Getting Andry

ANDRY'S FIRST TRIP BACK TO UKRAINE TO VISIT HIS ORPHANAGE FRIENDS AND BIOLOGICAL FAMILY.

2010-03-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

PANIC ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT BUT A RELAXED LANDING IN NEW YORK.

2007-08-13T21:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Everyone was dressed, packed and ready to go when Vasilly & Yelena arrived to take us to the van.

My back was hurting again, slowly increasing pain, but I took a couple of pain pills. I’d wait for an injection before getting on the plane.

Yelena was telling us how much her five year old nephew loved the ice hockey game we gave to her (we couldn’t bring it back on the plane).

I couldn’t listen to her finish the story; the pain was over the tolerable threshold. I turned and asked Pippa if she had the injectable medication in her bag. No, she had left it in the apartment, thinking that I seemed to feeling better so she didn’t bother to bring it since she wouldn’t have been able to get it through airport security.

I felt like screaming at her and at the pain. I didn’t do either. It was a reasonable mistake. However there is no way I would get on the plane in this condition; they wouldn’t even let me, if I tried. But I had to have this injection. Or go to a Ukrainian emergency room again. Then I’d have to let Pippa and the children go on home. But how would I talk to the EMT guys or the doctor? How long would I have to remain in Ukraine? Would they operate on me this time? All these questions and a dozen more were racing through my head.

Very carefully and slowly, I told Yelena the situation about the injectable medicine. Since we were now only fifteen minutes from Boryspil airport, I told Yelena to drop us off at baggage check, and then for she and Vasilly to rush back to the apartment and get the medication and rush back. There just might be enough time.

We waited for them to come back. It was really going to be close. I was in too much escalating pain to sit down and I walked in circles.

I waited near the baggage check area and Yelena and Vasilly showed up. Vasilly insisted on giving me in Russian––long and carefully constructed goodbyes, good wishes for the future, and expressions of love, all punctuated with Russian bear hugs, that hurt like Hell, as Yelena translated in English.

Finally, I rushed upstairs, threw the bag of medication to Pippa and to hurry and let’s do it. We all went downstairs to find a private room or toilet and Olya was tickled pink at the prospect of Pippa in the men’s room sticking a needle in my bare ass. But that’s what happened, except we used the wheelchair toilet room.

With five minutes of the shot, I could talk again, and the pain was quickly ebbing.

We rushed to the Ukrainian immigration booth, we were too very close to boarding time. But I used my friendliest manner to the Ukrainian immigration officer, who ignored me and barked, “Ze adoption document, pleazz!”

We thought we had everything. We had passports and the sealed package to go to US immigration. We had not expected this. What was he talking about?

Pippa panicked. So, did I. Andry came out of his sleepy daze and looked nervous. Pippa blitzed through the folder she had of extra copies of all the legal stuff we’d collected. By a sheer miracle, she had put this folder in the computer bag carry–on, instead of checking in baggage. The officer looked and looked as our hearts sank and sank. Finally, without looking at us, he pulled out one sheath of papers, handed it to Pippa and barked again, “Ze original, pleazz!” Pippa found a copy that had been stamped, handed it to the officer, again without looking at us, he stamped this paper and whirling around for us to follow him. Oh God, where was he taking us?

Actually, only about twenty yards. He turned over to another officer sitting by a big machine, who took the paper work, scanned it and us, and waved us on to the departure gates.

Olya and I sat in the ‘fancy section”, business class and Andry and Pippa went on to the back. All this was negotiated earlier. Andry had said all the seats were the same as he was on the plane. Olya was adamant about sitting with me up front. She’s had a taste of the good life in business class previously and has no wish to be with the peons in steerage.

I had a wonderful flight with Olya. Happy, bubbling, she operated my TV screen and synchronized her screen with mine as we watched the funny figure skating movie with Will Ferrell. She was shrieking with laughter and I loved being with her. Twice, she carefully put a blanket around me when I showed signs of being sleepy. It was probably the most pleasant flight I’ve ever had in my life. Being zonked out on pain medication may have added to the pleasure.

There were four families with their adopted Ukrainian on the same flight with us, and we greeted one another as only those who have shared the same tortuous experience can do. They smiled and chatted as they passed down the aisle.

When we landed in New York, Pippa told me the flight with Andry went also very well. Talkative and cheerful, Andry was a happy camper the whole trip across the ocean.

Pippa talking now: With so much uninterrupted time together I learned a lot about Andry. Unlike most children when they travel he was awake 90% of the trip. He asked me some questions that are tough to answer especially when we don’t speak the same language fluently.

One thing he wanted to know was why we had adopted him. There are several truthful answers to this question. I wasn’t sure which he had the vocabulary to understand. I also wasn’t sure which he needed to hear at this moment. I was realizing there was a lot going on with him and he was ready to talk about how he was feeling.

Stumbling through my answer I told him that when we found out that Olya had a brother still in Ukraine we started looking for him. When we found him and visited him in Spain, where he spent summer vacations with his Spanish foster family, we fell in love with him. We thought he was nice, smart and special. When we learned that he wanted to be adopted we started the procedure as soon as we got back to the United States. We wanted him to be our son and come to live with his sister.

Andry then told me that he didn’t believe I loved him until I cried. He was referring to the incident the day before when exhausted from his reocuuring sullen behavior, when I was trying so hard to make him feel loved and happy, I had broken down and cried. I didn't hold back my tears because he needed to see how badly he was hurting me.

He also asked how I could be his mother and love him since I hadn’t known him since he was little. Another good, tough question. I hope my answer satisfied him.

We stayed busy together the rest of the flight. We played the complicated card game he had taught me a couple of weeks ago. I got good enough to beat him almost half the time. Prior to this my only wins were when he let me. I also drew floor plans of our house showing him where all the rooms are including his. This led to a map of the city with points of interest like the beach, park, pool, Miami Ad School and his school. Then came a list of all of our family members and our friends. He talked about his childhood, school and friends and his worries about his new school and new friends in Miami.

The in-flight movie came on when we had run out of things to talk about. Toward the end of the flight he tucked my blanket in around my shoulders and fell asleep with his head in my lap. He seemed physically and emotionally comfortable.

WE JOIN FOUR OTHER FAMILIES AT THE AMERICAN EMBASSY. THE CHILDREN ARE WONDERFUL AGAIN.

2007-08-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Morning came and so did Pippa, bless her soul, with a cup of hot coffee. Ahhh. She also had a bowl of muesli for me. Olya came in to see me about five minutes, shocked to see that I had eaten the cereal, to tell me the milk was sour.

Well, I got up and took a shower, aching back and all.

Everybody this morning was in a good mood and even “Slowlya”, as we were beginning to call our daughter, because it takes her so long to get dressed and ready to go.

Vasilly and Yelena were waiting downstairs and we drove quickly to the American Embassy for our 10:30 appointment.

Getting into the American Embassy is as tough, well as tough as getting into an American Embassy. No bags, cell phones, purses, containers, food, computers or whatever you would like to bring for a four of five hour wait with two children.

We pass a giant line of Ukrainian people who look as if they have been in line since dawn. As an adopting American family we don’t have to wait.

Once we get pass security we go though a series of the heaviest doors on earth. I think we will be very safe inside this building.

We follow the yellow brick road and sit in a line of chairs in the corridor with four other American couples hoping to get their visa for their adopted children. One couple had three children in tow; a boy about eight, one girl seven and another five. A second couple had a little five year old who looked terrified, while another woman had a pretty twelve-year old girl. Another couple had a little girl who kept bouncing here and there as if she did this every day. Andry sat quietly not talking or interested in any of the workbooks, paper or colored pencils Pippa had brought for the kids.

In talking to the other families and embassy staff we found out that the current, average stay for adopting families is four to five weeks. Our seven-week stay seems even longer now.

It’s a long, long wait at the embassy but we weren’t in a hurry. We were missing one document, the official medical record that wouldn’t be ready until 12:00. Vasilly and Yelena were going to pick it up and rush it over. So, the delay for the medical didn’t delay us more than an hour. The very nice American man behind the counter, said no problem, the visa will be ready for us at 3:30.

We left the embassy and headed for T.G.I. Fridays, a restaurant chain we never go to in the USA, but today it seemed appropriate. When we got there we saw two of the adopting Americans we had met at the embassy.

Andry and Olya were in great spirits and having a wonderful time together. Andry must be relieved that the very long and nerve-racking document scavenger hunt is over. We are all so happy that we can finally go home together as a family. Lunch zoomed by and we zoomed over to the internet café. I’d stay there with the kids while Vasilly took Pippa to pick up the visa and do a last grocery run.

The kids were having a ball together playing “Counterstrike”. They were glowing as they came up to the lobby where I was having a kafe s molokom. That was really nice to see.

The good mood continued all evening back at the apartment. Olya and Andry played on the computers all night. I showed Andy how to design books in iPhoto and gave Olya a few pointers as well. Pippa stayed beside them writing notes to herself.

I couldn’t sleep. I lay just waiting for the next round of pain as the stone comes down lower to the final part of its journey. I’m still waiting, still awake. The clock is ticking. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.

WE HAVE ANDRY’S PASSPORT! RON GOES TO A UKRAINIAN EMERGENCY ROOM OUT OF A HORROR MOVIE.

2007-08-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Getting Andry’s passport had its panic moment. Someone didn’t pay the 15 hrivana fee (about three dollars). We waited and waited, then had to rush to a particular bank, pay the 15 hrivana, and rush back to the passport office.

With the passport in hand, we rushed to a medical center to get a medical exam, the last remaining piece we needed to request a visa for Andry. We remembered the medical center from four years ago when we went there to get Olya’s medical for her adoption. That time the lights went out and we waited in pitch black for two hours.

This time we had lights. But the experience for Andry was terribly upsetting. While Pippa stood behind a screen so Andry would have privacy, his doctor, who was a woman, examined him very “thoroughly”. Next he had to get vaccinated and have tests for TB and HIV. At least the medical was over. We were told we could have his medical report back at noon the next day.

It wasn’t a time for celebration yet. We had a new problem. Our appointment at the American Embassy to get Andry’s visa was at 10:00 in the morning and they finished visas for adoptions at 12:00. We needed the medical report in order to get the visa.

Yelena also told us that the embassy often does background checks on teenage boys to make sure they don’t have a criminal record. If the embassy did the background check or made us wait a day because the medical record arrived in the afternoon instead of the morning we wouldn’t get the visa in time for our flight. The next available flight wasn’t until Tuesday.

We hatched a plan. Pippa, the kids and I would go to the embassy while Yelena and Vasilly went to get our medical reports. As soon as they got Andry’s medical clearance they would race it over to the embassy. Since the embassy only processed visas until noon we knew it would be a close. We also knew we would have to do some begging.

It was now close to 5pm. I hadn’t had lunch. Pippa and Olya got a plate from the medical center cafeteria. Andry had been too embarrassed to eat. I missed it because I needed to get some medical records from Andry’s school records, we’d left at the apartment. Actually, I had only coffee for breakfast. When I got up, I had some unusual pains in my back and I felt a little nausea, so I settled for coffee.

So, I convinced the gang to go to CCCP (SSSR) the Soviet-era nostalgia restaurant I liked so much that was close to the apartment. A good meal was the way to wind down and talk about what we’d gotten accomplished so far. The passport was critical to leaving Ukraine with our new son, and it was in our pocket.

We ordered a really big meal, complete with a very fine Georgian wine. Andry’s mood had brightened and everything was going well. I had a great feeling of relief. However, I began to have another feeling begin to come over me as well. And it was a sharp pain in the small of my back.

(Since the pages and pages I had written describing the pain in vivid detail were pretty boring and only of interest to me, or the relative few people who have had an attack of kidney stones, I deleted them.)

Pippa called every private clinic in Kiev trying to find one that was still open. The private clinics have western-style medical care and the doctors usually speak English. Since it was after 6:30 all the private clinics were closed. Pippa called an ambulance; she had no choice. Even in my misery, that idea seemed miserable, but I was in no position to argue. I thought I might be dying.

An eternity of pain later, an ambulance showed up. Pippa described it to me the following day as looking like a toaster and being about as medically equipped as a toaster. The temperature inside was certainly toast-like.

The next few minutes are a jumble for me. I was pulled or pushed inside. Everyone was shouting in Russian. Yelena was inside with me; Pippa was fighting to get in, being pushed back by the male ambulance nurse. I was literally screaming in agony, begging somebody to help. Pippa got in. We sped off. I said I was going to vomit. A blue bucket was shoved over to me. Pippa said the male and female nurse were mixing liquids from several vials. A needle was stuck in my arm. We raced on and I soon began to feel the pain dull just a little. Even a little was a lot. I felt the ambulance hit a hundred potholes and someone said we’re at the hospital. I remember a blur of flowers just as I entered the Twilight Zone.

We walked into the hospital and entered a movie stage for a horror flick set in the 1940’s in Soviet Russia.

There were pale green tiles on the floor with a percentage of them missing. The hospital was massive with very few lights and almost empty of humans. I was led into room with a nurse and a doctor; the doctor was about fourteen years old, with a doctor’s white coat and torn jeans.

He examined me by thudding my back until his fist found the right spot. I was careful to let him know he had been successful in his search, by rewarding him with my imitation of a dying bull. He declared I was having an attack of kidney stones. He would do some tests but that was his diagnosis.

I was sent into the bathroom for a urine specimen. The bathroom was rank. The toilet had no seat and no cover. To flush it you had to reach into the water and pull out the drain by hand. There was no paper.

When I came back into the room, I was told they needed to take blood. I rolled up my sleeve but the nurse grabbed my finger and pinched with a needle that hurt like hell despite the pain medication in my body. She then milked my finger as someone would do a cow’s teat, getting all the blood she needed.

Next I was taken, with Pippa and Yelena, down the long empty dark corridor to a tiny office. There was the smallest table, with a pale green formica-type top and a 1950’s-style telephone, with two wooden chairs on either end of the tiny table. We all crowded into the room. Posters of floral arrangements were pinned to the wall. The nurse pushed a button on the wall, doors shut and we descended to another level. It was an elevator! It felt like we were going to open into another universe, perhaps inhabited by a race of body-snatchers.

The doors opened again and we were led into an even darker corridor. We walked down the corridor for a long time in the half-light, passing two square women who could have been janitors or patients. If they were janitors, they haven’t been doing any work in this place, I tell you.

We rounded a corner and I was shown into a large dark room with a splendid x-ray machine that was new in about 1948. A big woman in white pushed me onto the table and I was instructed to pull down my pants. Big nurse made the most cursory adjustment of my position, left the room, I heard the vibration of the machine and then silence.

I lay there for quite a while with my pants down to my knees. This place was not air-conditioned but I was freezing. Earlier when I was having the shakes, I’d asked for a blanket and was told they didn’t have any. Yelena finally came into the room and said for us to go back downstairs to the doctor.

There was a second doctor in the dimly lit office. He was dressed the same and was maybe twenty years old, distinctive with his curly hair, looking at lot like my 24 year old son.

Curly-haired doctor said that I was having an attack of kidney stones and that the thing to do was to break them up with their ultrasound machine. But unfortunately their ultrasound machine didn’t work so they would have to operate on me instead. He seemed pleased at the prospect, ready to roll up his sleeves and go to work right away.

As stoned as I was, I could not for the life of me, see any merit in that choice. There was also a question about insurance. My insurance was no good in Ukraine. Don’t worry I was told, all the tests were free, but I would need to pay the doctor.

We convinced the doctor to skip the surgery he was planning for me and instead, to load me up on pain medication until I could get the USA. He seemed dismayed at not having a chance to cut into me, but he acquiesced, and agreed to the pain medication.

He gave us a prescription for an injectable pain medication that we could pick up in any pharmacy, and other prescriptions for pain capsules. He instructed Pippa to give me an injection before we get onto the plane if I was still in pain on Saturday.

While this hospital, Octyabirskaya Bolnitsa (October Hospital, in honor of the Soviet October Revolution) had been a nightmare, the doctors and nurses had been extraordinarily friendly. Perhaps they were just happy to have a patient at last.

Still in considerable pain, but able to walk, I followed Pippa and Yelena back to the car where the children had been waiting with Vasilly, our steadfast driver. The children had been perfect throughout all of this except that Olya had made ‘butterflies” that kept Andry in stitches. “Butterflies”, we found out later, is Vasilly’s word for farts.

I had a very bad night. Pippa microwaved a wet towel wrapped in plastic that she placed against my kidney, hoping the heat would help assuage the pain. I rolled from side to side for hours. Eventually, the pain subsided and I fell asleep, wondering what the morning would bring.

THE END OF THE END

2007-08-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

There was no hurry to rush out of the apartment; Yelana did not need us at the passport office. Pippa worked on her computer, the children slept very late (Olya doesn’t go to bed until long after midnight; Andry watches the TV in his bedroom until after one).

When Olya got up and had finished eating her “ducks”, her favorite Ukrainian cereal, I asked if she would like to take a walk with me. She said in her usual cheerful, “Sure”.

The three of us, me, Olya and “little Pippa”, one of her five American Girl dolls, this one named after her mother, sauntered out and took the fifteen minute walk to the mini market next to McDonald’s. “Little Pippa” pushed the elevator buzzer on the way down.

Walking with Olya is always a joy. We chat about nothing and everything. She tells funny stories and tells them in a funny way. There are still gaps in her English and some words are used in, shall we say, an interesting way. She bounces along instead of walking.

We couldn’t find what we wanted in the mini market so we went next door to McDonalds. Olya doesn’t like the food there, neither does Pippa nor do I. But Andry does, so we ordered him a couple of big Mac’s. A lot of confusion. English is not understood, neither is finger-pointing at the big pictures on the wall. I took whatever they wanted to give me and paid probably thirty dollars for three cheeseburgers and two orders of fries. Whatever.

Olya and I ate a couple of the tiny tubs of fries on the way back. I must admit they taste good even if they do take a year off my life.

Andry, who had just gotten up (1pm or so) was happy with the cheeseburger.

Pippa heard from Yelena. No news. Bad news. It seemed doubtful we’d make our deadline. I began immediately to try to think of alternatives. Since there are no seats to be had on any flights after Saturday, we could be in Kiev for a lot longer. I needed to think of anything to keep us from staying in Kiev for another week.

How could we deal with Andry and his roller coaster moods here? We must change the environment and get him to Miami where he can start his new life instead of this holding pattern. The reality of dealing with the uncertainty of this environment, calls from Maria and Nikolai, seemed now unbearable to me. I feel like an animal caught in a trap ready to gnaw my paw off to get out. I’m sure Pippa and the kids feel the same.

And then, as if a thunderbolt hit me, an overwhelming depression came onto me; it was not gradual, as often these kinds of things begin. But sudden, immediate, and very strong.

I can’t remember much about the rest of the day. Andry made me a bead bracelet; I worked on the computer. But, my brain was fried. I went to bed.

Pippa interrupting now: While Ron and Olya went for a walk I stayed at the apartment to let Andry sleep longer. I’ve read teenagers need more sleep than adults or even children. During stressful times the body also requires more sleep. With all the anxiety this never-ending-adoption is causing all of us, I expected Andry to sleep like Rumpelstiltskin.

At about 1:00 Andry woke up. As he walked out of his bedroom I gave him a cheerful, “Good morning.” In return he gave me the kind of glare you give a suspicious looking stranger and he walked to the bathroom. When he came out I patted the sofa next to me and asked him to come sit with me. He ignored me and walked to his room and closed the door.

As much as my feelings were hurt, I also knew that for him to be snarling at me, he also had to be in pain, though I had no idea why. I went to his room and firmly asked him again to come sit next to me on the sofa. I explained that when I ask him to do something he must do what I ask. At heart he is not a defiant boy. He willingly joined me on the sofa.

Andry was able to explain that he was upset because I had not waked him up this morning. I just can’t win! If I wake him up he wants to sleep late. If I let him sleep he wants me to wake him. I understood that it was more than not being waked up; he felt left out.

I was actually glad for this issue that thankfully had a quick resolution. It gave me the chance to reinforce again that Ron and I will only do good things for him; that we want him to be happy. I explained that I was being nice to him when I let him sleep late. He immediately relaxed.

I was impressed with how Andry had opened up and explained what was bothering him and how quickly his anger toward me disappeared. The misunderstanding had hopefully allowed us to learn how to work together through a problem.

I wanted to extend this synergy and do something fun together. I remembered the beads my mother had left so the children could make jewelry. Andry strung beads on a leather thong making a bracelet for himself. Then he made a more feminine version for me. Ron and Olya came home and he made bracelets for both of them; a very masculine one for Ron and danty bracelet for Olya. I know if a psychologist had been watching she would have scribbled in her notebook that our family was making progress.

Back to Ron: I didn’t watch TV. I’ve read every book we brought and I was unsuccessful in finding books in English in Kiev. Actually, I’ve read the books I bought from home––back to front as well, as I sometimes do.

I didn’t want to read. I’d had it. I just lay there.

I was like the marathon runner who gets within sight of the tape, but collapses, unable to make the last fifty yards.

I’d felt this coming on a week or so ago. But shook it off. I had been, I think, at the edge of the emotional cliff, but Pippa unknowingly pulled me back.

I recalled the moment. I was in the bedroom and she came in and gave me a simple hug that lasted several minutes. But it was a courage transfusion to me.

For all this time in Ukraine, what was supposed to be four weeks has turned into seven, we’ve been focused on the children with little energy left over for each other. If we had a moment without the children, it was purely accidental, as two land-tortoises might bump one another, if their pen was small enough or the fog thick enough.

However, this day was different. I was drained of any stamina. I knew I would go through the motions and do whatever needed to be done. But my heart wasn’t in it. Which one of the characters in the Wizard of Oz movie was looking for a heart? I can’t remember, but whoever it was, is ME.

Sometime later, Pippa came in and told me, “We can get Andry’s passport at noon tomorrow! Whoopee! (Pippa does really say, “whoopee).

That got me on my feet. I took a shower. I don’t recall what I or anyone else did for a few hours after that.

Yelena and Vasilly showed up. We made plans for the next day.

Yelena said Maria called and asked to see the children one last time.

We had Yelena ask Andry if he wanted to see them. He said emphatically, “No.”

We told Yelena to tell Maria that Andry did not want to see Nikolai again.

They dropped us off at Yakatoriya. It has become the children’s favorite restaurant. Olya still wants borsch everywhere we go, but she seems to have tired of vereneky with cherries. She loves the chicken wings at Yakatoriya

We walked home, about a twenty-minute pleasant walk using the short cuts we’ve discovered.

I didn’t stay up long. I watched a disturbing Hallmark, fell asleep.

Hopefully tomorrow is a big day – passport day.

NO EPISODES - NO PASSPORT.

2007-08-01T12:26:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Andry got up early without incident.
I made the kids German pancakes and Vassily was picking us up shortly after nine am.

(Pippa writing: All of us looked at the pictures Erik had emailed us of our life in America. The pictures he sent of family, our dogs, cats and birds, our living room, kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms have been comforting. We try to imagine ourselves in the pictures. While this trip has not been a huge hardship, we aren’t hungry, no freezing weather, no lice infestations or blights, WE WANT TO GO HOME!)

Here is the view our of our apartment window in Kiev.

The playground below.

Yelena didn’t need us to go with her to submit the “legalization”, but asked us to stay close by in case she needed us. We went to the internet café/movie theater.

After we got there Andry didn’t want to play any video games. We knew going there was might to set him off again, since the internet café was the scene of a recent episode. But it needed to be worked out.

He surprised us by asking to see Harry Potter again upstairs at the cinema. Olya was in her typically good mood and would do whatever. So we traipsed upstairs and caught the 10am showing of a movie we had already seen and didn’t understand, in Russian.

(Pippa writing: Funny, a couple of weeks ago Andry stated several times that he would not watch the Harry Potter movie. Now this is the second time he’s wanted to see it. During the movie I sat next to Andry and he laughed the whole time. Wanting me to also enjoy the movie's humor, he smiled and said, "When we see it in Miami you will laugh, too.")

After the movie we went around the corner to a Ukrainian restaurant where we had eaten before. Tasty food and reasonably prompt service and the waitress spoke a little English.

