after fingerprinting. Hoping ours will come in the next two weeks.
9/28 – Two-week-old girl will not be placed for adoption. Older twin boys and girls available, but decide to wait for a boy/girl referral. Dossier is complete and translated; just waiting for I600a approval.
10/1 – Received I-171H. Officially paper ready!
10/4 – Got a call about a 45-day-old baby girl and saw her face for the first time. Waiting for medicals to officially accept our referral.
10/6 – Got an email about a boy/girl sibling set (2.5 and 10 months). Waiting for medicals from both referrals and talking about which referral to accept.
10/10 – Got medicals for baby girl; malaria and low hemoglobin levels but HIV negative. No medicals for sibling set.
10/14 – Talked to several pediatricians who have experience in Africa, then accept referral for the baby girl, Zola. Signed attorney contract and shared the news with family.
10/15 – Got Power of Attorney notarized, completed FICHE to get PV and Commune approval, and wired first payment to attorney in the Congo.
10/19 – Mailed dossier to DRC attorney.
11/5 – Court hearing.
11/9 – Got a call that we had passed court, with judgment date of 11/5. In CONA wait.
11/11 – Got email with PV, consent, and judgment (in French). Officially decide to name her Zola Elizabeth Self.
11/13 – Wired second payment to attorney in the Congo.
11/27 – Got email with Act of Adoption and birth certificate (in French), along with translations of all court documents. Passport has been applied for.
12/5 – CONA is up.
12/17 – Got email with CONA (in French and English). Passport pictures taken, but passport office is on strike, so no actual passport yet. Mail in I-600 to USCIS, with hopes of traveling in six weeks.
12/18 – Sent embassy paperwork to a friend to carry to DRC and deliver to attorney. Zola had her passport picture taken (in the little lamb outfit we sent to her). Got info on her and some pictures from another mom already traveling.
12/19 – Got a call from the US Embassy in the DRC, asking for my email address so they can send us instructions on next steps.
12/26 -- Got email with a scan of Zola's passport with errors; attorney was going back that day to get a corrected version.
12/27 -- Received I-797 in the mail that confirmed receipt of I-600 application. Other adoptive families
1/7 -- Got email from USCIS officer saying that our I600 application was approved on 1/4. Should receive hard copy of approval by the end of the week.
1/8 -- Called the US embassy in Kinshasa to schedule our embassy appointments. Scheduled for 1/24 (drop-off) and 1/25 (interview).
1/9 -- Got an email from the embassy saying they are going to cancel our embassy dates because they cannot see our approval in their system. Forwarded approval email from USCIS officer; embassy replies, saying their will wait for the hard copy of the letter, but otherwise will have to reschedule us.
1/11 -- Received I-797, provisional approval of our I600 application. Scanned and emailed it to the embassy. Hope to hear back from them Monday with confirmation of our dates, at which point we can buy plane tickets!
1/14 -- Called the US embassy in Kinshasa. Still cannot see our approval but schedules us for appointment 1/24 and 1/28. Told me to call back 1/25 to confirm that she can see approval before 1/28 interview date.
1/18 -- Called the US embassy in Kinshasa. Can now see approval in system and gave us back our original dates of 1/24 and 1/25. Later find out that Zola's embassy medical appointment was this day.
1/24 -- Embassy document drop-off. Wired final payment to attorney.
1/25 -- Embassy interview.
1/31 -- Hear rumors that the US is going to add a 3-6 month waiting period between I600 approval and visa issuance. No details of who will be affected.
2/1 -- Find out that people who already have embassy appointments scheduled (which includes us, since ours already happened) will not be affected by the new timeline.
2/5 -- Depart Nashville. Travel to Brussels via O'Hare.
2/6 -- Travel from Brussels to Kinshasa and arrive at St. Anne's.
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