Saturday, November 17, 2012

Twinkle Toes

I have not watched TV in 15 years.  The last time I saw a television program was when Melrose Place was popular in the mid 1990s.  When I glance at the "Star" and "People"  magazines that adorn grocery check-out lines, I don't know a single person in the headlines or photos unless they are directly related to the President.  I have nothing against TV ...just that I'm certain that almost anything, short of sleeping, is surely a better use of time.  Our kids -- meaning our younger kids who aren't old enough to have jobs and buy themselves a TV -- have also never watched TV, excepting their videos.  They are blissfully unaware of fads or trends.  They've never heard of Hannah Montana.  They've never seen a commercial.  They ask Santa for things like "a doll" -- not Talking-Barbie-with-Dyable-Hair-Who-Dances-While-Getting-Nails-Done.

Recently Isabel announced that for her 7th birthday she'd like a pair of "Twinkle Toe" shoes.  Surely I was hearing things! Certain that she could be swayed, I suggested that we keep thinking of other ideas.  "But Mom, ALL the girls have them!"  When I was unable to convince her that Elmer's glue and glitter applied to existing shoes might have the same effect, she pouted, "But they're COVERED in sparkles and light up when you walk!"  In a last-ditch effort to avert trend, I explained that Twinkl-y Toe-y Shoes aren't really available in our rural community.  She shot out of the kitchen like a track star, and within seconds shouted, "See??!!  $45.99 and free shipping!!!"  Apparently Google Search is something they teach in school these days.  Voila: Pages and pages of insanely cute shoes, the types that kids for thousands of years have only dreamed of -- available with only the click of a mouse and a credit card!

So did she get those shoes?  You bet she did.  Is this the end of the Twinkle Toes story?  Hah!  No sparkly story ends when there is more than one little girl in this house, including one who could re-write the Book of Stubborn.  Morning after morning, I'd hear a rustle, rustle, then a patter, patter of little feet headed down the stairs in pitch black darkness.  Gillian learned that if she simply got up before the crows, or even the sun, she could snatch the Twinkle Toes from Isabel's shoe box and get them fastened securely to her own feet.  Poor Isabel.   No amount of cajoling, bribing, reasoning, Love & Logic, or even tickling could get those shoes off Gillian, who would clomp her way onto the bus in shoes two inches too big, lighting up the universe along the way, with Isabel trailing gloomily.

Now, Isabel is a strong-willed child -- not the type to be bullied or trodden upon.   If any other person dared this antic, they'd have met the wrath of Queen Isabel.  Not Gillian.  Isabel loves Gillian.  She understands her, she interprets for her, she looks out for her.  At recess during school, she seeks Gillian out to play with.  They eat, play, seek out mischief, and sleep side-by-side. 

As luck would have it, Gillian's birthday is just weeks after Isabel's.  On November 12, Gillian celebrated her 9th birthday.  Isabel celebrated too, as her  pink Twinkle Toes were officially handed over, replaced by their purple twins -- Gillian's perfect size. 







Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Father Time

After taking off out of the adoption paper-chase starting blocks at breakneck speed, we’ve slowed to a crawl.  We are seriously in “wait” mode, aka “stuck” mode, waiting for several things to happen, none of which we can control.  The good news is, we’ve done the hard stuff.  The bad news is, I must be patient while our paper trail catches up to US!  Now, Patience is not my middle name.  Patience is not my friend, not even an acquaintance, and surely not a virtue.  I am, after all, a Virgo, and when I say now, I mean now. 

First and foremost, we are waiting for our social worker to complete our home study.   Rather than get myself in a dither over something I can’t control, I remind myself on a daily basis “this too shall pass” while sending him seething “Hurry! Hurry!” messages via telepathy when Patience isn’t looking.  We have our last appointment with our social worker scheduled for next week, and he’s promised to have a draft of our home study in hand.  Let me tell you, there’s nothing like an occasional home study to prompt a spring cleaning, any season!   All the places that no one cares about have never looked so good: the closets, the kids’ clubhouse, the linen closet, the underside of beds...  And speaking of looking good, how did I manage to limp through life without a Bissell?  After decades of rental and hauling the leaky Safeway contraption to my home twice a year for a carpet-cleaning blitz, I finally splurged on my very own Bissell.  It has already landed itself high on my Love My Gadget List, right under the Coffee Pot. When I finished every carpet in the house , I turned my focus on upholstery!  Then throw rugs! And when the entire house was pleasantly damp and smelling of chemicals, I did the carpets again --just for the fun of it.  I did turn it off when I caught myself pointing the super-cool upholstery tool toward our long-haired black cat, whose hair I’d just spent 48 hours plucking from the underside of my gadget.  

"Don't Bissell the cat!"
Being a Virgo does have its advantages:  If there’s one thing that makes me crazy is a job half done.
Secondly, we remedied our passport fiasco:  My newest passport (my third this year) arrived, bearing “McCracken” all beautifully squished together.  Unfortunately, it also bears a brand-new passport number, which means the final third of our dossier documents will need to be re-done.  For now, we wait (im)patiently for our friend  the UPS Driver to deliver Peter’s passport; then will come Operation Dossier Repair. 

Thirdly, the State of Pennsylvania Department of Vital Statistics clearly doesn’t drink the same caliber of coffee as its Washingtonian counterparts.  In all fairness, it’s probably not the coffee but rather the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy which has caused a several-week delay in mailing out Peter’s birth certificates.   This is okay, as we don’t really need them until our home study is in hand. 
Then we’ll be back in our foot race against Father Time.  In Eastern Europe, orphans who are deemed “disabled” (for something as menial as a cleft lip or a physical deformity of a hand or an HIV+ label) are stripped of family and human rights and spend precious time, day after day, week after week, year after year, waiting and wasting.  It is estimated that less than 50 percent of Eastern Europe’s orphans, “disabled” or not, will live to see their 20th birthday.  Almost all of them have living parents who’ve cast them away.  Children such as Melody who are in need of medical or therapeutic advocacy will be lucky to reach the age of five.

If anyone is reading this blog who has yet to be convinced about the severity of the situation involving these orphans, I dare you to spend one night – just one precious hour -- watching this video which demonstrates the reality for children who live and die in state-run mental institutions in Eastern Europe.  
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h-6Yv5GbZ7Y&feature=youtu.be

Coming next, the Tale of Twinkle Toes!