We went back to the cinema and waited outside for Vasilly to pick us and drop us at the apartment. Then he went back to the passport office to get Yelena.

She showed up at our apartment a few hours later with a sad look on her face. As Yelena was meeting with the woman at the passport office the woman got a phone call. Someone in her family had died and she was needed at the morgue to identify the body. Obviously, one more passport-less day.

The woman told Yelena to come back the next morning at 9:00. If we get the passport back in one day, there is still a chance for us to get the medical done and our approval from the American Embassy and we could make our Saturday flight. We’ve been waiting for the appointment for six days getting the passport back in one day is not likely.

The rest of the evening was a blur for me. I cooked a pork roast. Andry, Pippa and I ate dinner, while Olya slept. She hadn’t felt well all day. Andry seemed to like having us to himself for a bit.

After dinner, Pippa stayed on her computer; I think Andry worked on Olya’s computer. I went to bed and watched Hallmark.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings at the passport office.

(Pippa writing: While Olya slept on the sofa I taught Andry a little Photoshop. We sat close giggling as he retouched a photo of Olya so that her ears were huge. He gave her one blue eye and a Dali-style mouth. Then he went to his room to watch Russian Spiderman cartoons, his favorite.

When Olya woke I fed her and we watched a scary movie on Hallmark, much scarier than I thought Hallmark would show. If we were in the States I would have changed the channel but here there is no other choice.)

HOW, EVEN WHEN DOING HIS FAVORITE THING, A 13-YEAR-OLD CAN BE SAD, MAD OR SOMETHING ELSE HARD TO FIGURE OUT.

2007-07-30T14:09:00.000-07:00

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Andry became a champion sharp-shooter when he was in Spain on the Chernobyl Children program. His host parents for the summer had discovered he had a talent for shooting target. They had taken him to a series of shooting events, and eventually he won two championships.

We knew target shooting was his thing. So, when we were looking for a special event for Sunday, since we had no adoption procedures until Monday, I (Ron) looked on-line and found a target shooting range about 30 kilometers outside of Kiev.

We timed the short trip so we would reach the shooting range around lunch; they had told Yelena on the phone that they had a restaurant on the premises.

When we pulled in we were very pleasantly surprised. This place was far more than a little target shooting range. The place was enormous.

There were young girls in a riding ring with fine horses; an archery range; a Russian tank to ride on rough ground; a building just for pistol practice; a knife and star-throwing section fit for a ninja; another building to shoot kalisnikov’s and other sub machine guns; and other ranges for other purposes we could only guess at.

There were animals all over the place. Many were in pens, others wandered wherever they liked.

Yet there was something serious about the place. (We discovered later, from one of the employees, that the Mafia used the place for practice; another suggested they owned the place. Another said bandits came here to practice; he didn’t define bandits.

We sat and had a coffee and ordered our lunch and then went to shoot pistols and arrows until lunch was ready. Sadly, we knew this day wasn’t going to work out well. We actually knew it the minute Andry got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. He acted unhappy. He responded to every question or comment the same way, an abrupt monosyllable. When asked what was bothering him he said, “nothing.” In the car he sat in the back seat with Pippa, quiet, not responding to any of Pippa’s attempts to break the spell.

Despite all the fun things this place offered, he remained stoic. He and Pippa went to the pistol range. Olya, Yelena and I went to the archery range.

With my (Pippa) one-on-one attention Andry softened. He said he would only shoot if I did too. This was the first time he made an effort to engage any of us all day. So of course I shot the pistol. If my target had been a real, bad-guy he would have simply limped away. Andry’s first bullet would have stopped his villain cold.

Olya was already skilled with a bow and arrow from her practice at our farm in North Georgia. In a minute or so, she was hitting the target every time, something an older boy before her couldn’t do.

We took a break for lunch and all of us met at the restaurant. Andry was his sullen self and soon Olya was acting the same way. Bad moods are contagious. I (Ron) took Olya out of earshot of everyone and asked her why she was acting like Andry. She didn’t know why. I (Pippa) also talked to Olya about happiness being a choice and not being dependent on someone else for her happiness.

Andry announced he no longer wanted to shoot a pistol; he wanted to shoot with the bow and arrow instead. I knew trouble was coming but we went to the archery range anyway. I was right. Unfortunately.

Andry was first at the archery range. He didn’t want me to tell him how to do anything, so I didn’t. He wanted to start with the long bow instead of the easier to use, cross bow.

His first five arrows weren’t awful, but a couple of arrows missed the target altogether. He walked off discouraged and disgruntled wanting nothing to do with archery. Yelena went after him and put her arm around him; they stayed like that in a deep conversation for a long time. We were glad he had someone he felt he could talk to but wished it was us.

In the meantime, Olya was having a good time. She was right on target nearly every shot. The archery supervisor took a shine to Olya’s performance and kept adding balloons to the target to make it more interesting for her. As she would pop one balloon, he would replace it with two.

Perhaps an hour passed before Yelena and Andry came back over. Olya was ready to stop and the next group in line was waiting for their turn. Yelena announced Andry wanted to shoot the pistols again and the group walked over to the pistol building. It turns out they also could shoot rifles and machine guns there as well. Olya stayed for Andry’s first shots and then went outside because the noise, even with the noise-deafening earphones, was loud. Andry finished shooting with the pistol and then shot a few rounds with the largest rifle I had ever seen. I took a few posed photos after the real shooting was over since the camera flash would have been disturbing.

Andry had great accuracy and we made sure to “ooo” and “aaah” over the paper targets with the holes in the middle. All the praise made him smile.

The afternoon over, Pippa, Yelena and I walked over to pay the bill. It was also the first opportunity we’d had to be alone with Yelena to find out what had transpired in her conversation with Andry.

The essence of their conversation was he is jealous of Olya’s relationship with us. Not that he articulated it that way, but he wants what she already has and what Ron and I are working hard to develop with him, a close, caring relationship.

He is convinced we care more about her, we praise her all the time and spend more time with her. Then he explained to Yelena what had happened most recently to bother him. He said the night before he, Olya and I had all been together watching TV and not talking. He left the room then Olya and I started talking; that we won’t talk when he is around.

What he said is true but he missed some parts. The night before Olya, Andry and I had been watching TV. Olya and Andry were tickling and being goofy. Olya pretended to kiss Andry. Annoyed, Andry marched off to his room. I took this quiet opportunity to practice Olya’s multiplication tables. Our “conversation” he heard from the other room was me saying, “Olya, what is 6X4?”

While it’s hard to deal with, I think the jealousy could be a good sign. He really wants what Olya has, a close relationship with us, his new parents. We have to find more ways to inter-act, bond and be physically affectionate with him. WE’RE TRYING!!

We think hugging is something Andry never had, wants badly, but doesn’t know how to make it happen. He never hugs me (and definitely not Ron) but seems to really like it when I touch him; much different than Olya was when we were in Ukraine adopting her. Whenever possible, I make a point to rub his back, massage is hands, ruffle his hair, pat his knee… He told me as a child he remembers being alone all the time. Maria was “no there.”

After the shooting place, we all piled into the van and drove back to Kiev. Olya fell asleep and Andry and I had a free-flowing conversation. He told me that he does not want to see Maria and Nikolai anymore. (This sure makes life easier for us!) He said that when he was in the orphanage, Maria and Nikolai were all he had, so they were important to him, but now they are not. He said we are now important to him.

Andry went to bed early, shortly after dinner; he usually stays up past midnight so we were concerned about his change in habit. He said he was tired and wanted to be ready to get up early.

We had told him that tomorrow was going to be a busy day doing legal stuff for him. We went though the steps necessary before we can go home on Saturday: having the legalization of all our papers complete which is what we need to give the passport office; taking the passport to get a medical exam; taking everything to the American Embassy Thursday morning because the American Embassy is closed on Friday. Without all this, we can’t get on the plane on Saturday.

He asked for a paper and pencil as he was going into his room. I (Ron) gave him one of the blank journals we’d brought along in case one or both of the kids wanted to make a journal.

I (Pippa) to spend time with him to lessen his isolation, asked if I could read my book in his room with him where it was quiet. He seemed happy for the company. Andry sat by the window writing in the journal while I read on the bed.

As the sun set I went to the window to see it. Andry quickly closed his journal as I approached. I used this opportunity tell him about my own journals and blogs; how writing your thoughts down can be really helpful. I explained that there was no need to close his journal if he was writing in Spanish or Ukrainian because I couldn’t read what he was writing. But even if I could read those languages I still wouldn’t read his journal. His journal was private. He didn’t understand “private” so I explained, “when you take your clothes off and want the door closed.” He got it. I left him alone for a while to write and checked on Olya who was busy ichatting.

Better understanding his need for interaction, I went back in later with the language workbook I had brought for him. Sitting next to him, I showed him the pages I wanted him to complete. He turned down the volume on the TV show he was watching and got to work without a complaint. Together we went over his answers, which were almost all correct. I told him what a good job he had done and how proud I was of him.

The pages finished he asked if wanted to watch TV with him. When I said “yes” he went into the controls and switched the program from Ukrainian to English so I would understand what Pugsley, Wednesday, Morticia and the husband, whose name I can’t remember, were saying. Andry said the Adam’s Family with the mother, father and son and daughter were our family. We laughed.

When the show was over I left to have a “multiplication conversation” with Olya and then, so Andry wouldn’t feel left out, went back to his room to have a “multiplication conversation” with him.

(Ron now.) Pippa reminded me to take him the white chocolate I’d bought for him at the Mega Market. I knocked on his door and walked in. The room was completely dark.

I asked, “Awake?” He answered “yes.”

“Want your chocolate?”

He reached over and took the chocolate from me. “Thanks.”

That’s the first time he’s ever thanked either of us without prompting.

I left Pippa in the living room spelling words for Olya who was ichatting with her grandfather.

“I’m really wiped. Going to bed. See you in a couple of days.”

Before going to bed I (Pippa) went to Andry’s room to tuck him in. I rubbed his back and told him that his Dad and I wished he had always been our son; that I wished I had been able to read him stories, drive him to school, make birthday cakes for him and teach him to swim.

He asked me what “wish” means.

I made another sentence with wish. “I wish we could go to Miami in the morning.”

He said, “I understand.”

WE GO TO MARIA’S BIRTHDAY PARTY IN TELIZCYNCI; VISIT A 100 YEAR OLD PRABABUSA; RETRACING THE KIDS' EARLY YEARS

2007-07-29T01:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 28, 2007

The car trip to Telizcynci is about three hours long but seems longer on a hot day like today. The VW van has no air conditioning and Vasilly drives as fast as Michael Schumacher on a four lane German autobahn. But this highway has more than an occasional rut and it’s only two lanes that are filled with trucks. Because of the heat, the windows must be wide open and you’re windblown in the middle seat and just short of suffocating in the rear seat.

We stop for lunch at Vasilly’s favorite truck stop which is a series of linked open door buildings, each with a homemade metal barbeque and sticks of meat grilling. We’d been here once before. The meat was tough and tasteless but the flies were ravenous anyway. No air conditioning and only one horrible-beyond discussing-toilet shared by the half dozen “restaurants”. I’d been a good sport the last time we were here and sat down to rough it out again.

But the day was too hot, the flies too many, and my patience too worn and in tatters. I said, “No way,” and got up and led everyone back into the van and we hit the road again.

As soon as you turn off the main road about an hour and a half from Kiev, the scenery becomes really picturesque. I love our own farm in the North Carolina mountains; the scenery in the Carpathian mountains is majestic. But this landscape is incomparable in its own way.

This is part of the Steppes, the land is gently rolling, all farmland with the tall skinny trees as windbreaks.

The highway becomes a winding road in between large shady trees, the fertile farmland changing from deep green to light green depending on the crops growing; alternating with large swashes of yellow and gold of planted grain and sometimes even fields of sunflowers.

We’re told this area had the finest collective farms in the Soviet Republics. There are still mammoth columbines and other machinery to plow, seed and harvest the crop. Today, some fields were being plowed for a second crop, other fields were being burned. This was big business farming on the scale of the American Midwest. If Ukraine was considered the ‘bread basket of the Soviet”, this area, Tetiiv, is where the grain was grown for the bread.

Bila Cerkva is the big town of the region, not really a city, but the closest thing to one. We circled around Bila Cerkva and forty minutes or so we come into the much smaller town of Tetiiv, perhaps the “county-seat” of the region. We stop here to find a restaurant. We discover there is not one to find, “used to be one”, the passersby tell us, “but it was years ago”.

We search around and find a small grocery that, to our big surprise, was air-conditioned. We loaded up with cold drinks, ice cream bars, slices of bologna and bread and headed on towards Telizcynci.

Yelena says this chocolate was the best during the Soviet time.

We stopped about five minutes from Telizcynci and ate our snack. We thought there would be a table of food for Maria’s birthday party, but we weren’t certain of that and so we needed to take the edge of our hunger. Some of us took a pee break behind one of the big trees lining the road because we all knew we could not face again the outhouse at Maria’s.

The village of Telizcynci is just lovely. It a cluster of individually decorated homes curling around a large lake on one side, rolling hills of grain forming an idyllic view for the villagers on the opposite side of the lake.

There were children of all ages on the single village road: toddlers on tricycles, pre-teens on bikes, trios of stylish teenage girls, giggling at us as we walked past them, boys in soccer shirts surprised when we greeted them with “Dobry Den”.

We saw a small group of girls swimming in the lake that quickly dissuaded Andry and Olya from taking a dip in the lake’s popular swimming hole.

Ignoring the swimming girls was a picturesque babusha collecting reeds from the lake’s edge for a new broom.

This is an ideal place to spend your early childhood as did Olya and Andry. In fact I can’t imagine a more perfect place, unless of course, your father happens to be a notorious drunk, a wife and child-beater, shiftless and lazy. That was also the early childhood of Olya and Andry.

As we pulled into Maria’s part of the village, Olya had her hands in prayer and kept repeating, “Dear God, Dear God, please don’t let the girls see me.” The “girls” she was referring to were the village babushas who swarmed her and kissed her, roughing her cheeks with their ‘beards”. Olya wanted no repeat of that. As we pulled into what pretended to be a driveway and no “girls” in sight, Olya said. “Thank you, God.”

However, her old biological grandmother, Hannah, was making a bee-line for her. Olya avoided contact without being too obvious about her evasion; she was now terrified of catching their “lices”. (Pippa had put Olya's hair into a tight bun as a precaution.)

On our previous visits, Olya was too over-whelmed to be concerned about the squalor around her. This time however her fanatical fastidiousness was in full-force. She would not go into the house and cautioned all of us if we got near the entry door. For Andry, it was a different story; he went in and out without concern. This was his home and I thought he was not even aware of the filth in the yard and inside the house. (However, that night, when we returned to the apartment, Andry had Pippa check his head and hair very carefully, then rushed into the bathroom to take a shower.)

There was the predicted table of food. But a few, new guests than before wwere present. There was the husband of the aunt from Tetiiv, a, friendly man who never stopped talking to me whether Yelena was nearby to translate or not; he took the lead in the numerous vodka toasts. Hallah, the aunt from Kiev, with her grandson, showed up and joined the group at the table.

There were dozens of plates of food, the typical bowls of vegetables, potatoes, and other harvest from the garden, but also a number of dishes with sardines and cuts of fish.

But the table was swarming with flies and I couldn’t forget the outhouse was only about six feet from the table. I just couldn’t bring myself to eat this time as I had before. I looked at Olya swatting at the flies and ignoring the food as I was, knowing she was as uncomfortable as I.

If I lived here, or even if I had to be here for a two more weeks, I’d be compelled by my nature to build or buy a screened garden house, located further away from the outhouse, with a stable table and benches. Their benches were so makeshift, you had to negotiate with the person sitting next to you when you wanted to stand. Otherwise you’d send the person sprawling as when one person jumps from a see-saw, leaving the other to fate.

I had a few vodka toasts, only taking a sip each time, instead of downing the shot glass as expected. Olya kept telling me I was going to get drunk. Pippa reassured her and Andry that they would never see such a thing. I got up from the table using shooting photographs as an excuse.

After a short time, Olya and Andry joined me and wanted me to go with them to show Olya the village. Great! Pippa saw the opportunity and joined us. So did Yelena and Hallah (Hallah is the sister of Hannah, the biological grandmother of Olya and Andry. However, Hallah looks many years younger than her alcoholic, babusha-looking sister although there is only four years between them.)

Andry led us to the cemetery only a few minutes walk from the house.

On the walk, Hallah was going on and on about the shiftless Nikolai, recanting stories as well of his beatings of Maria. How for never working Nikolai sure was strong.

Hallah also said she couldn’t understand why Maria and Nikolai were taking care of Nikolai Senior; that the Senior had placed Nikolai and his sister in an orphanage after their mother had died. While Nikolai kept running away from the orphanage his sister had stayed and gone on to technical school. She married a military man and they live a good life. Soon the sister was coming to get Senior and share in the care for him.

When we came to the graves of the grandmother and grandfather, Andry told the story of the ‘fiesta” that he and Olya attended with the family as they celebrated the deaths of the grandparents, apparently a day similar to the Mexican “Day of the Dead.” Andry told how everyone gathered around, and something “white” was spread on the ground and the grown-ups drank vodka and ate food, while the children had sweets. Andry said Olya had been there, but she had no recollection of it. Hallah was disgusted with the weeds on the gravesite, linking the outrage to Nikolai, who should show respect and take care of the graves. True, but few of these gravesites showed any care.

Hallah pointed out the area next to the crosses of the grandparents and said that more family ancestors were buried there, apparently in a mass grave. During the time of the Holomodor, the famine forced on Ukraine in the early thirties when Stalin sent all the grain grown in Ukraine to Russia, starving many millions who grew the crops. This was done deliberately by Stalin to bring Ukraine to its knees in subjugation to Russian domination.

Andry then lead us around the village, telling us about the owners of each house, usually focused on whether they were nice to kids or not. Pippa, Hallah and Yelana trailed way behind Andry, Olya and me. I knew the reason, Pippa was interrogating Hallah, getting every minute detail she could extract from the woman, a technique she learned from her mother. I have to say, I think the daughter has surpassed the mother; Olya and Andry agree.

This house won our award for most flowers and decorations. The elderly woman who lives here wears glasses that make her eyes enormous. She was orphaned by the war and grew up in Siberia.

As we circled around, a babusha neighbor of Maria cornered Pippa’s group. She was actually a handsome woman, with a kind face and a row of magnificent gold teeth. She insisted we come into her house and meet her 100 year old mother, 101 in only a week. Pippa jumped at the chance, as did I, thinking of the photo opportunity.

Her yard, as we came through the gate, had chickens, ducks and geese as did all the homes in the village. But hers were neatly penned and organized. Her yard was not dirt, but spotless concrete. She had the requisite trees of apple, pear and cherry. There was a single fallen apple and you knew it would soon be picked up; there were no cherries or pears on the ground. On the left, the cordwood was stacked ever-so neatly.

Neat was the word for the first impression as we came into the house. And clean was the second and third.

You could eat off the floor in this home. There were the typical Ukrainian embroideries on the wall, flanking old ancestor photographs. But no pin-ups as in Maria’s house. Everything on the wall or on a table was carefully organized and tastefully presented. This was Olya’s kind of place. And mine as well.

The old woman had inventively hung utensils so they were easy to each. Pot lids were hung by size. Stirring spoons and forks organized by function. It reminded me of my father’s workshop, everything placed just so in typical Germanic order.

She took us into the bedroom to meet her mother who was curled up, under covers in bed. The mother pulled back the covers on her mother. Her mother was tiny, with little muscle left on her frame, hip-bones protruding against her thin nightshirt. The mother gently lifted the grandmother upright, speaking non-stop to both our group and her mother. I took photos of both women not sure the grandmother was really aware of what was going on. But when the group left the room, I was the last to go; I turned to the grandmother and waved; she waved back at me and smiled.

This is where our new friend sleeps, on the stove heater.

We found out later that the 100 year old woman had been sent to Germany during the war and because of what happened to her there, she and her family received monthly compensation for life. What actually happened to her there and which government was paying the compensation was not made clear. Apparently however, it was the reason for the somewhat higher level of living they enjoyed in the village.

At the exit, the babusha stopped us and insisted we drink a glass of her Kvas (a non-alcoholic drink made from bread). I hesitated, but she insisted, saying the water was from her clean, safe well. So, I gave it a shot. It was cool and not so bad after all, my first taste of kvas.

We had a tour of her root cellar, spotless and organized with nothing out of place nor anything un-necessary; rows of canned fruits and vegetables on shelves above buckets of potatoes. The grain shed was the same. Grain bags. Grain bin.
Shelves full of more jars of preserved fruit and vegetables; all in a tidy row with no dirt or debris anywhere.

This was a handwashing place.

The babusha plugged in an electric wire to a receptacle in the last equally spot-less storage shed we toured. We discovered that wire had electrified the water well outside. The kids rushed over and drank the cold water, then doused their face and head to cool off.

Before we left the woman gave Pippa a loaf of bread she had made.

Andry said she gave him candy whenever he visited her. We promised to send the old lady photographs and she closed her gate behind us. Hallah explained what was already obvious. This 75-year-old woman was kind and worked hard. Her husband, who died 10 years ago, had been a good, hard working man and was very handy.

As we walked past the few houses between the old lady’s and Maria’s, Hallah said, “You can tell a house with a good man. The house has a good gate.” Then we returned to Maria’s gateless, pig-stye of a place.

Our friend is on the left with a cane seeing us down the street. The rest of us are standing in the street in front of Maria's gateless house.

Here are other gates in the neighborhood. As you can see people take great pride in the entrances to their yards.

The stork nest on the corner probably inspired this gate.

Maria brought out the eggs she had decorated for us. We were prepared to buy them regardless of their condition. But we were floored by what we saw. They were beautiful! Every design was different from the other. The technique was remarkable.

How did this happen? This woman is indeed very talented. What a pity she has wasted her talent all these years. There is no reason she had to live in such poverty. With some ingenuity and hard work, surely she could have found a way to use her ability.

Probably not. That’s easy for me to say. I had to remember she milked cows on a collective farm; there was no outlet here for initiative, if she had it anyway. Besides she married a terrible man who beat the shit out of her every time he got drunk. On the other hand, Maria stayed with the bastard. She’s the stereotypical “victim.”

Well, anyway, this woman knows how to decorate eggs beyond our expectations. We’ll be very proud to pay her for eggs and to give them to our friends. Of course we’ll eventually run out of friends to give them to. But we’ll have the best pysanky collection in Miami Beach, for sure.

There was some considerable time spent getting correct addresses translated from the Cyrillic alphabet into English. The only stable table to write on was in the house and despite Olya’s warnings, we had to go inside the house. We gave them the money for the first batch of 24 eggs plus the cost of shipping the eggs to the USA ($120 for the eggs, 50 hrivnas for the shipping).

Pippa suggested to Maria that she could decorate more eggs and possibly sell them to tourists on Souvenir Street or one of the other spots that artists gather to show their work. Maria smiled and looked down as Nikolai walked up saying, Maria couldn’t sell her eggs. Pippa, who had found out from Maria that Nikolai was the one who put all the sexy girlie pinups all over the walls, said of course Maria could. Pippa also pointed out to Nikolai how low it was of him to hang up pictures of other women all over the house.

As we were leaving, Nikolai brought up the subject of the winter coats he was asking us to give them, worried about whether we’d get the sizes correct. I’m sure he wanted the cash. (We saw stacks of windows and doors outside that had not been there before. We’re certain they were paid for out of the money we had been giving them for bus transportation to Kiev from Telizcynci. I think they inflated the cost of bus tickets. At least it went for home improvement, not vodka.)

The business was completed and Maria brought out a sack of candy for the children as she has on every visit. (Way too much sugar.)

I think Maria sensed this might be our last visit, her last chance with the kids. We did not tell them we would not be back again, but we won’t. In fact, I doubt that Olya will ever come back here again. Unless, of course, as an adult she feels some need to do so. But for now, she has found all she needed of her missing childhood.

