I am one who prides herself on being a "detail-girl," the inherent administrative assistant, the type who even dreams in detail. Why is it then that I'm being challenged? I have a new-found respect for those who have managed their way through an international adoption. I am certain they possess a caliber or quality that I don't. They must be Brilliant! Fearless! Crazy! I suspect it's some combination of the above. Whatever the magical ingredients, I need their recipe. This is H-A-R-D work!
While I haven't yet stooped to groveling, I confess that "pretty please...?" has been applied a time or two, particularly when it comes to persuading folks to prepare our tedious forms. Our family doctor, who has had to write no less than one, two or even three letters on behalf of each member of our family, gets this week's Trooper Award. Our employers, mortgage broker, bankers, assessor's office, auditor's office, public notary ... we just chip away at 'em. There is no notary in town who is happy to hear, "Would you mind notarizing these, um, ten things?" When she hears our story, she is slightly more happy to accommodate our project. But when you approach her again several days later with just, um, ten more ... and, um, another five .... you're past "pretty please" and quickly approaching grovel.
To date, we've had:
A daily chuckle:
Guessing which of our notarized forms will pass inspection and which won't, kind of like guessing which apple will next fall off the tree ...
A "who'd have thunk it?" moment:
Peter's medical form clears on his first pass. Sharon's is initially rejected. Anyone who knows us will appreciate the, ahem, humor in this situation ...
An annoying hiccough: Obtaining the many requisite fingerprint cards for our family became a part-time job in itself, bee-bopping between the police department (too inexperienced, too inky), the sheriff's office (too disorganized), and the jail (too busy). I'm happy to report, one and a half months later, that we've been officially fingerprinted to death, and there's not a smidgen of criminal in us!
A reality check: In considering who might be the perfect guardian for our little angel, we learned that caring for a special needs child is not appealing to all -- that there are those who look forward to retirement and wealth and travel and independence, while others (like us) cannot imagine anything more rewarding than sharing the remainder of our lives with our "special" kids, and everything else will follow ...
An identity crisis: We're currently charged with persuading the passport folks (with certifiable evidence) that our last name does not have a space between the Mc and Cracken. As silly as this seems, this little "extra space" is currently hanging up our entire dossier and may involve re-creating our identities, moving mountains, or if we're lucky, just opening our checkbooks again and applying a little more paperwork.
Thanks to all who have offered patience, assistance and encouragement along this journey of detail bedlam: Every apostilled document that makes its way to our dossier brings us one step and one day closer to meeting our new daughter.
We're coming for you, baby girl!
P.S. Nancy, if you're reading, we couldn't do this without you. xo
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