Andry is a different story; his history is in this village and in this house. He will, in fact, inherit this house when the grandmother dies. He will be back in some circumstance, for some reason or another, I predict.

Perhaps he will return when Miami Ad School begins a branch in Kiev and needs someone to speaks English, Russian and Ukrainian. Or perhaps Andry will return as a real estate developer and expand on his “vast” holdings in Teliizcyci. This village, curled around this beautiful lake, three hours from Kiev would be a gold-mine for an American developer.

We left at the golden hour just as the sun turns off the heat and puts an orange glow on the rolling fields. We pass a few horse and wagons and are passed in return by some speeding brand new sedans rushing past one century into another. Olya has her head on my lap asleep; Andry and Pippa are playing cards in the rear seat.

Our only stop had been in Tetiiv: to pick up some cold drinks and to drop off Nikolai’s and her garrulous husband to view their house under construction. As we left, he remained at the gate entrance according to custom and he said something about bad luck in walking back through the gateway in this kind of circumstance. The Ukrainians have a superstition for every occasion, we’ve found since we’ve been here.

On the way back, Vasilly pulled into the entrance of the World War II cemetery of fallen Germans from the battle of Kiev. Olya was fast asleep in my arms, so I passed on the opportunity. The outside granite sign was in Russian, so I had to depend of Vasilly’s version of the inscription passed through Yelena. The graves from where we sat appeared to be very well kept, by the German government or the Ukrainian government, was not revealed.

We arrived in Kiev around eight. The children, before Olya fell asleep, had pleaded to eat at the apartment. Pippa whipped up a tasty meal of pasta, pine nuts and black olives, an altogether satisfactory ending to an unusual experiece. It has been an interesting day in the midst of so many other interesting days.

Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow’s another day.

ANDRY'S GOOD IDEA

While we were playing cards on the drive home Andry asked me (Pippa) why people are small when they are old. Using a lot of hand motions I explained how, as people age, the disks in the spine become thin and make us shorter; how 100-year-olds can’t absorb the nutrients from their food and so their bodies gets thinner.

Andry then surprised me with his concept. He wishes that people who are good and helpful would get bigger and stronger and live forever. Bad people would get smaller and weaker. We both laughed at the idea of being “held up” by a three-foot tall weakling.

OLYA, PIPPA AND RON HAVE BECOME ADDICTED TO “HALLMARK”;

2007-07-29T01:14:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 27, 2007

CNN in Europe really sucks for Americans abroad. Apparently produced in London, it’s really for Brits, not for Yanks. Frankly I wish they would caption the screen when the announcers are speaking their version of English, especially when one British weathercaster is on screen. I can’t understand one bloomin’ word she says. I hate the way she holds her elbows high in a “giddy up” posture. Besides they repeat every segment, every twenty minutes. And I don’t give a whit about how many wickets England did against India. Bloody!

I gave up on CNN after the first week. I moved to DW, the German channel that is far more intelligible.

However, after we were in Kiev for two weeks, Andry discovered he could change all the language options from Russian. So now we have a couple more channels in English. We then discovered the Hallmark Channel and Olya, Pippa and I have become addicted to it. The programs all have the sentimentality of “Little House on the Prairie”, but that’s ok by us. Andry watches his favorite cartoons on his bedroom TV in Russian. He watches Animal Planet with us in the living room.

The other night we were watching one Hallmark program about a woman helping an injured wolf-mother in a trap, while her wolf pups were playing with the woman. I whispered to Olya who was on her pallet next to our bed and asked her if she was asleep yet. Olya’s squeaky little voice replied, “No, I’m over here crying my heart out!” Well, so was Pippa.

Hallmark has been an emotional lifesaver for us, something we could count on at the end of nerve-wrecking day.

More later.

WE HAVE PLANE TICKETS FOR AUGUST 4TH!

2007-07-27T23:41:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Today I (Pippa) had to go to Titiev to get Andry's new birth certificate while Ron went grocery shopping and to the internet café with the kids.

The ride to Titiev is beautiful.

Tomorrow we hope to get most of the rest of the paperwork done: his identification number (Ukrainian SS#) changed, school sign off, legalization and apply for his passport, which could take several days to get. We have to have all this complete before we can go to the American embassy and ask permission to bring Andry to the USA.

Without knowing when we will finish our paperwork we had to go ahead and get plane tickets. There are almost no flights with seats available. Our flight is Saturday, August 4. If we don't fly Saturday, the next flight with available seats is Tuesday, August 7. Everyone, apparently, is leaving Kiev. Maybe they’re getting out before the Ukrainian elections next month.

While in Titiev Yelena and I had wanted to check on the deed for property that Andry’s biological grandmother, Hannah, willed to him. The property is the land and house where his biological family currently lives. Unfortunately the office that has the will and deed recorded was closed. We would like for Andry to leave Ukraine with some proof of that; it seems to be important to him.

The other night Andry asked me, "yes or no"? "Say in morning." and I understood he wanted me to tell him my answer when I woke him up the next morning.

The next day when I woke him I gave him the answer "Yes." I didn't know the question I was answering but my gut told me it was important.

Andry opened his eyes and started to tell me something but then said "Yelena" meaning he needed her to translate for him.

When Yelena and I got back to the apartment with Andry's new birth certificate, I showed Andry that Ron and I now are his legal father and mother. He smiled as if embarrassed then carefully read every word on the birth certificate. We told him that, as of this day, he legally had a brand new name and a brand new life; in his new life he could be anything he wanted it to be.

He told Yelena about asking me “yes or no” a couple of nights before. He explained to her that he was asking me if it was okay to call me Mom. My gut was right. That was an important question he asked.

FINALLY THE RACE TO GET HOME CAN BEGIN!

2007-07-27T07:30:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

We have been sitting in Ukraine for the past 15 days just waiting for the judge to sign the court decree that officially makes Andry our son.

Ron went with Vasilly and Yelena to get the signed court decree in Bucha, the same town of Andry’s orphange. I (Pippa) stayed with the children all day at the apartment. Ron called after waiting in the car for hours, to say that Yelena just got into the car with decree.

With the court decree in hand we can request his new birth certificate, passport, medical tests, school records and permission from the American embassy to bring him to the States. Best case this takes a week; worst case two.

Even though we badly want to be HOME, the extra time here hasn’t been wasted. Ron and I have been in parenting overdrive. So many things are getting worked through and figured out. Having a great translator with us has made communication so much easier. In addition to languages, Yelena studied psychology and has interesting observations about Olya, Andry and the Ukrainian people including the biological parents.

Yelena, who has been doing adoptions for seven years and has worked with many, many children, said that both Olya and Andry are especially sensitive children (which is good). She feels that Olya has developed very advanced social skills. Yelena said that Ukrainian parents don’t teach their children things like writing thank you notes, looking people in the eye when talking, or having a pleasant look on your face will make people more receptive to you.

She said that in contrast to Ukrainians who never smile (except in photos and at jokes), Americans have a permanent smile. She wanted to know how we do it. She went through a series of facial gyrations trying to get her relaxed smile just right.

A friend of hers was recently hired for a high level position working with Americans. He was told he was perfect for the position but he had to learn to smile or he wouldn’t keep the job. To train his face he held a pencil long-ways between his teeth all day for a week.

She really likes how we (and other Americans) link how a child feels to their good or bad behavior. And how we try to get to the route of a child’s feelings to understand and modify their behavior.

While we waited for Ron the children and I had lots of time together today. After a little schooling and showers the first of two episodes of moodiness began with Andry. He ate his lunch with his head down staring at his plate. I asked but he wouldn’t say what was bothering him. After lunch he quickly went to his room. He had the door closed, lights off, playing on his PSP.

I knew I had to get him out of his darkened room and interacting with me. I told him matter-of-factly that I needed him to come help me make bread. I was surprised when he, without protesting, got up and walked with me to the kitchen. All he said was, “Why Olya no make bread?” I explained to him that Olya wasn’t grumpy with me.

After helping me for about 45 seconds he asked my why I had said he was “stinky”. Aha! Now I understood why he was upset. Earlier when the kids were protesting about taking a shower I teasing told them to get their stinky feet in the shower right away.

Andry relaxed after I explained to him that Olya had stinky feet too; that before I had taken a shower my feet were stinky. Andry asked, “Ron have stinky feet?” Yes, of course. Ron also had stinky feet. I was very encouraged at how willingly Andry discussed what was bothering him.

We had a great time making the bread together. I asked him what shape he wanted to make the bread into. He didn’t know the word so he drew the picture below. Doesn’t everyone want their bread in a skull and crossbones shape? As you can see, the bread turned out just like his drawing, with the help of a couple of walnuts for eye sockets and teeth.

Half an hour later there was another episode with him over something that was a misunderstanding like the stinky-feet-episode. With the help of BabelFish, the online translator, we were able to discuss and resolve the misunderstanding. I was also able to tell him that Ron and I love him and are not going to do anything to hurt him; that we will treat him and Olya equally. Like the last time, he quickly was his cheerful self again.

Being adopted as a teenager has got to be a giant adjustment. An even greater adjustment for him than it is for us. I am impressed with how well he is handeling everything. I am sure, with more understanding of English, these two episodes never would have happened.

Ron called and said he was on the way with the decree and Olya’s perfectly repaired computer. Hooray! He asked if he should stop and do the grocery shopping before he comes home. “No way”, I replied. “The children are starved and want to go ASAP to Yakatoriya. Let’s go celebrate finally having the court decree!"

THIS TIME NIKOLAI ASKS FOR A TV; WE SAY NO; MARIA WANTS TO SEE THE KIDS; WE SAY GET RID OF THE LICE FIRST

2007-07-24T14:57:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

The phone rings early this morning; Pippa says one word to Nikolai: “Yelena”.

We’re still in limbo waiting for the court decree that won’t be ready for us to pick up until the end of day, Wednesday. That will surely throw us into another week in Kiev.

So, we have Vasilly and Yelena pick us up at noon and we head downtown. We pass a Vote Orange polictical rally.

We have lunch at a Japanese restaurant that doesn’t live up to the kid’s favorite: Yakitoriya.

Andry is in a bad mood again. Pippa, through Yelena, asks him what’s the problem. He replies that she/we don’t control Olya; that Olya does not stop when we tell her to stop.

He is referring to the “tickling” that Olya continued to do on Andry after he asked her to stop and Pippa did as well. He certainly has a point: Olya gets into “roughhouse mode” and doesn’t know when to quit. Andry is not accustomed to dealing with a little sister and Olya in turn, doesn’t see the warning signals from an older brother when he wants to be left alone.

We tell Olya what Andry has said, and Olya puts her head down and stays silent. Then Andry wants to know why she is doing that and so we have a chance to tell him that he has hurt her feelings. We tell Andry that tickling is Olya’s way to be affectionate with him; she doesn’t know any other way. I (Ron) tell Andry that Olya does the same to me, that while I wish she would hug me more often, Olya finds it easier to tickle me than to hug me. She will hug me at night and anytime I ask her to hug, but any other time, the best I can hope for is her steel-spring-like fingers digging into my underarm. Finally a smile comes on Andry’s face and the tension is gone for a while.

We take this time to talk to Andry about the phone calls from Nikolai. We tell Andry that we are going to call Nikolai and tell him to stop asking Andry to ask us for things or money. Pippa asked Andry if Nikolai had asked for anything yesterday when they talked on the phone. Andry says “yes,” Nikolai had told him to ask us to give Maria a new TV set for her upcoming birthday.

We explain to Andry how unfair it is for Nikolai to do that to Andry, that Nikolai should not get Andry to do his begging for him. Andry agreed that we should tell Nikolai this.

Unfortunately the next topic we had to discuss with him was the phone call we had to make to Maria. We had to tell Maria that until she and Nikolai both had gotten rid of their head lice by using the medicine we bought for them, we could not bring the children into physical contact with Maria and Nikolai. Andry seemed ok about the necessity to tell Maria our conditions.

Dealing with the birth parents is complicated. They are from a different era and mindset which is even farther away than Ukraine is from the United States. It would be a lot easier to just ignore them. But since Maria and Nikolai are important to Andry we are trying to create a structure so he can have a continuing, positive communication with them, if he chooses.

We made the calls in front of Andry who listened carefully (but this photo doesn't show it.)

Olya seemed totally disinterested. But she was still not over Andry’s rebuke. When we have a chance we’ll explain all the issues that Andry is having to deal with and give Olya some techniques for “handling” Andry. But we’re trying to learn some of these techniques ourselves.

From the restaurant we head over to Podil and “Radioactive”, the film production studio owned by Roman who offered to have one of his tech guys look at Olya’s broken computer. We drop off the computer.

Here is Olya waiting a couple of minutes for Roman to look at her ailing computer. She is very careful with her things and very sick over dropping her computer.

The patient.

Roman assessing the damage so he can tell his tech guys.

As we leave Olya flashes Roman one of her wide smiles and says earnestly “thank you for trying,” and we drive to the internet café, “Vault”.

On the way, Olya looks at me (Ron) and says, “What do I want with another brother? This one is a MESS.” Her comment was a reference to the continuing tease I do with her by asking, “Olya, tell me the truth. Do you have any other brothers hiding in the bushes in Ukraine?” The day so far has been nip and tuck between Olya and her brother.

I (Ron) leave Pippa, Olya and Andry at the internet cafe to play “Counter Strike” while Yelana and I go and see if Western Union really works in Kiev. It does, and I pick up my “wired” cash. Then join the gang at the Vault.

While Ron and Yelena were gone Andry and I (Pippa) played Counter Strike. We were the good-guys working together to fight the terrorists. (Since only two can play Olya volunteered to play a different game.) Andry taught me lots of tricks and I killed my share of terrorists. It was a good mother/son bonding experience.

After I completed a half hour of play I was exhausted. I needed a kafe s melakom to recover. Olya took my place and she and Andry teamed up. Half an hour later the kids bounced up to me and my coffee, rattling off how well each other had done in the game. A little terrorist killing had helped them patch up their bond.

The healing powers of Counter Strike.

Maria calls and says they are in Kiev at the dentist. Can we meet them? They have pears and more decorated eggs for us. Yelena is tight on time and only Maria has done the hair treatment. We tell them we will see them Monday when they are back in Kiev for their next appointment.

As Yelana and Vasilly drop us off at the apartment Roman calls. They have fixed Olya’s computer; we can pick it up in the morning! Upstairs Olya and Ron watch Seinfeld reruns. Andry comes into kitchen where I am cooking veriniky. He wipes off the dining table and asks, “what now?” He wants to help me fix dinner!

While Ron works on the computer, I finish off the evening playing cards with Andry and watching a movie with Olya. Everyone is happy again.

PICKING MY WAY THROUGH THE MINE FIELD OF SIBLING RIVALRY

2007-07-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

Monday, July 23, 2007

This being a mother of two and dealing with sibling rivalry is new for me and rough. It’s made even more complicated because I can’t understand what the children say when they talk to each other. They speak Spanish to each other. How do you officiate when you can’t follow the game?

To make it even harder the game keeps changing. Andry races through the different phases adopted children go through as they adjust to their new family and mourn the loss of everything they have known up until the point they were adopted. He has lost rituals, rules, food, friends, family, bedtimes, music, smells. Consistency is comforting to children. It takes a while to for the child and adoptive parents to build up a history together so that the child can feel safe and relax.

Okay, okay. Intellectually I know this. But putting it into practice is challenging and mentally exhausting especially when the kid is 13 and you don’t speak the same language. I’m delighted to discover he is very willing to discuss what he’s thinking. However, since we only have a vocabulary together of about 300 words, our conversations aren’t as deep as either of us would like them to be.

Ron and I are using every fiber of our beings to figure out what Andry is thinking and what we can do to comfort him. I wish Andry’s forehead had a big mood-ring stone right in the middle of it. Different colors would signify different emotions so we would know what was going on with him; blue-lonely, violet-sad, yellow-homesick, red-mad, orange-upset with my sister, green-jealous, turquoise-sleepy, brown-bored…I bet if we could find a stone that looked like a third eye, Andry would even agree to let me glue it to the middle of his forehead. He thinks monsters are cool.

(I was correct. Right now he is sitting next to me watching TV and looking over my shoulder. He saw the colors written above and asked what it was about. Using our 300 words and a lot of handmotions I explained. He laughed and thought it was a good idea.)

Andry is very bright, quick and sensitive. He, like Olya, can feel situations, but sometimes he misunderstands them and gets his feelings hurt. Sibling rivalry further complicates the situation. For the past two days there have been a cluster of issues with Olya and him. Part of me wants to laugh when I hear them bickering because it’s a bit like music to me. They’ve missed out on so many years together; so many normal brother/sister interactions. But I also know many of these times, Andry is wondering, “will I be loved as much as Olya is?”

To Olya’s credit she is rock steady. I am really impressed. Even though she is required to share our attention, thr reality is Andry is getting more of it. Olya has not acted jealous, pouted or had a single emotional outburst in the five weeks we have been here. That’s a long time. She acts as though she is confident that she is loved to pieces, which she is.

When we were alone together I told her how amazing she has been with Andry. She looked at me squeezed her eyes shut and grinned.

Today Olya was talking to Andry about life in Miami. She said something about him having a job at Miami Ad School. Olya absolutely LOVES being at Miami Ad School and was sharing something she loved with Andry. She pretends she has a job at the school working at the front desk and frequently “helps out” the staff by putting labels on envelopes or other little things. He mistook what she said about him “working” to mean that he had to go to work when he got to Miami.

Andry was upset. He wasn’t speaking. Since their whole conversation had taken place in Spanish it took us a while to unravel what had transpired. I explained how Olya loves helping at school and had thought he would also. We explained how Patrick, Erik and Cheryl’s 16-year-old son, helps out on his summer vacations. We reassured him that he would not have to “get a job” but that he might enjoy helping out. He might especially like helping Carlos, whom Andry already knows and likes. We told him Carlos knows a lot about computers. Andry loves and has an aptitude for tech stuff. Andry relaxed once he understood. He was his happy self again.

I must say that most of the time the kids act like a couple of puppies bouncing all over the place together. As I type, Olya has put two pairs of Andry’s underwear on her head to good-naturedly taunt him. He in turn, found one of her little socks to wear on his ear. They are getting along remarkably well considering the number of hours they spend together every day.

It’s 9:30 at night and Nikolai just called on my cell phone and asked for Andry. When Andry heard Nikolai was on the phone his face crinkled with what looked like dread. I told Andry he didn’t have to talk to Nikolai and he relaxed. I told Nikolai to call Yelena. After the call I explained again to Andry that he always has a choice. If he wishes to talk to Nikolai that is fine. If he doesn’t want to talk to Nikolai it is also fine. Interaction with his biological parents is always his choice. I think we will need to explain this many times. He must feel in limbo right now. I think I remember that in Dante’s Inferno Hell is describe as limbo. For the last 13 years he has had a strong, though not especially healthy, relationship with his biological parents. Ron and I are supposed to be his new parents but the adoption is not totally legal. We aren’t in Miami yet. We are just waiting and waiting and waiting.

Today we found out that even though it has been 12 days, two days longer than the 10 day-wait for an adoption to become official, we have to wait until Wednesday at 5:00PM to get the signed court decree. That will practically be 15 days. Then we can take the six-hour, round-trip drive to get Andry’s birth certificate and have a new one made and legalized. That takes a day if we’re lucky. Then we have to get a passport for him that can take up to 10 days, but we are hoping for two-four days. Then Andry can get his physical that is needed before we can go to the American Embassy which is closed on Fridays. We are VERY ready to come home but don’t know when that will be!

Just before bedtime, Olya stood up quickly, and her computer slid out of her hands and fell to the floor. She knew the worst; her computer was broken. She was correct. And there is no way to get it fixed before we leave. The long wait to leave for home will now seem far longer for Olya.

BACK TO THE INTERNET CAFÉ AFTER THE LONGEST EGG LESSON IN RECORDED HISTORY

2007-07-24T07:09:00.000-07:00

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Pippa had twisted every arm in sight to return to the Fine Arts museum for another egg decorating (pysanky) lesson. She promised that the lesson “would only be an hour or so” and then we would walk over to CCCP (USSR), the Soviet nostalgia restaurant I like so much. Our lesson was at 10:30 but at 4:30 we were still going strong putting wax on eggs and dunking them in colored dyes.

Photos of the entrance of the church complex where the egg decorating lessons take place.

For me the only interesting thing was the old geezer who came into the room. He was resplendent in his olive green shirt with his eight inch square of World War II battle ribbons. He’s the happiest Ukrainian we’ve met since we’ve been here. He celebrated his eight-fifth birthday two days before but he looks younger and trimmer than me.

For some reason he took a shine to me and asked me to go in the other room; Yelena followed to translate. Just around the corner from the pysanky room, He brought out a bottle of beer and handed out paper cups. Here come the toasts that Ukrainians do at every opportunity. The old warrior recited every war campaign and country he fought in.

For some reason the old soviet army vet thought I was German so he was careful to point out that he did not fight against the Germans, but against the “fascists”. To reassure him, I confided that the Americans bombed and killed my German family in Dresden. That brought on another toast and I wasn’t sure whether we were toasting the bombing of Germany or the passing of my Dresden relatives.

He also showed me this copy of the Ten Commandments and explained that the principals of Communism are based on the Commandments. Hmmm. Interesting since people were kicked out of the prestigious Communist party if they attended church!

I had no other choice but to go back to the pysanky marathon. I only made one egg and that one reluctantly. I put on my egg–– only a large mouth with missing teeth. I am preoccupied with teeth these days. I tried to dye some of the teeth yellow but my pysanky technique is lousy.

Below is the deer decorated egg that Andry made. The director gave him a book written in Ukrainian explaining how eggs were made. The deer on his egg were some of the designs in the book. Later the director explained what all the symbols mean. The deer is a symbol of wealth. Birds are for family. Sun for power. Flowers/herbs for good health. Geometric shapes with lines for good crops...

All things must come to an end and so at last did the pysanky marathon.

The children and I urged Vassily to get us to the internet café with all deliberate speed. In Kiev’s downtown traffic jam, that still is about the speed of a one-footed turtle. But we got there. We ate in the “Vault’s” café which is not really so bad. Kafe s melokolm is quite good. And they have vereneky and pancakes. Best of all for the kids, they knew the computer game room was just around the corner.

While eating our vereneky, Yelena’s phone rang with a call from Nikolai; he asked to speak to Andry. When we asked Andry he said he wanted to talk to Nikolai and so we permitted it. After a minute Andry gave the phone to Yelana. She translated that Nikolai was asking if we would buy them winter coats. We said that coats aren’t even for sale in the middle of July; this could be addressed later.

For a long time we have been expecting to be hit up with a long wish list from Nikolai and Maria. That’s the reason we set up the egg decorating business for them; so they could earn additional money and not ask us for hand-outs. We adopted two children, not the grown, able bodied birth-parents. Of course if they are freezing, hungry or sick we are going to help them and we may choose to help them at other times especially if they are doing their best at the egg decorating business.

When the call was over, Andry’s facial expression was a little odd. He asked Ron, “Why you get scary (we think he meant nervous) when Nikolai calls?” Andry also asked, “Why you no ask me anymore what Nikolai say?” It seemed the appropriate time to talk to Andry about some sensitive issues.

After each of the few phone conversations Nikolai and Andry have had since he’s been with us we have asked Andry what Nikolai has said. Ron told Andry that he stopped asking him what Nikolai had said to him because Ron did not want Andry to think we didn’t want him to talk to Nikolai. We then explained that while some adoptive parents don’t want their adopted child to have contact with their biological parents, we did not feel that way. On the contrary, we believe that if a child WANTS to have contact with their biological parents, the adoptive parents should do all we can do to make it easy for child to do so (as long as the biological parents aren’t upsetting the child, of course).

Since it was obvious that Andry wanted us to ask him about his conversation with Nikolai, we did so. Andry said that Nikolai kept asking him to tell us to give Nikolai and Maria money. (Andry had never passed Nikolai’s request on to us. If he had we would have addressed this with Nikolai sooner.) We said that Nikolai should not be asking you (Andry) about money; that is not a fair thing to do to a thirteen year old.

We explained to Andry that of course we will continue to help Maria and Nikolai. But, we explained, we would do it in a way that they would have to earn the money. The egg decoration business was our plan to send them one hundred dollars each month, but that Maria and Nikolai would have to decorate 20 eggs each month and send them to us before we would send them money. It was a job, in fact, that we were offering them. This way they would not be dependent on us and beg for money. They would have extra income to buy things they want and build self-respect at the same time, we hope. (A hundred dollars goes a long way in their little village.)

Andy then replied––but you are supposed to pay; the implication was that we must pay Nikolai and Maria for the right to adopt Andry. We said, “absolutely not”. We explained that while adoption is very expensive, it’s because of the cost of coming to Ukraine, living and traveling expenses while we are here, cost of a driver and translator, etc. The biological parents have no right to “sell their children”. (All orphanage kids think that when children are adopted the adoptive parents pay for them. Olya thought the same thing.)

Andry asked why we adopted him. Pippa told him the long story of how we finally found him after a few year’s search. We told him that we had been urged by Olya to find Andry. We said that when we finally met Andry in Spain, we fell in love with him.

Andry said that he could have been adopted before. We asked why he didn’t want to be adopted previously. He said because he wanted to stay with his natural parents.

We asked what made him change his mind. He replied that his teacher in Bucha had told him he had no future in Ukraine, that he should consider asking to be adopted so he would have a better life than he could have here. That he wanted to live with his sister and was glad we wanted him.

We decided to close the dialogue for now.

Yelena took Pippa somewhere for a few hours. I think picking up some photo prints from the photo guy who tries to pick Yelana up, and going to house of a famous Ukrainian artist to pick up the scan of a painting of a cherry tree that we felt pressured to buy and only did because a cherry tree, along with a boy and girl, was the subject of the painting.

Pippa writing now. Yelana and I also went back to the museum to take the director a birthday present. She has been so nice to us. Here she is with a egg she gave me that was done by one of the Pansky masters.

The museum director's husband is a music conductor and goes to the United States several times a year to give concerts. His impression of Americans is that we follow the law and are naive like the Ukrainians were under Communism. After his first few visits to the States he announced to her that he wanted to immigrate there. She said, "Fine, but not with me." I invited her to Miami Ad School to talk about the museum's Ukrainian folk art collection and to give Pansky lessons to the students. She was excited and said she would bring one of the country's leading artists with her.

Back to Ron. I played “Counter Strike” as long as I could possibly stand it; Andry derided me so much that my self-worth shrunk to one hrivna. I switched to Grand Theft Auto and played for about two hours. I could not maneuver the car after I high-jacked it, so I resorted to just having the black guy punch people as he ran down the sidewalk. It’s hard to maintain much interest when your capability is that low: I prayed for Pippa and Yelena to return.

They didn’t come back for ages, so I went into the café after giving the kids a handful of hrivna for them to play on an on. I was working on the computer and drinking cup after cup of kafe s molokom until Yelena and Pippa arrived shortly before nightfall. (Ron exagerates.)

TURNING ON A VACUUM CLEANER PUTS US IN THE DARK IN THE MIDDLE OF LICE TREATMENT

2007-07-24T06:17:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Any day that goes by without major incident is a good day. So, the day, by those standards had gone very well. Both Olya and Andry got out of bed without any serious objection. Olya had split my lip during the process, but it was in play and accidental.

We got all our cameras and drawing materials together and packed up. Vasily and Yelena showed up on time and we were on our way. We were heading to Kiev’s oldest cemetery to take photos of the beautiful statures over the graves of Kiev’s most famous sons and daughters and to take rubbings of the typography on their epitaphs. We wanted the children to be a part of this and they said ok, probably because we said the internet café was next after the cemetery.

Pippa and I had been here years ago when we were waiting to complete Olya’s adoption. We marveled at the extraordinary sculpture over the gravesites. Kiev’s poets, politicians, writers, composers, doctors, scientists, artists, dancers, and warriors were all here; they were memorialized in stone and metal in the style of art prominent at the time of their passing. So from a classical romantic ballerina stretched in an eternal bronze finale to a Soviet general wrought in massive shapes from a great slab of granite, you could see the history of Kiev and Ukraine expressed in its own archeological strata.

Unfortunately for Pippa and me, although the kids did a big “yes” with a fist and crooked arm, the sky got dark, thunder roared and rain fell just as we got to the cemetery gate. They both love rain. We drove in anyway and took just a five-minute ride through with the car windows slightly cracked.

There was nothing to do but head on to the internet café. Andry insisted I play also, which I did. Try playing “Counter Strike” (without having played it before) with all the instructions in Russian. Andry was disgusted with me. I usually got killed while trying to figure out how to load my gun. I’m a failure as a 2007 father.

After God knows how many games, we went for a quick lunch at “Potato House” (ribs are excellent) and returned to the cinema/internet café for a game or so until movie time.
We watched Harry Potter’s latest, dubbed in Russian, while I scratched my head furiously, convinced I had a bad case of head lice. (I don’t.) Pippa and Yelena said they were itchy as well.

After the movie we had Vassily drop us off at Yakatoriya, a Japanese restaurant within walking distance of our apartment. The children love this restaurant and each has their favorite dish they order every time they come. Andry ordered 12 skewers of chicken but made the big mistake of ordering four, eating that four, then ordering another four and so on. Everyone was in a good mood and joking with one another and all the way on the walk back home.

When we got back to the apartment we had a nice surprise. The TV and internet were working (they had been off when we left). Pippa examined everyone’s hair like a good mamma chimpanzee and declared us all lice free. Then, just to be on the safe side, we all washed our hair with lice treatment shampoo.

While I was waiting my turn, I decided to vacuum the sofa where Maria and Nilolai had sat when they were here just in case any lice or their eggs had fallen on the sofa. I had vacuumed for perhaps one minute when suddenly we were in total darkness; all the electricity in the apartment was gone––everything. At that precise moment, fireworks started going off from the ground just under our apartment into the air outside our window almost as if someone were shooting at us.

We thought at first that all the apartments in our building were out of power, maybe so the fireworks would show up better. But as we looked down outside, it did not seem so. We opened the front door to the hall and the lights were on; we could hear the elevator working; we must be the only apartment without lights. We had no flashlight.

Andry and I, with treatment shampoo still in my hair, went in the elevator to the first floor to ask for help.The only person to ask for help was the old woman who sits night and day in a cubicle in the lobby as a kind of security guard/candy and toilet paper salesperson for the building. Andry jabbered at her in Ukrainian, she at him in Russian and made motions like “try the circuit breakers, stupid!”

We did just that, both Andry and me, finding the breaker box from the little light we got from the hallway that glowed into the closet that allowed us to find the breaker box. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. We were still in the dark.

Pippa called Yelena to have her call the landlord, since the landlord only speaks Russian. With a lot of pressure, Yelena finally agreed to call him, reluctantly, because it was now pretty late.

We waited in the dark. The kids were fine. They were playing games on the two computers, using battery power. Pippa finished the lice treatment on my hair in the kitchen sink in the dark.

Pippa sat in the front door threshold using the hallway light to read her book that has been lasting for the whole trip, like Jesus’ loaf of bread.

I lay on the bed staring at the dark.

Yelena called to say Slava, Vassily’s son, was on the way to see how he could help; she couldn’t reach the landlord.

About ten minutes later, I heard Pippa speaking Russian, in a low gravelly voice. Then––the lights came on. The next door neighbor, a burly man who never wears anything but shorts and no shirt covering his very large belly, had seen Pippa reading in the doorway, came in our apartment¬¬, tried the breakers inside as we had done, but then went into the hall and pulled a simple little switch and pulled off a miracle. (He’s a really nice guy, by the way, always chatting with me whenever he sees me in the hall and never concerned whether I understand him or not.) Our lights, computers, TV’s, air-conditioning, internet, refrigerator, stove, oven, microwave, telephone and alarm clocks went instantaneously from dead to live. We were back in the civilized world, so to speak.

I went to the bedroom and with the lights on, found my pajamas. I lay down on the bed and realized after an hour or so that Pippa was not in the bed, nor was Olya in her pallet next to our bed.

I discovered the mother and daughter and the new son, Andry as well, in the living room. I suggested, that as it was now after midnight, perhaps they should consider going to bed. They looked at me as if I were crazy. Pippa explained, as if it were a logical explanation, that she and Olya were doing their blogs. (Olya now has a blog as well as Pippa.)

I went back to bed alone, thinking to myself, “What kind of world have I, in my old age, shuffled into?”

MARIA’S NEW LOOK AND UNEXPECTED NEW PROBLEMS

2007-07-22T22:26:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 20, 2007

Vasilly took me over to the dental hospital to make the final payment on the teeth restoration for Maria and Nikolai first thing in the morning in his air-conditioned Volkswagen sedan. Oh man, this car would have been nice instead of those hot days in his van. Of course, this sedan would have been too small for all us. Since Pippa and the children stayed behind in the apartment this morning Vasilly brought out his fancy car with Yelena in front as usual. The dental hospital is way over the other side of Kiev and we must go directly through the center of town and traffic jams nearly all the way.

However when we get to the hospital, the dentist wasn’t there. So, we changed plans. We stopped by Dva Gusya (Two Geese) and got all kinds of Ukrainian take out-food, some I recognized, most items I didn’t. But I bought a lot of food. I had Vasilly take me back to the apartment and drop me off. I gave him money to take back to the dentist when he went to bring Maria and Nikolai to dinner at our apartment.

Back at the apartment I (Pippa) did “school” with the kids. Olya practiced her multiplication tables and Andry worked in his language workbook. I have to keep a careful balance with my distribution of attention. Too much praise for one and the other feels jealous and discouraged. My approval is especially important to Andry. When Olya momentarily walked out of the room Andry asked me if Olya was better at school or he was better. He shines when I work with him on his workbook or show him flash cards. Hope that lasts!

Olya took a timed multiplication quiz and aced it! I wanted to jump up and dance and sing but couldn’t because I knew the negative affect it would have on Andry. I told Olya to go show her quiz to her father. Ron was in the bedroom, far from Andry and me, so he would be able to give her the praise she needed for such an accomplishment. Olya came back seconds later and said he was napping. When Andry leaned over, focused on his work book, I whispered in Olya’s ear. I told her how proud I was of her. That she should also be proud. That all her hard work had paid off. She smiled at me and looked at Andry out of the corner of her eye. She understood why our conversation had to be in secret.

After school, the children worked on their scratch-board art projects. At the store Andry had selected a tiger and dragon and Olya a horse and dog. Andry decided that I also needed to work on one. (Drat. This was supposed to be my opportunity to catch up on email!) Andry worked it out that Olya would work on the dog, her favorite, and I would do the horse. Andry would do the tiger and Ron could do the dragon. It’s WONDERFUL to see Andry want to be included and want to include us. This is a really, really healthy sign.

Since we will be going for a new egg-decorating lesson on Sunday I asked Andry to help me prepare some eggs by piecing them and removing the insides. I explained that eight eggs would be enough, two for each of us. Andry didn’t quite understand and two dozen eggs later I told him he had done a really, really great job. With all that practice he had become a master at removing the insides of eggs through the two tiny, tiny holes.

Maria had asked if we would pay for her “hair styling”; we had said yes and I (Ron) told Yelena to stop on the way back at some hair salon since I knew there should be enough cash left over to pay for it.

Everything seemed to be working to the new plan. Vasilly and Yelana showed up with Maria and Nikolai around four PM. Pippa had already wrapped the gifts the kids were going to give Maria as a kind of “tooth celebration” and the Olya had drawn a card for the package.

When Maria came in, she had her new “hair-do” and she did not have on her usual kerchief. This was the first time we had actually seen her without her hair covered. This was certainly a big improvement and as we all complimented her, she seemed very proud. That was nice to see. She comes across as very meek, modest and shy. You hurt for her. Maybe it is just her personality, maybe it is from being abused or maybe it’s from a poor self image. Whatever the reason, feeling better about her appearance should make her feel better about herself.

I (Pippa) immediately gave her the presents: a pink/magenta tank top and a striped bag with Olya’s card attached. When traveling on the bus to Kiev, Maria carries her belongings in a plastic bag, the kind you get at the grocery store. Olya had noticed this and suggested we get Maria a pretty bag. I added a shirt and colored pencils and pad of paper for egg design sketching.

Maria was very hesitant about accepting the present. She started by carefully looking at the attached card. I had asked Olya and Andry to decorate a card for her package. Andry said Olya should make it since Maria “no see her”. Olya had quickly drawn, in the following order, a picture of her, Andry, Maria and Nikolai standing side by side under a smiley-face sun. If I were Maria I would forever treasure that drawing.

Olya constantly draws pictures of our family in the same style, except more carefully and with more detail. Her pictures cover our refrigerator, my office and the walls of our house. They are very precious to me. Her drawings of our family always have us wearing shirts with hearts on them, or she has the two of us dressed alike. The pictures often include my parents, our dogs or other family members in the pictures. When I saw the drawing Olya had made for Maria’s present I surprised myself. I wasn’t hurt or jealous. (It also helped that Olya only added color to the picture with my encouragement. The pictures she draws for me are always very colorful.) I had the feeling that Olya had made that picture to comfort Maria; to help fill this huge hole you sense in her.

Quickly after receiving her gifts Maria went into the bathroom and came out wearing her new tank top and we, with hardly any encouragement necessary, had her pose for photographs.

Maria brought new decorated eggs for us. And these were very well done. Great skill and interesting design and color. Nikolai explained that he had helped by removing the insides of the eggs. We’d be very happy to give these eggs as special gifts. Our egg plan took a big boost in possibilities.

Yelana and I (Pippa) brought out all the food and we sat around the coffee table in the living room and had dinner. While Maria sat quietly Nikolai made plates of food for Maria and himself. The two of them have a thoughtful consideration for each other. I had not expected this and it continually surprises me when I see it. We have often seen Nikolai be solicitous of Maria. Can this be the same man that pummeled her time and time again?

For years I had wondered, “Why doesn’t this woman leave this abusive man?!” After meeting her and seeing them together I understand. Andry says Nikolai is only violent when he is drunk. Though, I am still suspicious. I’ve always thought that it must be your true personality that comes out when drinking, when your conscious mind is not there to control your inner feelings.

Six months ago Maria gave Nikolai an ultimatum. Stop drinking or get out. Since she had divorced him a year ago (she says in an attempt to regain custody of Andry) she probably had the law on her side in regard to having her exhusband evicted. Andry says Nikolai has been dry since the ultimatum and does not drink even when friends try to coax him to go out with them.

Conversation as you can imagine, is tough when we are all together. Olya won’t say a word to either Nikolai or Maria, primarily because she can’t say anything in Ukrainian. She is interested in her early history but doesn’t show any interest in her biological parents. Vasilly can’t speak in any language except Russian, Pippa and I can’t speak Russian or Ukrainian; Yelena forgets to translate in this kind of circumstance; Andry and Olya speak together only in Spanish; Andry talks to both Maria and Nikolai in Ukrainian and to us in very broken English. Pippa, however, is not daunted by any of this. She moves right on in her combination of English and charades-like acting out sentences. Somehow it works.

The children picked up the computers, sat beside Nikolai and Maria and showed what they have been doing in Simms. Then Andry took Pippa’s computer and showed Maria and Nikolai all our photos in iPhoto with a running commentary for them.

While this was going on Yelana asked me to go in the other room. First she tells me that I have to pay a few more hundred for some additional teeth that had to be extracted. OK, we’ll do that on Monday.

Then Yelana tells me that when they went to the hair salon, the beautician took Yelena aside to say that she would do Maria’s hair, but she must tell us that Maria’s head was filled with lice. Now what? At that very moment both kids were sitting next to Maria and Nikolai. Chances are Nikolai would have the same problem. As would the grandmother when we were at their home in the village. And it’s likely that all the covering on their bed sofas were teeming with such creatures. Would our sofas be “seeded” as well?

I gave Yelana some money to stop at a drug store to buy some medication to eliminate lice when they gave Maria and Nikolia a ride to Maria’s aunt’s house. Yelena would simply have to tell Maria and hope she would use the medication. I asked Yelena to buy some additional medication for us to use as a precaution.

I got Pippa aside and told her the bad news. We had no choice but to do the same with Olya; we would have to wait until they left to tell Andry. Pippa took Olya into the other room and put her hair in a bun. Thankfully the little licies haven’t had much of a chance to get on us. Ukrainians aren’t at all like Brazilians in the way they hug and kiss when they greet people. We have found that Ukrainians are usually stiff not even shaking hands when meeting. At least this is the case with Nikolai and Maria.

We played a game or two on the ice hockey game. Nikolai told us how thankful they were for the money we had spent for their dental work, that they would never have been able to afford it without us. We drank some more coffee and tea and gave the sign to Yelana that it was time for them to go. It was by then already seven pm. They left asking if we would come and visit them again at the village.

As soon as they were out of the door we had Olya run take a shower and told Andry about the lice. That was hard to do. The last thing we wanted to do was to say anything disparaging about his biological parents. But he seemed to understand and went quickly to take his shower as soon as Olya was finished taking hers. We didn’t talk about it again. We have no idea what we do about any future visits. No idea whatsoever. Pippa and I took our showers as well. About an hour later, the water in the apartment was off. Oh well, whatever.

I went on to bed clicking back and forth between CNN, BBC and DW (the German channel). CNN is really boring. They repeat the same segments over and over; the majority of segments are of English issues. BBC is a little better, but expectedly very England focused. The German channel has their point of view, but at least I get to practice the language a little. I ended up on the Hallmark channel, much better now that Andry changed the language to English from Russian.

I know it’s psychosomatic, but I can’t stop scratching.

Well, tomorrow’s another day.

FINALLY! AS A COMPLETE FAMILY, WE HAVE A QUIET, PLEASANT EVENING AT “HOME”.

2007-07-21T08:38:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 19, 2007

All of us wanted to stay home in our wonderful air-conditioned apartment for dinner. So Pippa whipped up a quick meal of fresh fruit, bread, jamon Serrona (you can buy anything from anywhere in the supermarkets in Kiev) and blueberry and cherry bliniki (pancakes). I added a little ice cream to mine; the ice cream in Ukraine puts ours in the States to shame.

After dinner, Andry and Olya were alternating with Olya’s computer where the two of them have built very elaborate families in Simms, and Andry’s new Sony PSP. Pippa was answering emails and trying to upload to our blog at the times when our internet connection was connected.

The whole family was watching “Animal Planet” in English, thanks to Andry who is a genius with the complicated TV language menus. The kids, Pippa and I are hooked on the animal rescue programs that are non-stop here. Andry and Olya would rush back in from the bedroom to watch any of the dog rescue portions of the program. Olya is dog and animal crazy and it seems that Andry may be as well. Good thing with all the critters we have.

Andry snuggles up to us when he hops on the couch. He constantly makes jokes, made all the more charming with his Ukrainian accent and he still can’t get the “he” and “she” with the right sex. Olya, as always, is a bundle of animation, bouncing and skipping and tickling everyone within tickle-shot.

For me the only thing missing is a library of books. I haven’t yet found a good resource for English books or magazines. When Niklas and Oliver, the directors of the Hamburg school, were in Miami they introduced us to a friend who worked with a Ukrainian film production house called Radioactive. It’s owned by Roman, an American-Ukrainian, who they thought could be a good resource for us. We visited Roman a couple of weeks ago and he loaned us his technical computer geek who fixed our computers. No doubt Roman will know of a bookstore.

He also put us onto a really interesting photo exhibition that we had also read about in two different Kiev magazines that were a cross between Ocean Drive and New Times. Actually, the exhibit was of his wife’s photos. She had gotten a new ring light and decided to try it out by photographing her friends who are all “hot women” according to Roman. He was right about that! We couldn’t let the kids see the exhibit; they stayed in the car with Vasilly. The pictures of the women, who are models, mothers, teachers and business women, sizzled. As it turns out, his wife, Vita, is going to Miami Beach with her son for vacation. We invited her to stop by Miami Ad School while she is there. We also invited her to speak to the photo students. Not likely, Roman said, because Vita is too shy. Well, her photos certainly aren’t.

These photos we took of her images in the magazines covering her exhibit don’t do the originals justice.

We spent the rest of the evening planning tomorrow which will likely be another one of our “pinch me, I’m dreaming” days. We are having a tooth party for Nikolai and Maria. They are in Kiev for their last dental treatment before the replacement teeth start being implanted sometime next week. With so many replacements needed it will take several weeks to complete. We will (hopefully) leave before seeing them with toothy smiles.

We’re coming to the last week or two of our time in Ukraine and so we want to give the biological parents a couple of more opportunities to have contact with Andry and Olya before we leave the country. Who knows when the children will be back to Ukraine?

On the phone, Maria asked again if we would pay for her “hair styling”. Of course. Pippa also thinks it will be a good opportunity to see Maria without a kerchief on her head. What a pity we won’t see her with her new teeth. They aren’t likely to be finished by the time we leave. Well, we hope we are gone by then.

I think both Pippa and I have good wishes for Maria in her quest to improve her appearance. We aren’t certain of her reasons. Maybe it’s just a “woman-thing”. Or maybe after seeing Pippa, Maria is suddenly more aware of how she looks to her children, Yet, she very much wanted to be photographed with Pippa in front of the cathedral in Percherska Lavra when we went to have egg decorating lessons.

Speaking of eggs, Pippa has signed us up for another egg decorating lesson at the Folk Art museum on Sunday morning. The children want to do it; it’s fine by me. Yet, I am beginning to wonder what we will do with all these eggs eventually.

I remember, a thousand years ago when I was a young man, I did a photo documentary on the weird men in New York State. One particularly deranged man collected eggs. He didn’t do anything with them; he just collected them. He had a dozen barns filled to the beams with grocery store eggs in cartons that he had collected for years and years.

When I met him, he was out of barn space and was now using abandoned cars for his ever-expanding collection.

I think that we, like he, will soon be up to our ass in eggs.

WE LEARN WE WERE ONLY A FEW MILES FROM WHAT THE MEDIA CALLED, “UKRAINE’S SECOND CHERNOBYL”

2007-07-21T08:11:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

When Vasilly and Yelena showed up this morning they brought a newspaper account of the phosphorous spill. We had seen only a short blip on CNN and BBC. Lauren and Michael, Miami friends who adopted two wonderful kids from Ukraine after meeting Olya, emailed us and said they had read news about the phosphorus accident in the Miami Herald. They hadn’t worried because they knew we were in Kiev where it was safe. But we weren’t in Kiev and we weren’t safe.

Headline reads: We milk the cows but throw the milk away.

It turns out we were extremely close to the spill at the time of the accident. At the very time it happened we were on the highway leading into Liviv, closer than the 30 to 40 kilometers distance of Liviv to the ground zero village of Ozhydiv. Even scarier because we nearly took a route that would have taken directly into the ground zero area.

The village of Ozhydiv and more than a dozen other nearby villages were completely evacuated. But just like Chernobyl, the firefighters and humanitarian workers were sent into the area without the proper equipment or personal precautions. The firemen, not knowing better tried to douse the flames with water instead of the proper foam-absorbing chemicals. The affected area residents were told to stay in their homes with windows closed. They were told to keep all animals inside. An impossibility; they have no shelter for their horses, cows, goats, chickens, ducks or other animals. They were told to cover their wells and to not drink the water but they have no other water source. Then they were told not to eat vegetables from their gardens but they have nothing else to eat. No food or water was brought in from outside. Even more odd, they were also told to put a wet cloth on their chest because it would help protect them. Just like the residents of Chernobyl were told to use umbrellas to protect them from radiation.

The article goes on to say that the danger is even greater in a year from now when the phosphorous has leaked into all the ground water and into the wells. The region, like Chernobyl, should be evacuated and all the residents re-located. These poor village people will lose everything they own, with no financial resources to take care of the serious health problems to follow. And unlike the Soviet years when the government had provisions in their system to help survivors of such disasters, the free enterprise system now in place in Ukraine does not.

There is even speculation of sabotage in the phosphorous spill. August is the month of national elections in Ukraine and politics here are at a boiling point. The Orange Revolution has gone sour and many people are expecting turmoil and tragedy. A recent explosion in a section of the Metro also has some people suspecting sabotage as well.
One Ukrainian man said to me, “They are just practicing now for August.”

We really want to be gone before then. As Andry says, “ Git outta hee!”

KIEV FEELS ALMOST LIKE BEING AT HOME. ALMOST, BEING THE OPERATIVE WORD

2007-07-20T11:19:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

It was very comforting to come back to this luxury apartment with its super air conditioning (95 Fahrenheit today, the highest recorded temperature in Kiev since 1957), large screen TV with multiple channels (a few in English) in the large modern living room, smaller TVs in each bedroom; sleek Italian kitchen, two bathrooms and washing machine. It’s worth every penny, hrivna or dollar we’re paying for it.

This is a far cry from our experience when we adopted Olya about four years ago. At that time we lived way, way out of the city in a drab, rundown, Soviet-style apartment complex. There was nothing to do; nothing was near us. The apartment was very small, one lousy bathroom with a broken door handle and from time to time we had to share the apartment with other American families who were in Kiev to adopt children.

Kiev itself has changed in the past few years. The restaurants are excellent; delicious food and courteous service. We’re near at least four very good restaurants. And Ukrainian toilets have changed big time. Some in Kiev now outdo the ones in the states. We don’t even bother to take along Kleenex packets with us when we go out because most now come equiped with paper. Admittedly, when you drive out of the city, it’s a different story. There are still the one-hole-in-the-ground monstrosities attached to a modern service station. On the other hand on the road to Liviv we stopped at a little cafe bar on the side of the road with a spotless, air-conditioned, western-style toilet, you would be hard-pressed to find on a similar highway in the states.

Ukraine, as Pippa describes it, is “slamming into modern civilization.” Kiev has everything any modern European or American city has to offer. There are more Hummers here than in Miami Beach but 30 kilometers out of the capital and the cows are still being led along the highway.

Today, as yesterday, we will go into Kiev to the cinema and internet café; the kids are hooked on the internet café and Pippa and I are hooked on the “kafe s molokom” at the cinema lobby.

We needn’t go to the giant supermarket today; we did that yesterday. We’re loaded up now with groceries because the children love eating at the apartment. They are also much happier with our routine in Kiev than long drives in a hot car in the mountains.

We bought Andry a Sony PSP yesterday. Olya has one in Miami; they will share this one while we are here. Olya brought her computer and Andry had to share it or wait to use Pippa’s when Pippa or I weren’t using it. This PSP will solve that problem. Except that we have not been able to get the PSP to work and they sold us one with the instructions in Japanese. We’ll have to go back to “Gigabyte”, the tech store we seem to be in every other day to exchange it.

We have worked out a compromise today. Pippa wants to go back souvenir shopping again. The children and I would rather have our fingernails pulled out with a red-hot pair of pliers. So, I’ll go with them to the internet café; Yelana and Pippa will go shopping on Andriyivskyi Uzviz. Hooray!

Tomorrow I’ll have Vasilly take me to the dental hospital to make the final payment on Maria’s and Nikolai’s teeth restoration. Tomorrow night we plan to have Maria and Nikolai come to dinner at our apartment. We’ll get some things from “Dva Gusya” (Two Geese) a popular Ukrainian take-out. We’ve got a couple of presents for the children to give them: another shirt for Nikolai; a blouse and bag for Maria.

Maria called yesterday and told us she had eggs decorated for us. She asked if we could pay for her to get her hair done. Wow, things get more unusual every day. Why would this woman want to have her hair styled? The same as any other woman I suppose. And it appears our scheme of having Maria actually work by decorating eggs to earn money is working. We’ll happily pay for her eggs.

Olya has discovered her early childhood and that’s worth whatever we’re paying. She has very big gaps filled in now for the rest of her life. Small memories have returned, some prompted by Andry, others by the exposure to the Ukrainian village. Yesterday she loved Andry’s story of Olya walking on the village road when she was very little, wearing a kerchief on her head. She wanted to know what color and what pattern was on the kerchief. I told her she must have been so very cute. She gave me a very big, very wide smile and said, “Yes, I was.”

She has always loved cherries. Now we know why. There were cherry trees all around the house where she lived her first three years. Andry says she was always in the trees, sometimes climbing higher than her brothers.

And while she liked “pink soup” as she called borsch in the USA, she is now addicted to it and has a bowl of borsch at every meal. When the restaurant has ““kvas”, a non-alcoholic brewed drink, Olya calls vino, she orders the biggest size. Of course, vereneky with cherries finish off every meal, whether we eat out or eat in.

ANDRY’S SENSE OF HUMMOR IS SHOWING

The most frequent word out of Andry’s mouth is “tomorrow”. Whenever Andry doesn’t understand what we say or ask him he says “tomorrow”. It’s actually a funny and really helpful way he invented to let us know he isn’t following what we are saying. He has also found many other uses for the word. Here are a few.

When he doesn’t want to do something:
Pippa: Andry, it’s time to go to bed.
Andry: Tomorrow.

When he wants to show excitement about doing something:
Andry: We go to Miami, tomorrow, yes?
(Of course we have already explained at least 27 times that we won’t be able to fly home for many, many more days.)

When he doesn’t know a word he wants to use:
Andry: (getting ready to shower) Pippa, where is “tomorrow”.
Pippa: Do you mean “towel”?
Andry: Yes.

WITH A RECORD BREAKING HEAT WAVE I GIVE UP HOPE OF GETTING FLUFFY-FACE BACK TO MIAMI

When we were in the Carpathian Mountains last week an adorable puppy adopted Olya. Watching them together was like watching a Disney movie, if you listened carefully you could even hear the score playing in your head.

Fluffy Face waits next to our suitcases as if she wants to be caried to the care with them.

There were several obstacles to getting the puppy but I figured them all out except the plane trip. When we got back to Kiev and internet connectivity I asked Cheryl to do some investigating for me. Here's the email thread:

Pippa: Hi Cheryl. Can you check with the travel adgent to see how to fly a dog home from Ukraine. Is it easy?

Cheryl: That's a joke right! We are full at the Inn. Noah only allowed two of each animal and you have reach it. (She, Erik and Patrick, her husband and son, are dog, cat and bird sitting for us while we are away. It's already been 5 weeks!)

Pippa: But we have two BOY dogs. This one is a female so I think Noah would make an exception. We are PROBABLY joking but check just in case. We are all so in love with this homeless puppy that adopted Olya. She is totally amazing and adorable. She followed Olya everywhere and waited all night for her outside our hotel room door. But she is in the Carpathian Mountains which is very far from Kiev. We would have a hard time getting her. Olya cried and cried when we had to leave her. I even cried. So check just in case.

Cheryl: Delta says since dogs have to fly cargo. It can't be hotter than 85 degrees.

I knew it probably wouldn't work but it breaks my heart to think of this personality-packed, little girl outside in the freezing Carpathian Mountain winters.

Thankfully, all is going smoothly with the adoption of the other Ukrainian orphan!

WE ARRIVE IN LIVIV AT DUSK.

2007-07-20T04:36:00.001-07:00

Sunday, July 15, 2007

We came into Liviv after a long drive from the Carpathian Mountains on an extremely hot day (100 fahrenheit). And mind you, the van has no air conditioning. When the car was stopped or in traffic, the heat was unbearable. The only relief in the back seats was whenever the car was in motion at high speed.

We were so excited to see Liviv. It is considered the most beautiful city in Ukraine as well as one of the most beautiful in Europe. Unfortunately we can’t confirm that. We had no time to see Liviv.

By the time we found our hotel, the “Lion’s Castle”, the sun had gone down and the air had cooled.

The hotel was on a shady street backing up to a large city park. The hotel and our room were charming and very European in feeling. We dropped our bags and went as fast as possible to an internet café to reward the children for being such great travelers on such a long, hot trip.

By 9:30 pm we felt we could pull them away and go to the nearby restaurant, “Seven Pigs”, recommended by the hotel. Pippa and I promised to go back to the internet cafe the next morning so all four of us could play Counter Strike together. The kids had been bugging us to play and we would have this evening if there had been computers available. Pippa and I agreed to come back to the internet first thing in the morning so all four of us could play.

The restaurant was wonderful. Fantastic Hutsul (Carpathian country) food and the most interesting, artistic décor we have seen in Ukraine. Pippa talked to the staff who said the beams, door and much of the decor came from three old mountain houses.

Andry ordered chicken Kiev. Funny, he has always lived in the Kiev region but it was the first time for him to try this dish. While he loves chicken, he didn't like it fixed this way.

I told everyone we were coming back the following evening so I could have exactly the same experience and the same baked pork dish that was very close to “Schweine Haxen”, my personal favorite German meal.
Pippa photographed every inch of the restaurant saying she was getting lots of ideas for our farm house in the country.

We finished dinner with Olya’s head resting on her plate. It was very late.

The children were exhausted. We all fell asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows on our return to the “Lion’s Castle”.

Monday, July 16, 2007
WE WAKE AND HAVE A TERRIBLE EPISODE WITH ANDRY.

I woke early as usual, showered (in cold water), dressed, grabbed the computer and went outside to the lovely garden and started blogging. It was about 6:am by then.

At nine, I went to help get the children ready to meet Yelana and Vasilly for our 9:30 breakfast date.

Oh boy! This is when the brand new day started to get bad.

Pippa and Olya were up, dressed and ready but Pippa was already frazzled.

Andry had refused to get up and crawled under the sofa bed. He wasn’t playing a game. He would not get out and wouldn’t speak. I tried talking him out from under his hiding place as Pippa had been doing for 30 minutes. Nothing.

Finally, Pippa lifted the sofa, I got Andry’s foot and dragged him out from under the sofa bed. But he would not move. He had his face covered and he was in a classic fetal position. I tried again with humor. That didn’t work. I tried reason. That didn’t work. I tried strong voice, also with no response. I was ready to pick him up and put him in the tub but at the last second, Andry jumped up, grabbed his clothes and went into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door.

Yelana showed up and we explained the situation. We waited to see if we would need to force the door open, but after a long time, Andry came out.

Yelana asked if she could speak to him alone outside. Sure, why not? Give it a shot because we’ve run out of ideas and patience.

Twenty minutes later Yelana came in to talk to us. She said Andry had broken down and cried very hard, something he hasn’t done since he has been with us. He told Yelana that his problem was the relationship Pippa and Olya had––it was extremely close, and he was jealous, and he wanted that. He said his relationship with me (Ron) was going fine, but he wanted what Olya was getting from Pippa. This revelation hit Pippa and me like a ton of Ukrainian cobblestones. How could we have been so stupid, so egocentric? We’re asking Andry if he is sure he wants to be a part of this family while the poor boy is struggling to find a way to worm his way into our tight family. I feel very ashamed.

Thinking about this, we remembered he had seen Olya and Pippa together in Spain. At that time we were not in any position to give special inclusive, parental-like attention to Andry. While we had applied to the US government for permission to adopt him we did not yet have approval and didn’t yet have Ukrainian approval. It would have been presumptive of us. We also might have offended his wonderful Spainish host family that had hosted him every summer and winter holiday for five years. He has a close relationship with them.

But now of course he is with us, trying to find his place in our family. Olya, Pippa and I already share a history and language. We could easily understand if Andry was feeling left out. We also have no idea if Maria had ever given him affectionate, “motherly” love or demonstrative affection. We certainly do give Olya a great deal of love and affection and she reciprocates. She and Pippa also look so much alike, far more so than Olya looks like Maria, her biological mother. Olya frequently wants she and Pippa to dress the same. It’s easy to see this is a very big challenge for Andry.

Poor boy. He has seen so many stressful things in his short life. He’s lived in three different orphanages since being taken from his parents and separated from his sister; he’s seen his bio father beat his bio mother up in a drunken rage, including the time he pounded out her front teeth. A year ago, while visiting Maria and Nikolai, Andry was brave enough to call the police to report his bio father when he was in another rage.

While in Spain visiting his host family he saw a healthy family in action. While they treated him like their own they were not able to adopt him. After each visit with them he had to go back to his Ukrainian orphanage where he had only himself to rely on. He has never had his own forever-family that would love and take care of him every minute of every day. Adjusting to this concept has to be tough.

Shame on us for not better understanding this.

We must understand what gigantic stresses Andry is going through: he has to learn another language, a totally different family routine; he has to deal with competition with a sister who has a head start on him; he is leaving his biological parents which must fill him with grief, sadness, anxiety and relief at the same time. No more comforting routine of visiting his Spanish host family. He is surely fearful of his immediate future with us in the USA: new school, new friends, new environment, new parents, new everything, in fact. Pippa and I have to find a way to help him through all of this. When he smiles, which is often, he is a beautiful child and he lights up the room.When he and Olya are playing together, which is most of the time and never any conflict between them, it is a heart-warming sight.

We all sat down for breakfast outside in the garden.

Pippa make sure she was sitting next to Andry. Andry was calm now. I tried to keep the atmosphere light and made suggestions for the day. Internet café, of course. Perhaps a movie. And maybe we could all go take photos in the old cemetery here in Lviv which is reputed to be the most beautiful in Europe. There were positive nods from the children and Pippa, but a very worried look from Vasilly and Yelana.

WE LEAVE TO ESCAPE THE POISONOUS PHOSPHOROUS CLOUD; WE GET TRAPPED IN A MONSTEROUS, MILES AND MILES LONG-TRAFFIC JAM AND DRIVE FOR 16 HOURS BACK TO KIEV.

Vasilly went into a long soliloquy in Russian, punctuated with big hand waving gestures. Yelana translated that last night there had been a major catastrophic event only forty kilometers or so from Liviv. She explained that a large number of railway storage cars filled with phosphorous had spilled and a great poisonous cloud was formed over the region, which included Liviv. Fourteen villages next to Liviv were being evacuated. The authorities were telling people in Liviv stay inside with the windows closed.

They were urging us to leave the city immediately and head south, back in the direction we left the day before. Knowing that Vasilly was a witness to the explosion at Chernobyl, we had no choice but to take his advice. Vasilly reminded us that when Chernobyl happened, the authorities keep the terrible news from going public for several days resulting in even more deaths and illness. He thinks the authorities may be minimizing details in this disaster as well.

We left breakfast and threw our bags in the car and headed south toward Ivano Frankviske, on the same highway we had used to come into Liviv. The day had grown hotter than the previous day. Much hotter over 100 fahrenheit.

After about twenty kilometers we came onto the longest traffic jam I have ever seen in my life and I have seen some beauties. This one looked lethal.

Vasilly took the van on the shoulder and raced down the long line of mostly trucks until he came to another line of mostly cars and small trucks veering off into a field onto some kind of small path. He pulled into this line as it weaved across open fields and then onto what must have been a horse and wagon path. In these small villages there are many horse and wagons still in daily farm use.

The path was very narrow with the small trees brushing each side of the car. The pathway was thick dust and muddy potholes and seemed to weave behind the backyards of houses in a small village. Soon, this line of vehicle also came to a halt.

But Vasilly backed up very rapidly before we got trapped and we joined another line of vehicles that were taking another equally risky path. Had he not done this, we could still be trapped in that dusty field. This, we realized, is how it is in a disaster. We only had information from the car immediately in front of us and the car behind trapped us from moving backwards. You must take a chance and act boldly. You will either have good luck or rotten luck; there is no in-between.

We continued in thick dust with the windows closed until we couldn’t stand the heat any longer and opened the windows until we couldn’t stand choking on the dust any longer. Some vehicles were having a tough time getting through some of the muddy sections, but with many tries they pulled out of the mud and the line continued.

This went on for a long, long time, I started planning what we would do if this maneuver failed. But with hope fading, we came onto a very broken concrete road that soon turned onto an asphalt highway. Miles down the road, we discovered that we were on the very highway leading to Ivano Frankviske that we had been seeking. Hot, dusty but happy to be where we were instead of where we could have been, we insisted on traveling on for a long time before we could bring ourselves to stop for water.

Many kilometers and hours later we came to Ivano Frankviske. First, a bad move into the center of the city to find a restaurant without success, but finding rush hour traffic instead. Then a turn-around to the highway outside of the city. All this in one hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit in a non-air-conditioned auto with two kids.

We stopped at one of the large restaurants, with a handful of gazebo-like outside eating shelters typical of Ukraine, and with the typical country-style interiors we’ve found all over. But, it was far too hot to eat outside. We went inside where it was not air-conditioned but a little cooler than outside.

Pippa and I wanted to grab a bowl of borsch and hit the road to Kiev. Vasilly insisted on ordering a steak, telling us he needed it if he was going to drive straight to Kiev, 650 kilometers from where we were. He also suggested that if we took our time eating, driving would be cooler an hour or so later. “OK,” your call, we answered. The kids played Simms on the computer, sitting on the floor to keep their computers plugged into the only receptacle they could find.

The rest of the trip was without major incident, thank God. Pippa was sure to always climb in the back seat with Andry. He was happy to be with her and surprisingly, talked in English with her for hours and hours, the first time he had ever done this. After one quiet, dozy stretch from him Pippa asked me to get her book from under my seat. Andry looked at her and in a concerned tone said, “you read?!” She said, “of course not” and the two dived back into conversation.

Then we had a problem with Olya, who was sitting in the middle seat with me (Ron), because of all the time Pippa was giving Andry.

I think this is what we can expect in the foreseeable future. I tried to tease Olya out of her obvious jealousy about Andry tickling her and sing-songing “Jealous Mean-Box”, while absorbing her stronger-than-usual kicks on my arm. I moved over closer to her and she put her legs on my lap and went to sleep, Andry was still chatting away with Pippa in the back seat about his summers in Spain and childhood experiences. Pippa was just eating up this special time with Andry.

I settled back, and as we whizzed down the highway at 100 kilometers an hour, took pictures of cows and cow-watchers on the side of the road.

The sun set, and crossed my fingers that we were dodging the phosphorous cloud that was––maybe, maybe not, heading our way.

By the time we got home Andry was asleep with his head in Pippa’s lap.

ON TO LIVIVAND TIME TO TALK ABOUT VASILLY, OUR DRIVER.

2007-07-20T00:34:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 14, 2007

After an hour or so of driving through very beautiful conifer forests, we left the Carpathians mountains towards Lviv. Both the Carpathian mountains and Liviv are in western Ukraine which is staunchly pro-Ukrainian, pro-western and anti-Russian. In fact, Yelena says Liviv was a hotbed of Orange Revolution supporters. We were cautioned again not to speak Russian when we get to Liviv. A joke, of course. In reality all it means for Pippa or me is saying “dyekuyu” instead of “spassiba” for thank you.

Vasilly stops to buy blueberries from this mother and her kids sitting by the roadside.

Andry hops across the tires that create a road side barrier.

Olya has to do it too.

As we came down from the mountain this was a common site. Families in their fields harvesting their hay.

Two hours or so down the two-lane highway, I began to get nervous. We seemed to be driving much faster than we had before, yet the traffic was heavy on both sides on the solid white line. I was particularly nervous because no one was paying attention to the solid line that is supposed to prohibit passing. Every vehicle was passing anyone whenever they felt like it whether there was room ahead or not. And that included our vehicle. After one particularly close call when Vasilly barely made it back to our side of the highway and would not have, if the car hadn’t made a big effort to give him room, I called out whoa! I told Yelena to tell Vasilly to cool it a little, slow down a tad.

Well, after Yelena translated to Vasilly, there was a long stream of Russian from him in reply. I really didn’t need the translation, but got Yelana’s version which I’m sure was modified to a large degree. The gist was: “I’m very good driver. I was driver for 2 years for Vice Minister of Atomic Research, etc., etc.”

Driving comments aside, Vasilly is a fascinatingly interesting man. First of all his stature is very imposing. He’s a large man, a stereotype for me of a Soviet, which he was of course. He looks a lot like Leonid Breznev, a former leader of USSR. Like Breznev, Vasilly has large, bushy prominent eyebrows, and a wide face with large flat lips. His manner is of a gentle giant; he’s very thoughtful to us and particularly the children. He’s very dedicated to his role as a driver. He is a college graduate, an engineer, and a good driver.

His history is extraordinarily interesting. He grew up in Chernobyl, went to college there, married there and returned after military duty to work in the nuclear plant in Chernobyl. He was working in the nuclear plant at the time of the meltdown that killed so many people in Ukraine and neighboring countries. His family and he lived in Pripyrat, which is only one kilometer from Chernobyl nuclear plant. The Soviet authorities continued to send workers into the area even knowing they were sending them to their death. Vassily was allowed to evacuate his family two days after the disaster. He had a year-old baby (Slava) at the time. The authorities sent him to a sanatorium in the Carpathian Mountains for a period of rest and recuperation. Then they sent him a letter requiring him to return. The plant workers could either return willingly and still receive their pensions. Or the police would find them, physically return them in which case they would loose their pensions.

Sometime after his “rest” he was given a pension stipend and a furnished apartment in Kiev in an apartment complex set aside for all the Chernobyl workers and their family. We’ve actually seen the apartment complex and the monument to Chernobyl that is outside the apartment. We saw a number of middle-aged men playing dominoes on benches near the monument. Vasilly told us that many of the men (and women) in the complex are very sick and that many of his friends have died. At another conversation with him about Chernobyl, he confided that Slava, his son, who is now 23 is having fairly severe problems of fatigue and depression, early symptoms from radiation exposure.

Lunch at a roadside restaurnat that in its day must have been beautiful. Olya played Game Boy while Andry taught Pippa a new card game.

WE STOP TO TAKE TELEPHOTO SHOTS OF STORKS

I debated with myself of what photo equipment to bring with me to Ukraine. I didn’t want to bring my digital Canon 20d; it was just too heavy. So I bought a pocket-sized new video/still camera just out from Canon. At the last minute, on the way out the door I changed my mind and grabbed the 20d, then went back and got the 300mm telephoto lens for that camera. While the 20d has turned out to me a wonderful workhorse, taking great photos of Olya’s visit to her birthplace/village because of it’s rapid shutter response, the telephoto lens has stayed unused in the bag. That is, until the trip to Liviv.

We were about midway between Ivano Frankviske and Liviv when we came onto a stork nest, filled with mama stork feeding baby storks (so big they were almost her size) on the top of a light pole right beside the road. I gave the camera to Andry and he hopped out of the car and started shooting. I remembered the telephoto lens and put it on the camera for Andry. He was very excited; I’m certain he had never used such a lens in his life. He cranked shot after shot on my 4gig memory card.

The mother has the orange beak.

When we had exhausted that scene we drove on, only to have the same opportunity time and time again as we went down the highway. After a while we got as jaded as the Ukrainian villagers and left the storks alone to do whatever storks do.

THE CLEAN MOUNTAIN AIR GIVES EVERYONE A FRESH START

2007-07-19T12:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday, July 15, 2007

I (Ron ) awoke as usual, around five am. By the time I was dressed and out of the bathroom, Pippa opened one eye to tell me Andry was looking for me. She had checked him many times during the night and morning. She talked to him when he had come in from the balcony and curled into his indoor bed. I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk. He answered, “Yez, but I no have…” and he gestured to my belt. (He had left his belt back at the Kiev apartment and since he has no hips, his pants keep falling down.) I took off my belt, handed it to him and he got up and got dressed.

We walked up and down some of the muddy ski trails. In the winter, Bukovel is no doubt quite beautiful. They’re building new trails and lodges all over the place, hoping to land a future winter Olympics. Andry’s mood was cheerful and he even struggled more to express himself directly to us in English instead of speaking Spanish to Olya, so she would translate for him.

We got back to our ski lodge, gathered Olya and Pippa, Vassily and Yelana and went to breakfast. Everything was PLEASANT. Andry worked on a language workbook with Pippa that she had brought for him from Miami.

We came back to our lodge and sat Andry down to revisit our last night’s conversation. Through Yelana’s translation, we asked him if he had decided, “Did he still want to be a part of our family?” He answered quickly that he wanted to be a part of the family. We said just as quickly that was also exactly what we wanted, for him to be a part of our family.

We immediately lightened the conversation and talked about how Olya had a hard time in the beginning to be a part of the family. We explained how she also had bad moods in the early days, would never say thank you, hello or goodbye, but now she is incredibly thoughtful, cheerful and responsive. We went on to explain how our family works, we have fun together. Sometimes one person gets their way––that we do what that person wants, then other times the other person has the choice. But the important thing was that we did not get mad when it was not our turn. We also watch out for one another so everyone is safe. Olya kept the mood light by tickling and tackling everyone and Andry’s face was always smiling or pleasant and nodding agreement.

The whole group of them went off to go on the chair lift ride except for me (Ron). Heights are not fun for me and while I’ve been a skier all my life and taken five million chair lifts, it is only when I have skis on my feet and must go up to come down. Ski lifts or any kind of height are not a voluntary choice for me.

Andry left with my very expensive Canon around his neck announcing he was going to be the photographer for “all zis day.” I said, “ok, but please change the camera’s language back to English from Spanish when you get back.”

On the lift Olya and I sat in one chair. Andry, Yelana and Vasilly each in their own chairs. Andry took his job as photographer seriously. He called to Olya and me to turn and pose for pics.

Horses were grazing below us and Andry took some great aerial shots.

I showed Andry how to change the background image on my computer. He took down the photo Olya had put up of her and the puppy and replaced it with the image above. I think it's beautiful.

Once at the top of the mountain the five of us explored the beautiful forest. Seeing horse poop in the woods Andry made-up a story about the poop coming from giant frogs that live in the forest. We needed to be careful because the frogs attack and drink your blood. Today is so different than yesterday!!!

Me being the giant, bloodsucking, mountain frog.

Yelana enjoying the sunshine.

While having a cold drink at the mountain top café Andry asked if he could hike down the mountain instead of riding the ski lift. It looked okay to me but before answering him I had Yelana go ask the ski lift operator if it was safe to walk down the mountain and how long it would take. Thirty minutes and it’s safe but a little slippery and muddy; the operator said the walk was not a good idea.

Andry still wanted to do the walk and he wanted me to go too. I was excited that he wanted my company but I’m not the mountain goat he is! I said “yes” immediately knowing that those muddy slippery steps down the mountain were going to be important steps in our relationship.

Andry and I set off. (Olya was too little to make the long hike and happy to ride the lift back with Yelna and Vasilly.) I was under a lot of pressure because Andry was timing our hike. He wanted to make it to the bottom of the mountain faster than the 30 minutes the ski lift operator had predicted.

Without me Andry could have made the hike in 10 minutes because he was able to run and jump down the mountain. I had to carefully go step-by-step placing my feet in the deep footprints the horses had made during their climb so I wouldn’t slip.

Knowing I was really slowing Andry down, I encouraged him to go ahead without me so he could get his low time. He didn’t though. Many times he even reached out to me so I wouldn’t slip. He talked a lot telling me interesting times from life in Ukraine and his holidays in Spain. We still made the decent in less than 20 minutes. He was happy so I was happy.

IS ANDRY CHANGING HIS MIND OR JUST TESTING US?

2007-07-19T11:43:00.000-07:00

Saturday, July 14, 2007

We rode to a village nearby and went into an arts & crafts market which was Heaven for Pippa and Yelana and Hell for the kids and me. Although Andry continued with his pissy attitude, I let it go thinking the shopping would hardly brighten any male’s disposition. I know I was at my tether edge after an hour and a half.

Vasilly, Pippa, Olya and Yelana at the market.

Olya tries on traditional Ukrainian clothes.

Glimmer of hope. Andry puts a silly hat on Ron and snaps a picture.

We drove round and round and finally ended up at a restaurant that overlooked a big, raw cliff.

The atmosphere was in keeping with the rustic mountain esthetic, but the food was not very good and everything took a long time with each dish coming out fifteen minutes or so after the next dish. It was a long meal. Andry was getting more and more sullen.

In the car, Andry stayed in the rear seat by himself. He had started doing that for the last day, adamantly keeping Olya or anyone else from joining him in the rear seat. He wouldn’t say a word to anyone and would only answer a direct question with a curt monosyllable.

We stopped at a waterfall that is a tourist highlight. He tried to refuse getting out of the hot car but with my insistence, he got out, but very slowly and sullenly. He told Olya “why should he go see a waterfall; he had seen waterfalls before and he didn’t want to see this one.”

He was sullen during the walk to the waterfall. While Olya splashed Yelana and Pippa with water he stood in one spot, far from the falls, without speaking and walked back to the car silently as well. In the car he got back into the rear seat and layed down so no one could sit next to him and stared at the ceiling of the car. He did this for the next hour until we stopped at our new hotel.

All through the checking in and moving our things into the room he continued with his silent treatment of us.

It had been a long, unpleasant day with him. We got Yelana to come to our room to translate the discussion of his negative behavior toward us.

We asked him what was bothering him. He just shrugged. We said something must have happened to cause him to not speak to us and act so sullenly. Again, no answer. Essentially we told him that he was pouting like a little child, not a13 year old. We said that we had neither said nor done anything to him to justify this kind of angry treatment.

To everything we said, Andry remained silent. Finally we asked him if he wanted us to treat him like a child since he was acting like one. He said “yes”. We gave him several more chances to change his mind. He would not change his mind. So we left things that way.

We found a place to stay in Bukovel, a new ski development with tighter security than a military base. We were not even allowed to park anywhere near our ski lodge housing. But we decided to stay so the kids could take the ski lift the following morning that runs during the summer months for tourists. Andry curtly announced he did not want to go on the ski lift.

At dinner in the hotel’s restaurant Andry sat looking at his meal for half an hour and carefully staring into the far corner of the room. We decided (after speaking with Yelana, who told us that often prospective parents get this kind of treatment when they adopt and that some decide not to go through with the adoption) to lay it all on the line to Andry. We told him to think over what we had said––think carefully and sleep on it. His behavior was telling us that he did not want to be with us. In the morning, after he thought about it he needed to let us know if he wanted to be part of our family.

We’re emotionally exhausted. We know Andry must be in an emotional whirlwind as well. We want this boy badly, but not if he has changed his mind and doesn’t want to be with us. What’s going on with him now? Is he ready to run?

I don’t want to waste what’s left of my life spending days like this past day. I have a wonderful life with Pippa and Olya. I don’t want to loose that. Pippa and I talked and decided to give it until the morning when the temperature and his mood have had the opportunity to cool.

Back at the room and looking for an opportunity that would allow Andry to resume normal interaction with the rest of the family, I (Pippa) matter-of-factly asked Andry to help me pull out the sofa beds for Olya and him. It turned out to be a real brain-teaser because one of the beds was broken making it impossible to fold out. I didn’t mind. The situation created the opportunity for some much-needed teamwork from everyone in the family. This was the most interaction we had had with Andry the whole day and it felt wonderful. Vasilly and Yelana came to help us arrange a move to another lodge that would have enough beds.

After the move Olya came in with Andry and they were both smiling and asking to play something. To keep the mood light, we all played a card game of “Crazy Eight”, which was even funnier because we had to explain the game to Yelena and to Vassily who speaks not one word of English. After a couple of rounds Yelana and Vassily left for their hotel rooms, Ron and Olya were sleepy. Andry asked me if I wanted to learn a new, difficult card game. I jumped at the chance for some fun one-on-one time with Andry.

With the positive change in his mood, I rewarded Andry by letting him sleep on the balcony, which he was dying to do for some reason. Together we figured out how to stack the pillows and blankets to create a comfortable sleeping nest. This involved a lot of laughing and speculating about bears coming up to sleep with him.

Tomorrow is another day. We’ll see what the sun brings.

WE HAVE TO LEAVE A UKRAINIAN ORPHAN BEHIND

2007-07-19T07:18:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 13, 2007

Dusk had come and gone by this time and the mountain air was quite chilly. Even so we elected to eat in one of the four outside (dining) gazebos. A big mistake because Olya fell in love with an adorable stray female puppy who also fell in love with her. The two were inseparable all evening, running and playing all over the area, up and down the steps and in and out our lodge. Everywhere that Olya went, the puppy was sure to follow. I don’t believe I have ever seen such immediate and close bonding between a child and a puppy.

We suggested to Olya that perhaps the puppy was owned by someone so she should not let the pup sleep inside our lodge. So Olya brought a towel and placed it on our balcony by the door, then rubbed the puppy’s belly until she put her muzzle down and fell asleep; Olya left and closed the door silently.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

The following morning Olya woke up very early and rushed out to see if the puppy was still there. She was and so the courtship continued.

We racked our brains to find a way to get the little dog back to Miami. There just is no way. At breakfast Ron told Olya that we just couldn't take the puppy back to Miami. The puppy probably had an owner. We couldn't keep her in our Kiev apartment for three weeks. We couldn't fly her back to Miami...

Olya covered her face with her hands to hide her tears. I cried too. She understood that we couldn't take the puppy but was still heart broken. Ron made us laugh saying we were both the same. We would take in every stray we found.

As absurd as it sounds I still had hope but kept my mouth shut until I did more investigation. I asked around and found out that the puppy belonged to no one. She just showed up one day and that all the staff “sort of looked out for her”. Everyone said we were welcome to take her. Okay, one obstacle down. Next the whole dog in the apartment issue. Well we could leave her at the hotel and hire Vasilly to drive back for her a couple of days before we headed back for the States. Vasilly, our driver, loves the mountains and would probably go for this. Two obstacles down. I just didn't know about the airlines restrictions. Without an internet connection I couldn't reach Cheryl to ask her to figure this one out. Later.

After breakfast we walked across the road to ride the horses we had arranged for the evening before. But there were only two horses. After a lot of Ukrainian language back and forth before any translation, we finally decided on forgetting about more horses and just let Andry and Olya ride. Actually the two Carpathian cowboys (young guys in tee shirts & jeans) just led the horses on a long walk along the highway. To make it more interesting I convinced the cowboys to at least let the ride wind through the forest near the road.

They gave each other a long look and with a shrug, lead the horses, kids on top, through the forest. It was as if the idea had never occurred to them.

We noticed Andry was quiet through the whole ride. Olya had told us that he was in a bad mood since he woke and that he said he didn’t want to stay any longer at this place because he didn't like the dog. We hoped that his mood would change during the day. We doubted very much if the puppy was the real reason for his silence.

TO KILL TIME, WE GO TO THE MOUNTAINS

2007-07-18T13:48:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 13, 2007

Now that we have the court appointment behind us, we have a mandatory ten day waiting period. At the end of that period we still have to get Andry’s birth certificate, get a medical for him and get his passport. All those requirements must wait until we get the court decree in hand which could actually be more like 14 to 15 days instead of ten. So, we have time on our hands.

We decided to go to the Carpathians Mountains in the western part of Ukraine. That area is also the center for Ukrainian folk art and crafts. We also thought there would be things for the children to do such as horse back riding, playing with rocks in the stream, hiking in the forest and whatever. Since we have a farm in the mountains back home, this trip might help with our burgeoning homesickness.

We left Kiev early Friday morning. The kids slept for hours in the car. They would wake up to have lunch and then go back to sleep.

We had heard stories about the rough roads. Mostly true and there were no four lane autobahns or whatever you call super highways in Russian. Speaking of Russian, Yelana advised us not to speak Russian in the Carpathian Mountains, stick to Ukrainian since Russian is not popular in Western Ukraine. For us that means don’t say, “Spasiba”, say “Dyekooyo” for thanks and say “Kava s molokom” instead of “Kafe s molokom”. I think we can handle that.

We make it to the edge of the mountains and stay at a hotel in Ivano Frankviske which the guide books says is much like an Austrian hotel. However, it was far from any Austrian hotel I’ve ever stayed in. But it was ok. The receptionist however was terrified that we were not going to pay or bill or that we used something from the mini-bar. She asked three different times about the minibar and then when Pippa came down drinking from a large bottle of water that we carry with us, asked again if it came from the mini-bar.

Breakfast was uneventful. We made certain that Andry got his meal before anyone else, since in the last four meals, his meal came last, long after everyone else, or was forgotten all together. No mouth-watering German or Austrian breakfast buffet but at least they brought us food.

The mountains were further away than we thought. The ride through the foothills was extremely interesting. The country houses began to get more and more decorative and looked a lot like the eggs they create. Lots of bright purple trim, green trim and the more we got into the mountains, the more we saw pressed tin, first on trim, then entire houses with bright metal with embossed decoration in the metal.

It’s as if a region of relative poor people suddenly became wealthy. With as much money as they want they could build whatever they wanted to build. So they go down to the local Ukrainian Home Depot equivalent and pick out the gaudiest roof, siding, doors, windows, well shelters and fences in the catalog. They’ll put a blue metal roof with yellow siding and purple trim. We saw one large house with a bright purple fence, bright yellow lower siding and bright green upper siding; the roof was shiny tin. In the yard, there was a four-foot, green teapot. The teapot could be a covering around the water well. Maybe. We never did find out the function. Around one approximately six foot tall teapot there was a small cup and saucer.

Over each water well, the decorations get more and more outlandish. In fact, they began to be miniature copies of the onion-domed churches.

Speaking of the churches, they are all over the place. Grander and grander and more and more bizarre. Some were beautiful. Some were quite ugly. Some just gaudy. But they certainly make a statement.

They also build minuture churches along the side of the road. We must have seen 40 today. Yelana explained that these are build so people can worship frequently. They often put the structures where they feel an accident is likely to happen. Private homes also build the structures in their yards or inserted into their roadside fence.

The county esthetic is very different from the same kind of alpine area in Germany or Switzerland. In those counties, the esthetic all seems to be done in the same careful sensibilities with gradual differences region to region. In this part of Ukraine everyone seems to do their own thing.

But these people have a passion for flowers. They pack their little yards with every imaginable bloom. Some yards are breathtaking even if the esthetic sensibilities are a little over done, shall we say.

We stopped at a folk art museum in Kosiv.

Kosiv is the center of Carpathian folk art. Pippa bought a few things and then we set out to find the folk art market outside of town. We found it but there was no folk art. Instead it was a serious flea market for locals. We stayed for five minutes and then headed deeper into the mountains.

Then we had a stroke of good luck. We drove by a place that was sited by a beautiful mountain stream. It looked like a mountain restaurant but the gate for cars was locked. Vasilly hopped out and came back ten minutes later and encouraged us to go in.

It was perfect. There was one rustic lodge restaurant building and behind the lodge there were trails leading to covered porches overlooking the stream.

Each porch had a built in table and benches. The waiter comes and takes your order and you eat your meal in a very special setting.

But we had an episode of sullen anger with Andry. He had asked to cross the river to play on the other side and we said he couldn’t until later. Before we could explain why (we needed to order lunch first), he let us know how angry with us he was; he sat on a rock, sullen and refusing to speak. So we had no choice but to have a confrontation and explain to him our rules about such behavior. With Yelana there to translate, we thought it was a perfect time to establish some guidelines on ways to constructively communicate to us what he was feeling.

He came out of his mood with some help from Olya who stayed cheerful and coaxed him to go play. They ended up in the stream collecting rocks.

Andry and Olya tossed their favorite rocks to Pippa who was waiting on the bank.

The rock collection.

Then the kids discovered wild raspberries. At the end of the meal Andry asked if Ron and I would go pick berries with Olya and him. We jumped at the offer knowing he was trying to reconnect with us. We were so happy he did that.

The meal was good with special items from the region, including a spectacular desert––sweet large dumplings with whipped cream and berries.

We stayed for a very long time. The owner, in his Carpathian shirt, was very considerate and spent a lot of time suggesting where we should go on our trip. As we left a wedding group stopped to have their photographs taken in front of the picturesque stream. As Andry watched the couple on the hill he said, "now they will run." Sure enough. Holding hands the bride and groom ran down the hill and then had group pictures taken with the rest of their guests.

This lunch ended up to be just as we had imagined a perfect lunch in the mountains should be.

A couple of hours through the higher and higher mountains and we came to a complex of rustic log buildings. We stopped and looked at the detached log houses, all decorated in a rustic esthetic, but very nice. Andry rejected this place because he wanted to stay in a place with a balcony he could sleep on and see the stars. Olya didn’t like it much either.

So we drove another a little farther to a nearly identical place except there was no restaurant. We parents took charge and went back to the first place which, this time, the kids now loved because they saw it had horses to ride and in the back a fox in a cage.

After we checked in we heard lots of mooing and ringing of bells. The cows were literally coming home.

Olya and Andry watched the cow parade as the ladies walked back to their barns. Passing cars had to stop and wait.

THE DAY AFTER COURT, LIFE GOES BACK TO ABNORMAL

2007-07-18T01:04:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Vasilly had picked up Nikolai and Maria before coming to us. They had another tooth/mouth restoration in the coming afternoon. This morning we were having another blended family experience; we were all going to have a pysanky lesson at the museum together. The kids piled into the VW van and off we go.

It took all of two minutes to reach the museum. It occurred to me that this may be the first museum Maria and Nikolai have ever visited. The setting must have been awesome for them. To reach the museum, which is in a church refectory, you walk under centuries old, very large, gold-laden onion-domed cathedrals, brilliant white walls with exquisite golden trim around the murals of saints and angels. All around are pious worshipers in various postures of religious experience. Around them are various groups of tourists, assembled by language and led by a guide.

The museum director’s assistant met us and we all pitched in to move tables around to accommodate our larger than expected group.

The children seemed very happy to be doing this again.

Olya's egg had a plant with hearts as flowers on one side. The other side of the egg said Family Egg. I thought this was a very appropriate egg to make the day after court.

Nikolai and Maria sat at the opposite end of the table. (To their credit, they have not yet shown any parental possessiveness to either child; they have been very deferential to us. They chat and smile with Andry, but we’ve yet to see a single touch or brush of lint off a shirt.)

WE’RE GOING TO BE ON UKRAINIAN RADIO

Towards the end of the lesson the museum director came in with a young woman from a Ukrainian radio station who had asked if we would agree to an interview. Sure, why not?
In very halting English, she asked Pippa a series of questions focused on why Americans were taking a pysanky lesson. She asked about Miami Ad School. And our opinions of Ukrainian folk art. We avoided any mention of Maria and Nikolai and one of the other important reasons we were taking egg decorating lessons.

When the lessons were over, Maria gave her egg to me. Nikolai had tried to decorate an egg but we don’t think his hands were made for this kind of delicate skill. We took Maria and Nikolai upstairs to the museum’s collection of folk art, beginning with their extraordinary pysanky collection. This was the first time the couple had ever been in a museum.

As we were leaving the cathedral complex, Maria asked if she could have her picture taken with Pippa in front of the cathedral, an elaborate edifice of gold leaf and exquisite religious wall paintings. Why would she want such a photo and why in front of the cathedral? Go figure.

Vasilly dropped us off at the cinema/internet café and took Nikolai and Maria to their next dental restoration appointment. We finished off the day with a kid’s internet session of Grand Theft Auto and then we took in the latest Die Hard movie. I tell you that Bruce Willis is really tough when he is speaking Russian.

LET’S GO, KIDS. TODAY IS JUDGEMENT DAY.

2007-07-12T14:01:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

I get up early each day and take an hour–long walk. Last night at bedtime, Andry asked to go with me on my next morning walk. Olya said she wanted to go also.

I didn’t believe them, but the children were up after the third call at 7am.

We walked through the row of embassy houses eating ripe cherries from the overhanging cherry trees, past the Motherland plaza, past the SSSR (USSR nostalgic) restaurant, past the Percherskaya Lavra complex; stopped and had coffee and strawberries, then circled back to our apartment.

On the walk Andry chatted with me in his mixture of Spanish and Ukrainian–flavored English. His sense of humor is coming through more every day. He said to me, “ Today, when judge sez yes or no, he sazs yes, he sazs––get outta hee.”

When Ron and the kids got back Yelana and Vasilly, our translator and driver, called to say there was a change of plan; not what you want to hear as you are getting dressed to go to court. Instead of Vlad, our main facilitator, we were going with Yelana. Vlad was supposed to go with us to court, but at the last minute was ill and couldn’t make it.

To make the situation worse the kids, who were also anxious, were expressing it by hiding each other’s going-to-court clothes. It was almost impossible to get the kids ready. For the first time in many days we had to use a serious tone. But Yelana showed up on time; we got the kids out of the apartment (Andry actually ironed his pants before we left).

The drive to Bucha is about forty minutes from our apartment; Vasilly made it in 25. It was the first time we have actually been speeding on the sidewalk. He had no other choice because the traffic was dead-locked in every direction.

We stopped at an administrative building in Bucha to see the “Inspector”. Yelana went in, stayed about twenty minutes. The “Inspector” came over to the car, spoke to Vasilly and walked away, apparently on the way to the court house. Yelana finally came out and we pulled away to go to the courthouse ourselves. After stops, Yelana getting out and asking directions, we pull up in front of the courthouse at about fifteen minutes to two.

We were early. A group of courthouse workers was still having their lunch outside.

Shortly after two we were sent for and we went inside like a line of ducks.

The courtroom, which felt a bit like a storeroom, needed to be twice as big to realistically hold its furniture. We rose from our seats when the judge and his entourage came in and sat down. The prosecutor, a young man in his thirties, short-sleeve shirt and tie, sat on our right, a microphone on his desktop.

The judge, also in his shirtsleeves, but tie–less, sat, one woman on his left and two other women on his right. We were told later that two of the women were jury members. The other women, the court reporter, was wearing a see-through black lace shirt and black bra, what women in the States would wear out to a night club not on-the-job. The judge appeared to be in his mid-forties.

The process started with a long spate of Ukrainian legalese from the judge, Yelana translating as he spoke. Yelana did a terrific job. Then we went through a number of “Ron, stand up and answer questions from the judge––then sit down”, Pippa was asked to do the same. All of the questions seemed to be standard procedure. The prosecutor, however, asked Ron a very pointed question: if he thought his health would hold up to the stress of raising Andry. Good question. He avoided a direct answer by replying that he still played football (soccer) every Sunday with twenty-year-old students.

Then the judge asked Andry to stand. We thought the judge would simply ask him if he wanted to be adopted by our family and Andry would say “yes” and everything would be finished. The judged asked Andry the question as we had expected and then went on to ask him a couple of tricky questions we didn’t expect. Andry’s answers would make or break the adoption. Andry was very poised and answered perfectly. Later he admitted his hands had “lots of water” on them.

The end of court was a fog. The judge casually said something and walked out with the women. We were told to leave the room and come back in half an hour. We assumed that was when we would get the final ruling from the judge and jury. Yelana scurried off to talk with the Inspector about another paper she thought we might need. Ron, Pippa and the kids went outside where our driver, Vasilly, was waiting for us. He had not been allowed into the courtroom and was anxiously waiting for the result. We gave him our best I-don’t-know shrug, which is understood in any language. He looked worried.

Eventually, Yelana came out. She said the judge had approved our adoption when we were still in the courtroom! She thought we had understood this. The judge had just invited us back in half an hour to proof read the official adoption decree. And we didn’t need any more paperwork.

Phew.

Andry is ALMOST ours and we are ALMOST his forever. (Before a Ukrainian adoption is absolutely official there is a mandatory 10 day wait. We have never heard of anything happening during the waiting period to disrupt an adoption but we are a little anxious anyway.)

We took pictures in front of the courthouse and then went to celebrate with another delicious Ukrainian meal. We were starving. We had missed lunch but I doubt any of us would have been able to eat anyway.

Andry chatted and giggled and teased and jabbered all the way to the restaurant, at the restaurant, back to our apartment and at our apartment. For a long, long time he ran around the living-room sliding in his socks. Then he developed a plan. He wanted to paint his face with my make-up so he could scare Olya. It didn’t work but he had fun trying.

IS THERE A TOOTH FAIRY IN UKRAINE?

2007-07-11T14:31:00.000-07:00

Monday, July 9, 2007

Olya, while doing jumping jacks with her atavar on Simms, lost a baby molar tooth. We are paying for the dental bill to replace Maria’s teeth and Nikolai’s rotted teeth. The day after we made this decision, Pippa broke a rear molar from a shyslysk (shish kebob) pork morsel. Ron has a tooth that is beginning to ache, a tooth that he meant to fix in Miami but didn’t get around to the dentist.

Then there was the episode with Olya’s teeth retainer; we were having lunch at the restaurant in Taras Scheschenko Park and Olya took out her retainer to eat and folded it in her napkin. Of course she forgot the napkin and left the restaurant without it. Then busboy cleaned the table and we ended up going back to the restaurant when Olya remembered she didn’t have her retainer. A half hour later after going through every piece of garbage in the dumpster behind he restaurant, Andry found it. Our trip seems to be revolving around a theme of “teeth”.

The big question is does the Ukrainian Tooth Fairy leave a gold coin or a 20 hrivna note?
Does the Ukrainian Tooth Fairy leave notes in English, Russian or Ukrainian? Where should Olya leave her note? In her shoe? Under the pillow?

Well, we’ll find out I suppose.

This morning we went to the dentists’ hospital to make the next installment payment for Maria and Nikolai’s teeth extraction, repair and replacement. In an earlier post Ron described the dentists’ uniforms as looking like what American butchers wear. We’ve been to the hospital so many times Ron and the dentist are best buds so he felt comfortable asking if it would be okay to take a picture of the dentist. Here he is chest hair and all.

The children playing while waiting outside the front door of the hospital.

As we left on our way to lunch Vasilly said we were about to drive by his apartment complex and there was something he wanted show it to us.

Vasilly was an engineer at the Chernobyl nuclear plant when the 1986 disaster occured. We have gingerly asked him about the incident and its aftermath. He explained that two days after the melt down all the residents of Chernobyl were relocated to a large housing complex in Kiev. He still lives in the apartment and offered to show it to us. We would love to see his apartment but asked to see it on our next trip to the dentist because the children were starving.

He did pull into the complex to show us the statue commemorating all the Chernobyl workers. Here he and Yelana are posing in front of it.

All the Chernobyl workers are on disability now. About a dozen were sitting in the shade of a nearby tree playing dominoes; a scene you’d see on Calle Ocho.

Yelana told us that 21-24 year olds, who were babies at the time of the Chernobyl disaster, are the age group most affected from the nuclear fall out. Both of Vasilly’s children are in this group and suffer from a blood condition that makes them tire easily.

For lunch we went to a traditional Moldavian restaurant. The restaurant had several different eating environments to choose from. We considered the individual houses with their heavily carved doorways that were big enough for a table and six chairs.

And the room decorated with dozens of taxidermied animals.

But Olya and Andry decided we should sit on the long wide porch next to the waterfall. Yelana wanted a picture by the waterfall for her boyfriend.

While we waited for what seemed like years, the children played on the computers. The food was spicier than Ukrainian food and had heavier sauces. Glad we ate there once.

We gave the kids a choice for the afternoon: cinema or internet café? The kids opted for the internet café and played Grand Theft Auto, something we wouldn’t let them do if we were in the States but we are getting a bit desperate for activities. Pippa, Yelena and Ron went upstairs to the cinema lobby to have a coffee. We’ve both learned how to order “Kafe s Melokom”; the coffee at the cinema lobby is the best we’ve had in Kiev.

While having a coffee there, we got a call from the museum director (where we had the pysanky lesson a few days before). The director explained that she was telling a friend of hers about us, the Americans who took the egg–decorating lesson. The friend, who works for a radio station, told her boss and they got excited about doing a radio show around us. “Would we consider doing this” she asked? Sure, why not?!

But, what would they think if they knew we were also bringing the children’s biological Ukrainian parents to have a lesson with us? Would it blow their mind or add to their story? It blows our minds.

Maria and Nikolai gave this to us. It is the fast way to do Ukrainian egg decorating; more common now than the traditional wax painting/dying method. Just slip this plastic sleeve around the egg and with warm water shrink wrap the design to the egg.

HAVEN’T WE AREADY DONE THIS?

2007-07-11T12:10:00.000-07:00

Sunday, July 8, 2007

(Disclaimer: While this story is funny, Ron has written a very exaggerated account of our afternoon. Ron counts shopping hours in dog years! — Pippa)

Pippa promised that if we went back to souvenir street (Andriyivskyy Uzviz) that “cross her heart,” she would go fast, not at the wounded-snail-on-a-crutch’s pace she and her mother inflicted on the rest of us previously.

Pippa lied.

Even when Andry, Olya and I sat on a curb with our fists under our chins, shoulder and spirits sagging, wearing our best “waiting for Godot” expression, she sludged on in her mother’s best tradition, touching every decorated egg on Andriyivskyy Uzviz; picking up every painted box and plate (Ty Tirilky); trying on every ancient coin necklace; talking to every painter about their technique, their education and view on life even though one spoke Russian and the other Texas English; unraveling every floral patterned long thing (Rushnky); every embroidered linen something (Vahshivkah); and lifting every wooden mace (Bulava). The only things she did not finger were the Soviet military officer’s caps with the giant brim, Soviet tank corps caps, the medals and battle ribbons. Nor did she pay any attention to the CCCP soccer shirts or the tee shirts with Lenin giving the “finger”. You know, the only really interesting stuff.

Pippa here. Well, the boy and girl on the box reminded me of Andry and Olya.

This 5"X8" painting is of the typical landscape in the rural areas outside of Kiev.

I knew when my mom saw may little painting of the trees she would want one too.

And the Holleyhawks are in bloom everywhere.

Here is one of the shirts Ron likes. See he was shopping too!

(Back to Ron.) But the Ukrainians have a GOD of MEN. So, just when the kids and I were about to throw ourselves on the first military swords we could find, the sky opened up and a great rain fell on us. The kids and I ran in happy abandon to Vassily and his waiting VW van. All three of us kissed him on his mouth. We drove to the booth where Pippa and Yelana, in the pouring rain, were talking to one of the old lady vendors about a particular piece of jewelry. I had to pull Pippa into the van as she was clasping both arms around the old woman’s legs; Vasilly gunned the engine as Pippa’s feet clattered on the cobblestones down Andriyivskyy Uzviz.

However, there was still the “festival” to be dealt with. The children had begged me to skip it; they didn’t need to beg. I had a bad case of Rasputin’s Revenge (ponos) and had no portable package of toilet paper on my person. So Vassily dropped the kids and me off at the apartment and took Pippa on to her festival. Olya and Andry played Simms on their computers and I watched Schalke play Bremen with the commentary in Russian. I was a happy person.

Pippa returned before nightfall and tried to tell us about how wonderful the festival was. We all said, “that’s nice.” The kids were still on Simms. I was watching the women’s USA basketball team clobber Australia. The only interesting thing about the game was the skin-tight uniforms the Aussie ladies wore versus the baggy prison look of the American girls.

Ron and the kids have no idea what they missed! The festival, which celebrated the end of winter, was rich with Ukrainian culture. Most of the attendees were in traditional clothing.

Girls, young women and one horse wore wreaths of flowers on their heads. The tradition is for women of marrying age to toss their flower wreath into a stream. The faster it floats to the other side the sooner they will marry.

I bought Olya one of the flower wreaths. Now she looks like the girl on the Ukrainian milk cartons.

There were traditional foods, sword fighting demonstrations and lessons, pottery and dancing workshops, musicians, artists and their stalls of handmade dolls, embroidered shirts, baskets, wooden bowls…)

These musicians wore huge black fur hats.

The artist who created these dolls looked just like them!

Musicians on break.

A really sweet woman from the Carpathian Mountains handmakes these shirts. Yep, I bought this one.

If my mom lived in Ukraine she would be member of this music group.

The Ukrainian police were closely watching these Harikhrishna dancers. I wondered if it was to make sure their activities were legal or because they thought they were hot.

(Back to Ron.) Olya and Andry helped Pippa cook dinner of chicken stirfry with snow peas, beets, onions and carrots. For dessert––cherries, what else? Thankfully we are here at the peak of cherry season.

Pippa did a math lesson for each child and an English lesson with Andry who seems to be a willing participant.

Andry and I played a game of ice hockey. (This is the game with little hockey players who slide back and forth in little slots in the table, swivel and shoot the puck. I’m quite skilled at this game. In fact when I was a young man I took such a game from New York when I left the agency where I was working to the ad agency in Frankfurt, Germany that gave me my first creative director’s job. I took the game to London when my agency moved me there. Sadly, I left the hockey game in London when I eventually returned to New York.)

It’s in playing this game, that Andry is strongest in his English. There are lots of “Get outta hee!”, “Oh Man!” and “No way”. His language and motor skills are increasing in the game. We have a five hrivna bet on the next game’s outcome.

PIPPA HAS A RAPTUROUS EXPERIENCE IN A 11TH CENTURY MONASTERY

2007-07-09T21:18:00.001-07:00

Saturday, July 7, 2007

Our apartment is in Pecherskya. It’s a five minute stroll to the Pecherska Lavra (caves), which is a cave monastery founded in the 11th century by St. Antoniy. Over the centuries great churches have been built over the catacombs where holy priests have been interred.
One of the churches houses a museum of traditional Ukrainian folk art that we had seen on an earlier visit.

On the earlier visit Pippa made friends with the woman director of the museum, who shared many names and phone numbers of important Ukrainian artists and artisans. So, when we formulated our plan to buy decorated eggs from Olya’s and Andry’s biological mother, we thought this museum director could help us find egg-decorating materials. She might, we thought, even know where we could find someone who could give lessons. It turned out that they gave such lessons in her museum. She was the teacher!

What a great stoke of luck. We immediately arranged a lesson for all of us, including the kids who were enthusiastic about it doing it.

We showed up at the director’s office at 11am. Yelana also wanted to take the lessons with the rest of us. The room was small but filled with decorated eggs and many large pages of all the styles of Ukrainian egg decoration (Pysanky).

Pippa went into a rapturous state. The others didn’t notice it, but I saw that heavenly light shinning from her eyes.

The kids weren’t in rapture, but they were totally focused and having a very good time. Andry had done this before in his school and he quickly moved ahead. He filled his eggs with symbols important to him: bugs, anchors, lightning bolts, etc.

Olya made two eggs, very quickly.

Pippa embarked on a quite complicated design.

Mine, I’m afraid, had all the earmarks of a Pennsylvania German title page of Fraktur.

Yelana was working very, very carefully and very, very slowly.

But it was fun. We learned that there are certain prayers you must do in the decorating process. And we learned something of the importance of the traditional symbols used. We also learned that this art started long before Christ was a gleam in his Father’s eye; egg decoration was a pagan custom originally celebrating the end of winter. If you wanted good crops you buried a decorated egg in your garden. If you wanted lots of fruit you tied a decorated egg to one of your tree’s branches. If your friends wanted a baby you decorated an egg for them. Of course each egg had to be decorated with the appropriate symbol for the desired outcome.

Our eggs in our apartment window.

As we left we bought a lot of materials and equipment. We’ll give most of it to Maria but a lot will go back to Miami Beach with us. We plan to have additional pysanky lessons that will include Maria. Maybe after all, our plan is not so foolish.

We went to lunch at O’Briens English Pub. We had our first bad meal in Ukraine. An English pub would not have been my choice, even in London. But we were meeting Kathy Harris who put together the whole Ukrainian Angels program. We wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Kathy and her colleagues. She is here adopting her 8th Ukrainian child. She was there with her mother, a couple of friends and some of her children. Another man was there with his two Ukrainian children and soon left to visit their biological mothers for the first time in years and years.

After lunch we took the kids to a (very small) torture/scary house because Olya loved the ones we took her to in London and Hamburg. This one lasted 5 minutes and wasn’t worth it. These three pictures the kids took pretty much summ it up.

Leaving, a cloud burst and we ran through a thunderstorm across the plaza on Kreschatik by the tall monument to independence, to our waiting van and the ever-patient driver, Vasilly.

We were soaking wet. That meant we had to skip the festival Pippa had been bugging me about for a couple of days. Hooray! (Pippa would walk miles to go to any festival and I would walk miles to avoid any festival.) Today, the god’s were on my side. Tomorrow is another day.

WE SEE “TRANSFORMERS” IN RUSSIAN, THEN GET THE CALL WE’D BEEN WAITING FOR.

2007-07-09T21:16:00.000-07:00

Friday, July 6, 2007

In this very abnormal situation, we’ve begun to settle into a normal routine. I wake up at four or five, turn on CNN or these days more often BBC, make a pot coffee, take a shower, sit down and write on the blog for an hour, take an hour walk in a different direction each day, stop at some bakery/mini mart or coffee shop for a breakfast tidbit for the kids, get back to the apartment around 8:00 am, read emails or write more blog until Pippa gets up at eight or nine (she stays up later than I with the children); the children get up around ten, play Simms on the computer, I give them a hot breakfast twice a week, usually German pancakes Ukrainian style. That means adding cherries or cherry syrup. Other mornings Pippa fixes their breakfast of cereal with fruit: cherries, apples, bananas or pears. Vasilly and Yelana show up at 10:30 and we take off to explore Kiev or spend the day in the car going to sign documents here and there, almost always –– there.

Yesterday we followed our typical morning routine. Then we were picked up and driven to the center of town and had a Ukrainian lunch at a very interesting restaurant. Kiev is filled with many interesting restaurants: we’ve yet to have a bad meal.

Even what we eat in restaurants has fallen into a pleasant routine. Borsch always (Olya, Andry, Yelana); verenky (everybody); shshlyk (shish kebob, Ron and Andry); Chicken Kiev (Pippa); Kvas (Olya and Andry––a fermented bread, non-alcoholic drink also sold in large yellow vats all over the city); bliniki (crepes with apple inside and chocolate outside, Ron––but “I’ll just have a bite of yours” from Pippa–– but in fact Olya takes the whole plate for herself and Ron gets one bite only).

After lunch we walk around the corner to the remarkable Kyiv cinema on Chervonoamiyska street. We like this cinema a lot. The ambience is very different than American cinema houses. Not nearly so plastic. For example the lobby is classy, much like American movie palaces in the 50s. There is a large bar that serves the best coffee we’ve had so far; beer and liquor is also sold along with all the popcorn & candy stuff and you sit at nice glass topped tables in a restaurant atmosphere. Just off the lobby is a great internet café with a zillion computers and its own coffee bar. Olya and Andry love the computer room dedicated to video games and they’ve got this routine down to perfection.

We had just finished watching “Transformers” in Russian, sitting and having coffee at the glass topped tables, the kids in the internet café, when we get a call from Vlad. Our court date has been set for next Wednesday at 2:00! Incredible! Wonderful!

The rest of the day whisked by as if a great load had been lifted from us. We breezed through the giant MegaMart and loaded up with groceries. Then went home and cooked bratwurst.

The kids were in a great mood and played hide and seek and “tickle” with me all evening until I was exhausted. Andry’s really getting into the swing of this and is becoming almost as relentless as his little sister. But it’s hard to match Olya’s skill; her fingers are like little steel augers boring into your armpits.

Pippa ignores all this frenetic wrestling while she punches away at the computer: catching up with work, adding to the blog and sharing the day’s events with her mother. Every five minutes she looks up and tells us to be quiet, we’ll wake the neighbors and get kicked out of our cushy apartment and stuck into some unrenovated Soviet one.
Nobody listens.

ANOTHER “PINCH ME, THIS CAN’T REALLY BE HAPPENING, CAN IT?” DAY

2007-07-09T10:42:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 5, 2007

We got a panic call early in the morning from Yelana: “We have a problem!” It turns out that the SDA is requiring us to get documents signed and notarized from both Nikolai and Maria stating that they will not oppose the adoption of Andry. Without these documents adopting Andry would be very difficult and take weeks or months longer or be impossible. And to be legal, both Maria and Nikolai must have passports to prove their identity to the notary.

Yelana got Maria on the phone. She and Nikolai were in Kiev at their second dental appointment. But, Maria was cooperative, and even more amazingly, so was Nikolai.

We sent Yelana and Vassily to pick them up after their dental appointment. After weighing all the pros and cons of where we should discuss the issues with Maria and Nikolai, we finally decided to let them come to our apartment. Yelena was trying to dissuade us from letting the couple see our comparatively expensive apartment and from getting to "close". But, we finally said, oh what the Hell. So, they see it and ask for a color TV or whatever. We’re already fixing their teeth and have agreed on buying Maria’s decorated eggs to the tune of $100 a month; we’ll deal with it.

Maria and Nikolai showed up with Vasilly and Yelana about thirty minutes later. The children were happy because they had wanted to show them the apartment. We sat around the kitchen table and talked about the problem of the documents and unbelievably both Nikolai and Maria agreed to do whatever necessary. There was a hitch; Maria had a passport but Nikolai had no documentation of his identity whatsoever. Getting a passport could take longer than a month in Ukraine.

We decided the only sensible course was to go to their village’s (county seat) administrators and see what we could work out.

Maria had been looking over Olya’s shoulder while Olya and Andry where showing her all the pictures on Pippa’s computer.

Extraordinary! Maria was getting a good look at all the photos we had brought to show Andry what life would be like with us: Olya’s school, our house, Olya’s room, Andry’s future room, Miami Ad School, the beach, our vacation house, pets, family and friends in Miami, the beach… She seemed to be fascinated. In fact, we took the computer with us on the three-hour drive back to the village (Telizynci).

A look out the van window.

Andry continued to show Maria photo by photo and translate the description in Ukrainian, from time to time asking Olya in Spanish to tell him what was going on in the photo. After two hours, the computer was in Maria’s lap, and with instruction from Andry, she was clicking from photo to photo. She spent the entire trip looking at every photo. And I’m sure it was the first computer she ever touched.

The children hugging while asleep.

When we pulled up at their house, the kids jumped out and ran inside. By the time we got to the door Olya was coming out telling us Maria’s mother and Nikolai’s father were both drunk from too much vino.

Olya was right; the old woman was socked and babbling incoherently. Of course, I couldn’t have understood her anyway, but Andry was telling Olya that his grandmother didn’t know what she was saying. He said she drank all the time.

The weather had radically changed. From sunshine to rain and wind to a cold drizzle and all of us were in short sleeves without long sleeve shirts or coats. Pippa and the children were in shorts. We had missed lunch and only two bags of nuts for the children. And we were very distressed.

We would be back and forth from administrative offices in the village to the house. We went first into an administrative office very close to their house. It was as if we had walked into the Soviet era. We were ushered into an office with old wooden court seats at one end and a fifty-year-old man behind his big desk at the other end. Lots of loud Ukrainian and shoulder shrugging, phone calls and more shoulder shrugging. He eventually told Yelena there was nothing he could do; he would do it but his superior, a woman, would not agree to do what we asked. So we left.

We went then to another administrative building about ten minutes away. This was a notary, a woman doing the talking and an older man, not talking, working on a computer. Well, a little success. She agreed to make the document for Maria (even though it was not her day to work). She could not help us with Nikolai however. After a half hour we had Maria’s signed and notarized document in our hand.

Yelana and Vasilly dropped us (Ron, Pippa, Olya, Andry and Maria) back at the house and they took off somewhere with Nikolai. We spent a little time in the garden. Maria was digging potatoes for us to take back to the apartment (we forgot the potatoes when we left).

Andry showed Olya the vegetable garden.

There are many fruit trees in the yard; cherry, pear and another berry we don't have in the States.

Maria also showed us the new outdoor cooking area they had made since we were there.
Hannah kept talking to us and hugging Pippa. We hadn’t a clue to what she was saying. Andry showed Olya the well and how you turn the crank to pull up a bucket of water. One of the village babushkas must have seen us at the well because she hustled over with her bucket to get water and “talk” to us again.

In about half an hour, Yelana, Vassily came back to get Maria and off they went again. All the village offices would close in a matter of minutes.

We spent more time with the litter of puppies and the litter of kittens,

Hannah and the elder Nikolai, who was also many sheets to the wind. We stayed inside the house because it was really freezing outside. There was no heat inside but the house was tight and it was much warmer than hanging around in the cold drizzle.

Andry translated a bit of what Hannah told us. The whole family (Hannah, her parents, Maria and Nikolai) had worked on the collective farm. She showed us a picture of her taken when she was "much younger."

She also showed us a picture of her parents who had built the house when she was 15.

This house was the big house. The smaller one had stood on the same property about 6 feet in front of the current house. The bed Olya and Andry are sitting on in the picture below is actually part of one of the two wood burning heaters that heats the house.

One of Olya’s only memories of living in the house was of “swimming” in potatoes. Apparently there was a place in or near the house where they were stored. I (Pippa) asked Andry if he could show her that place. Andry lifted up the rug under our feet and started picking up loose boards to reveal a dark hole under the house. It was about 5’x 4’ x 3’ and currently potatoeless. Olya was able to understand her memory.

Olya and Andry were completely bored; Andry seemed more contemplative than sullen. I (Ron) took out my Ukrainian phrase book and did a comedy routine for him mispronouncing all the phrases (I wasn’t trying to mispronounce the words, mind you).

In about an hour or so, all of them returned. Yelana had performed a miracle. She had gone back to the first administrator and apparently they found a way after all to get a document for Nikolai to sign. She told us she would tell us later just how she performed this miracle.

Maria was in the indoor “kitchen”, a very small closet-like space, preparing a meal for us. She was being very hospitable even though she had had four teeth pulled earlier in the day and was in a lot of pain. She had stopped at the local market and bought a bag of things. Very quickly she set a number of small bowls on a tiny table and pulled chairs up to it and asked us to please eat. The children were eating in another room.

Of course there were the expected vodka toasts that are such a custom in this country. Nikolai sat at the table with us. Maria stayed in the other room with the kids. Nikolai declined the vodka saying he didn't drink anymore. We have never seen he or Maria take a drink in all the times we have been with them. I ate cold cuts and a few meat vereneky which had ketchup squeezed on top; a couple of tomatoes and several chocolates. There were also cucumbers and bread slices and orange Fanta, apparently the main soft drink in Ukraine. Olya skipped in to our table a couple of times, just to make contact with us. After dinner Maria gave the kids ice-cream cones and a bag of candy for the ride home.

As we were about to leave Nikolai asked if we could help them with the bus fare for the upcoming trips to Kiev for their dental work. It’s 50 grivanas for each person, round trip. I gave him 300 grivnas for the next three trips. We had no problem with this since we had promised to do it all along. We also gave Maria 50 grivnas for all the food she had bought for this meal.

We left quickly after that with a great sense of relief. We had two critical signed and notarized documents that were essential to successfully adopt Andry. Pippa and I talked at length about the cooperation we’d gotten from Nikolai and Maria. After all, they were in effect signing Andry off to us forever. Why would they agree to do it. He is obviously very important to them. And why did they go to so much trouble? Who knows?

Three hours later we were back in Kiev but before we could go crash at our apartment we needed to deliver our new documents to the facilitator who would take them to the SDA (national adoption center) as soon as it opened in the morning. The SDA had told our facilitator these were the only missing pieces they needed to approve our application. The final approval would come tomorrow, Friday. With that approval we could ask the judge for a court date, which hopefully would be next week.

ANDRY IS BACK TO HIS SUNNY SELF, AN UNEVENTFUL DAY.

2007-07-09T10:37:00.000-07:00

Ron and I couldn’t sleep. At 4:00 we got up and alternated between discussing Andry and watching Seinfeld reruns to diffuse our stress. We developed a plan.

At 9:00, so we would have time alone with Andry while Olya was still asleep in our room, Ron and I went to his room to tickle and sing him awake as usual. He laughed and seemed himself again. Then the three of us went into the living room to talk. First we asked him if he still wanted to be adopted by our family; we were afraid he had changed his mind and that was the reason for his drastic behavior change. He said that he did want us to adopt him. Then we told him that our family was loving and always nice to each other. We liked to laugh and have fun together. We explained that the way he acted last night was bad and he couldn't behave like that. Every sentence or two we would stop and ask if he understood. Each time he quickly nodded yes. We explained that in our family, if someone was upset about something we talked about it. He nodded that he understood.

Andry really seemed to absorb what Ron and I had said. When the short talk was over he and I went to pester Olya awake. The night before, after a failed attempt to cheer Andry up, she hadn't felt comfortable disturbing him to get her pajamas which were in his room. She slept in her fathers shorts and shirt. I think she was relieved to awake and see her brother himself again and she broke into a silly and long improvisational dance.

I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him (or anyone) to suddenly have to figure out how to fit into a new family. This has to be even harder as teenager who is also beginning to wrestle with their identity, independence and the craziness hormonal changes cause.
After breakfast and a couple of rounds of Crazy-8 and a hockey final (Ron is an ace at table hockey but "somehow" the children won) Vasilly and Yelana came to pick us up. We went directly to Hidro Park, only a few minutes drive from our apartment.

Hidro Park is on the banks of the Dnipro River and has an area of somewhat seedy carnival booths, carnival rides and food booths including several that sell whole dried fish.

It also has a lot of activities based around the river: boat and jet ski rental, beaches, volleyball on the sand, etc. However only a fool would swim in the river. The bottom is reputed to have contaminated silt from Chernobyl which is only 30 to 40 miles away. And many manufacturing plants along the river bank still dump their wastes into the river. But there were some foolish people in the water.
We only stayed a few minutes to let the children play the shooting game; the rides didn’t open until 2pm, three hours later. So, we went downtown to have lunch and take in a movie.

Lunch was really interesting. We went to a cafeteria with delicious typical Ukrainian working man’s food, just off Kreschatyk Street, which is Kiev’s equivalent of Times Square. After lunch, I (Ron) had Vassily take me back to the apartment, while Pippa, Olya, Andry and Yelena took in a movie, “Ratatouille” in Russian.

They told me later that they went to a great internet café while waiting on the movie start time. The kids played all kinds of computer games and it’s high on their list of to go-back-to places.

We had a pleasant meal at the apartment. The kids watched the videos they bought earlier in the day. We’re trying to build up a good library of Russian videos for Andry to help keep his language from being forgotten back in the USA.

No sullen episodes. Just the opposite. Many, many times Andry initiated teasing with all three of us. Just a normal, happy day and night. Thanks, we needed that!

Who Said This Would Be Easy?

2007-07-09T10:35:00.000-07:00

There have been times in my life when I was having a particular “out of this universe experience” that was so unreal it almost seemed ordinary. This morning was one such time.

Vasilly and Yelana picked me up around 9am as we had planned and we drove to the apartment of Hallah in another part of Kiev. Maria and Nikolai were waiting in the peculiar squatting position we see all over Ukraine that is not seen often in the States.

Maria and Nikolai sat in the back seat of the VW van, I was in the middle seat (Pippa and the children stayed back in our apartment), Yelana in the shotgun seat and Vasilly driving. We drove forever to avoid the traffic jams of downtown Kiev during a workday.

At last we pull into the Soviet style apartment complex and up to the door of the State Hospital (dental unit). The place looks like it’s just another part of the residential housing. Inside there are a half dozen people waiting on a long padded bench. A lazy cat is stretched on the bench taking a lot of space. No one makes the cat move. Doors open and close, various nurses in various types of uniforms come in and out of the rooms. One fat man approached a dentist as the dentist came into the hall and everyone burst out laughing. Apparently the man had just left his teeth on the train and he wanted help from the dentist.

The dentist attire is really hard to take with a straight face. First of all they wear no shirt under their white coats and each one seems to have more than a normal share of chest hair. More ludicrous however is their white caps. They are identical to our old fashioned butcher’s caps. I would have a hard time having one of these guys do a root canal on me.
(Is this where the phrase “the surgeon butchered me” came from?)

When it was Maria’s and Nikolai’s turn, Yelana and I also went in. The dentist already knew I was going to pay for whatever the couple needed. There was a lot of Ukrainian language flying around and a lot of scribbling on paper that was easily translated as lines of grivna’s. From the prior examination the dentist told us that he first must take out more teeth before he could begin treatment and only after that, could he make new teeth. I was given two choices for both Maria and Nikolai–the easier, cheaper way or the more costly beautiful mouth way. I opted for the pedestrian version for Nikolai and the cosmetic jewel for Maria. Bottom line about $3,000 total. (I can’t imagine what this would cost in the States.) I paid the first installment so the dentist could get started working on them that very morning.

We left them at the hospital to go and pick up Pippa and the children. That meant going through horrible traffic to get to our apartment. Then back through the same traffic jams on the way back to the hospital to pick up Maria and Nikolai and then once again through traffic to get to Sheschenko Park. We needed a place to sit and discuss with Maria and Nikolai our idea of a way to help them financially. The causal setting of the park’s outside restaurant with its soft, easy to eat, blini (crepes), and a playground where the children could play while we talked would be perfect. Except, the outside restaurant cooks take their break at 12:30. I guess cooks have to eat too.

We had to eat at the somewhat formal inside restaurant where Olya had, the week before, lost her retainer. Vasilly and the children sat at one table while Yelana, Maria, Nikolai, Pippa and I sat at another table just out of their hearing range. In case Maria or Nikolai responded in a negative way we didn’t want the children to hear. We had already shared our idea with the children and they thought it was really good and wanted to do whatever they could to help. We had also explained to the children that we didn’t want to just give Nikolai and Maria money. We wanted to help them find a way to earn the money so they could feel better about themselves.

As soon as the ordering was completed we told the couple something like the following, “We would like to help you. And we have an idea of how we can do that. The reason we asked Maria to decorate eggs in the Ukrainian style was to make certain she could do it and liked to do it. We would like for Maria to decorate eggs, twenty eggs each month and ship them to us. We will pay $100 for the eggs. We will also advance Maria the money for supplies and equipment to make the eggs.” We added that we intended to teach Andry how to make a web site. The site would be a way of selling Maria’s eggs. This would also be a good way to teach Andry some business principles. (We’ll try to do this but it was mainly a way to let Maria and Nikolai feel like they would also be helping Andry by decorating eggs. We doubt the eggs will sell. We’ll just have closets full of traditional Ukrainian eggs.)

Maria's eggs

Both Nikolai and Maria seemed very pleased with the idea immediately and agreed to do it. Nikolai told us that Maria likes to draw and was the only person in her village who has such a talent. We gave Maria some books on egg decorating. She immediately began pouring over the books.

We also asked them some questions. They said life was easier during the Soviet time. Everyone got a salary. That until five years ago they had worked on a collective farm. Maria milked cows, about 40 a day, there were 80 in total. Nikolai took care of the horses that pulled the wagons used to gather and haul the food. (While Olya doesn’t remember much from the time she lived in the village, she has a couple of memories of being lifted onto a horse and of riding on hay in the back of a wagon.) Finding work in the village has been hard since the collective farm closed.

After lunch we drove to the outside of the city to drop them off at a bus terminal. The trip back to their village will take them about 3 hours. We gave them the bus money for this day and the next trip they must make for their dental appointment. Then we were off to meet Vlad’s assistant in a parking lot who had a letter we needed to sign requesting a court date from the judge.

Unfortunately, the SDA still has Olya officially listed as “available for adoption.” To prove she is adopted and adopted by us, Vlad has to go to the courthouse in the region where her adoption is recorded to get a certified copy. Then he has to take it to the SDA where they have 5 days to get it officially recorded. That “official adoption recording” is the last missing piece we need before the SDA will officially approve our dossier so we can request a court date with the judge. Time wise this means we lost about five days.

Fortunately, Vlad worked something out with the judge. Tomorrow Vlad is supposed to meet with the judge who has said he will give us a court date without the “offical adoption recording document.” We can bring that document as soon as the SDA completes it. With this news we might have lost a few less days. Tomorrow we will find out.

With the paper signed we decided to have Vasilly drop us off at a Japanese restaurant very near our apartment. All of us like the food there very much. Once in the restaurant, a dark gloom slipped into Andry. From this happy, cheerful kid with the great smile, he changed into something else. He stopped speaking to all of us. Sat glumly, angrily and refusing to answer any question or make any response. He ate his food but that was it. The meal-time was a disaster. Olya, like Pippa and I, was dumb founded. As best we can tell, the catalyst for the transformation happened when he wanted “Burn” (a strong caffeine drink like Red Bull). When we were at this very same restaurant a few days before, he had asked for the drink and Pippa told him no. He pouted for a couple of minutes and then was fine. This time however, Pippa didn’t refuse him the drink. The negative came from Olya to him saying in Spanish “You know Mom won’t let you have it.”

A few days ago he told us that in Spain he drank Burn whenever he wanted and that he watched R movies. He had wanted to buy a scary R rated movie and we told him couldn’t do that until he was 17 and the legal age in the United States to watch movies with adult content. We explained that families are different. That these are the rules in our family. We felt he was testing us for control.

The fifteen-minute walk back to the apartment was very unpleasant. He would not speak to anyone and walked ahead of us.

As I write this, Andry is alone in his room refusing to join us. He’s been doing this for hours. We feel sad for him. He answers a direct question, such as – Want something to drink (no)? Are you ok (yes)? He won’t talk about what’s wrong. He remains stone-faced and unmoving. He keeps his door shut against us. Periodically we check on him to see if he is ready to come out to see a movie or play Crazy-8 with us (no). Making it worse for him, the cable is out. The only channel the TV gets in his room is a very snowy, cheesy looking, romance movie. Pippa took him the Game Boy and several games he hadn’t yet played. He hasn’t touched them.

Of course we aren’t going to permit this sort of thing in our family. And we don’t have enough language without our translator around to set rules so Andry can understand. I suppose we will have to wait until tomorrow morning to a have a session with Andry explaining how things must work in our family––what’s acceptable and what is not—how family members are treated. The quandary is that we are only days away from the appointment with the judge. How will the boy accept our rules? Will he “run away” from adoption with us? How strong can we be? I am not talking about punishment at all but just the act of discussing our expectations of him. Can he accept such a dialogue? From what I am seeing at the moment, I don’t think so.

This is difficult for all of us.

Let’s see what happens when the sun comes up.

Another Family Feast, This Time With a Suspicious Aunt

2007-07-02T08:14:00.000-07:00

We hired Vassily and Yelana to drive to Maria’s village (3 hours away) and pick up Maria and Nikolai and take them to the state hospital in Kiev for their 2:00 dental examination. After the exam, Vassily took them to Maria’s aunt’s apartment in Kiev. The aunt’s name is Hallah. She is 68 and the younger sister of Hannah, Maria’s mother. We were invited to come there that evening (for dinner we assumed but we weren’t sure).

We all needed a slow day so we hung out at the apartment all day except to walk to the store to buy cold cuts, cheese and a big tin of cookies to take with us as gifts. Late in the afternoon the children were starving so we gave them a handful of mini Milky Ways and Olya had her second bowl of the day of Pippa’s homemade borsch (big mistake to do that before a Ukrainian family meal).Vassily showed up around 6:00 to take us to Hallah’s apartment.

The aunt lived in a truly soviet-era apartment on the other side of Kiev and the other side of the world from our apartment. Their apartment was very shoddy on the outside. The hallways smelled terribly bad, the paint and the walls were crumbling.

Hallah's apartment door.

All apartments used to be owned by the government and given to the workers. After the fall of the USSR apartments could be “privatized” allowing people to buy their individual apartments but the lobbies, hallways and elevators are still owned by the government. The government isn’t into sprucing up so the outside of most apartment buildings, even ours, look rough.

The inside of the aunt’s apartment was authentic soviet-era but cheerful. Every surface was covered in something: the walls in flowered wallpaper; tables in decorative linens and the sofa covered in a 40 year old Ukrainian rug that looked very much like an American Indian horse blanket.

We were greeted by a big group of people. This small two bedroom apartment housed seven people: Hallah, her son and (pleasant) daughter, their spouses and respective son and daughter and a guinea pig. Maria and Nikolai were spending the night there as apparently they often did when coming to Kiev to visit Andry. The aunt explained the sleeping arrangement––complicated but apparently it worked for them. After some fuss over Olya we sat down to a special dinner.

Hallah and Yelana, our translator.

The table was filled with many dishes, most which were grown in their garden behind the apartment: potatoes, carrots, cucumbers and onions. There was a plate each of chicken, ham and cheese. And the large bottle of vodka that was the first thing to be dealt with. Vodka toasts and clinking of glasses, several times while we politely tried to explain “we don’t really drink much.” Nikolai and Maria sat quietly in their corner not eating or drinking. (After having heard the results of their dental appointment I think I know why!)

Aunt Hallah kept up a steady stream of chatter with Yelena doing a good job of rapid-fire translation. At one point Hallah bluntly asked if we had more money than they did, were we rich? We didn’t bite on that but simply said, “our culture is different than yours.” Yelana suggested to us later that Hallah is pretentious, likes everyone to know “she did better than the others,” much better than her sister Hannah and niece Maria. Yelana thinks the aunt is suspicious of us, that we might give Maria and Nikolai more than she has.

The aunt explained that she receives a pension of 150 grivnas a month ($50) and must work sweeping to support herself. She said it is hard to find good work without an education. That during the Soviet time, before the currency changed, it was better because they could live on their pensions. She had received the same pension her bosses received. Now she works as the cleaning lady for the advertising agency where her daughter is the office manager. The daughter’s husband is an electrician. Both live in the house with their son. Also living in the house is Hallah’s son who paints cars for a living and his wife and baby.

Having dinner with Hallah is like eating with your drill sergeant. She is a conversation monopolizer and openly critical. Our translator told us that when she went to the apartment earlier to drop off Maria and Nikolai and to see where the place was Hallah barked, “Why are you bringing this bandit to my apartment?” She told Maria and Nikolai that it was stupid of the Americans to fix their teeth. It would just bankrupt us.

A little later in the conversation, Hannah said that she would have liked to adopt Olya, but as we can see she doesn’t have enough room. (Good news to us since it is an indication she won’t likely go to the judge to try to adopt Andry.)

Hallah began to press on about Olya saying that Olya is not the happy child she remembered. Olya and Andry as well had been sitting quietly, each engrossed in their Game Boys during the adult conversation. Olya was bored for sure. She didn’t understand the language and didn’t remember anyone there including Hallah. But to make it worse, Olya ate nothing; her tummy was filled with the big bowl of borsch and Milky Ways. We tried to tell Hallah all about Olya, how happy she was, how accomplished in school and sports, but it was a lost cause until the chocolate covered cherries appeared. She’ll accept anything with cherry in it.

Then, because we know how much Olya wants to know about her life before her memories started, we asked Hallah if she had any pictures. We hoped there might be some of Olya as a baby or toddler.

When the photos came out Olya perked up and invited Andry, who had gotten up to help Maria and Nikolai with their cell phones, to come sit between Pippa and her to see the pictures.

Most were of Hallah, her husband and their three children. Historically and artistically many of the old black and white photos were interesting. Young men going to Soviet military duty. Hannah and five other giddy 18 year olds girls on their first day of work at the factory. People working on a collective farm.

There was a photograph of Maria at about three with her mother and grandmother. There were three photographs of Maria as a teenager.

There was a picture of Andry as a toddler, starting his first day of school when he still lived in the village and two of him in Spain, one of those at the beach.

There was also a picture of Olya when was in Spain.

Ron carefully took photos of all these pictures. Olya was very interested in the photo of her taken when she was four.
Fortunately they gave her the picture because I know she would have just taken it if they hadn’t. I don’t really blame her. From Olya’s point of view it wasn’t fair for this unpleasant stranger, Hallah, to have one of the few photos documenting her early life. There don’t seem to be any pictures existing of Olya before the age of four and at four only a handful taken by her Spanish host family.

Maria had brought the eggs she had decorated for us. But we decided not to discuss our idea in front of Hallah. For most of the meal both Maria and Nikolai sat quietly, not saying a word. Yelena told me later that Maria was beginning to get upset saying she would never see Olya or Andry again.

The short dinner was complete, we thanked everyone, and took a group photo of all as Hallah had requested.

Hallah followed us out and so we had no chance to say anything privately to Maria and Nikolai about the egg decorating idea.

On the way back to our apartment we discussed plans for taking Maria and Nikolai to their first dental extraction session tomorrow morning. Between them they need about a dozen teeth pulled before the false teeth can be created. We concluded that Pippa would remain in the apartment with the children and Ron would go with Maria and Nikolai to their dental appointment and make the financial arrangements.

Our trick is to certainly allow children contact without all of us becoming too familiar with one another. Then we must help Maria and Nikolai without them becoming too dependent on us. This is no little challenge. So far they have seemed very appreciative of everything we are doing; the chances to see the children and dental work. When we first saw them today they gave us huge jars of canned apricots, cherries and mushrooms.

Our Daughter is Coming Back

2007-07-01T07:43:00.000-07:00

It has been heart-warming to see Olya so deeply bonded with her brother. For these first two weeks she has barely left his side except to go to the bathroom. Sits close to him on every car ride. She has been insisting on wearing the same shirt as Andry. She’s been glued to him. But today we noticed that she has returned now to her mom (Pippa). Today Olya wanted Pippa to wear her red “girl” shirt that matches Olya’s turquoise one. She still loves Andry for certain, but often now wants to divide things: boys in that seat, girls in this, meaning Andry and me in one seat, Pippa and Olya in another. Today she wanted Andry and me to kick the soccer ball while she and her mom played Frisbee. That she wants Andry to connect with me is evident, but she and Pippa have had this very close mother––daughter thing; it’s good to see it coming back. It’s really beginning to feel like a complete family of four.

The day was easy and casual. A late breakfast of French toast and cherry syrup. Heinz makes a cherry syrup here in a large plastic bottle exactly like their ketchup bottle. Everything has to have cherries. And now having seen the house where Olya and Andry had lived together with cherry trees all around, we understand. But there are cherry trees everywhere; Ukrainians are nuts about their cherries.

After breakfast, in fact, we had another cherry event. Pippa had been given the name and phone number of a woman folk art painter, Oleana who was the daughter of one of Ukraine’s most famous folk artists, Marfa, who lives in Kiev. (The painting below was a the painting we had liked of hers from the museum.) Yelana had called her for us and arranged a visit.

The woman and her 27 year-old daughter met us at the lower door of her apartment studio. The studio was one large room, with folk art paintings of all sizes covering the walls. Around the perimeter of the room was a ledge of decorated vases, urns and pots.
There was one large table occupying most of the room. We guessed the table was for teaching art to children.

Oleana explained which paintings were her mother’s, which were her father’s, which were her’s and which were her daughter’s. While the style of Olena and her mother were very similar, the father’s style was more heavy handed and expressionistic. We learned that Oleana’s mother had been employed in a porcelin factory for years painting very exquisite designs. Perhaps the best description is of more sophisticated, more detailed, Pennsylvania German graphics. In World War II she had been captured by the Germans and sent to Germany; she escaped and returned five times. The soviets had her working in the porcelain factory for years and would have her paint special pieces as gifts for visiting dignitaries. She was from a village where all the artists painted in the same style. The village still exists in eastern Ukraine. Marfa is 86 now and doesn’t paint anymore so Oleana is trying to arrange exhibitions to show her work (and want us to take pictures inside the studio.)

While Olean was carefully showing us all the paintings, Olya and Andry were a few feet outside in the apartment’s playground. Actually, to be factual, they were climbing the cherry trees all around the playground, ignoring the slides and swings. Andry would climb high and get the ripe cherries and Olya would eat them. I came out to check them and Olya’s hands were covered and her mouth dripping in cherry juice.

When I came back into the studio Oleana had just brought out a painting her mother did of a large, stylized cherry tree. Perfect. Pippa and I agreed that while we liked all the work we had been shown, we hadn’t found one we would enjoy on our walls. This cherry tree painting however was one we’d like to own; it also has a symbolic meaning for us.
We stayed only for a short time longer to see Oleana’s daughter’s work, who studied graphic design in art school. Very talented and different from her mother and grandmother. Her work was not at all painterly but large graphic, representational shapes that told a story. As we were leaving she brought out something else she was starting to work on – hand painted traditional paintings.

After we left, we went downtown to make prints for Maria from all the photos we had taken when we visited their village. Like any American city, Kiev has dozens of places to make prints from CDs. We went back to a place next to the Mac store we had been to a couple of times. The shop made the prints and also made the passport photos of Andry we will soon need. We first bought some more new clothes for Andry so he would have a different shirt than the Ukrainian football shirt we had given him. No big deal, but in a few years he might rather have some other shirt in his photo.

I’m not suggesting that we are trying to erase his Ukrainian roots however. On the contrary, we want to keep his history alive: we visited his biological parents and family; intend to help them if we can; bought them a cell phone so he can stay in touch by phone and we’re paying to have Maria and Nikolai brought to Kiev to get both their teeth fixed and footing the bill for the denture work.

Well, after the prints were finished we went back to the apartment to cook dinner. The children told us they are tired of eating in restaurants and wanted to eat at home. I cooked a pork roast with roasted beets, potatoes, carrots and onions. Pippa made a pot of Ukrainian borsch to have for lunch tomorrow.

I had bought a DVD player (the fancy apartment had a big flat panel TV but no DVD player). I had let the kids each buy three movies, all in Russian. (We want to have movies at home in Russian so Andry can continue to hear the language. Olya has totally forgotten it.) But I screwed up and let Andry buy a scary vampire movie. Since the packages are in Russian I couldn’t tell what it was really about. It scared Olya (back home I would never have let them buy it) and she slept with us last night.

Just the Four of Us

2007-06-30T20:08:00.000-07:00

Pippa’s parents were picked up at 7:30 am by Yelana and Vassily and Pippa went with them as far as the airport; I stayed with the kids at the apartment while they slept.

Pippa’s parents were reluctant to go I think. When we asked them to come along with us to Ukraine we knew there would be several important benefits from their visit. They would get an opportunity to bond with Andry even before the comes to the USA; they would have a better appreciation of Olya’s heritage as well; from Andry’s viewpoint he would see he’s joining a large loving family and lastly we would enjoy sharing this experience with them.

All these things happened just as we predicted. What we did not predict was the remarkably rare opportunity to visit the birthplace of both Andry and Olya, to meet the birth parents and all the villagers who were so excited to see Olya again after seven years. To sit down under a cherry tree to a meal prepared by a group of babushkas, complete with vodka toasts, was an unimaginable experience that Pippa’s parents (and we as well) will never, ever forget. I would not want to be the friends of Pippa’s parents. They will never hear the end of the Boyd’s trip to Telizynci.

When Pippa, Vassiily and Yelana returned, we woke the kids and I made a Ukrainian version of the German pancakes that Olya wants me to make for her every morning in Miami Beach. To make these pancakes more Ukrainian, you just add cherries. Now that we’ve seen Olya’s birthplace with cherry trees all around the house, we understand her obsession with cherries.

On weekends, all Kiev residents with the means to head out of town. The enormous traffic jams in the city are gone. With this in mind, we decided to go to one of the city parks and do stuff the kids would like in the morning and then go downtown to do some shopping, mostly at the Mac store and make some color copies of Ukrainian egg designs that we intend to share with Maria. (We are still thinking about buying decorated eggs from Maria as a way to give her money that she earns herself, rather than just a handout from us. As we said previously, we don’t expect to sell her eggs. We’ll try of course, but that’s unimportant. The real objective is to give her something that will earn her more money than the one very part-time job she has feeding pigs for a neighbor.)

We started at a charming park on the edge of the city. This park is obviously a relic of the Soviet days. There is a lake with small pedal pontoon boats, which still work, but just barely; there are a variety of simple mechanical rides for children that are dubious at best, but still used. However, for a beautiful Saturday, the park itself seems to attract very few people. A smattering of kids, a few people in their twenties with the girls all wearing spike high heels (not at all what American girls would wear for a short hike), but mostly there are old people reading a book or walking on the pathway. One squarish older woman was sun bathing in her bra and panties.

While we did all the activities, for Olya and Andry the big thing was the go-cart track. This was far less serious than the one we had gone to before. There were only four old go-carts. The track was in a grove of trees lined by old tires, painted blue on one side and and yellow on the other side. Maybe old, but still charming.

The go-cart track was serviced by four young Ukrainians who appeared “red neck” to us. Tough and quick to yell if we did anything wrong; the “boss” seemed to be about twenty, a burly guy, burr head, wearing only short shorts. Showing off his big chest, I suppose. Why four young men? Back home this would be a one-man job.

On the track Olya was conservative, far from her usual “hell bent for leather” style she uses on her own go-cart back home. Andry went “rapido” as he says to us in Spanish. Pippa drove close to Olya and I followed taking photos from my car. We made all of our laps and then encouraged Yelana to give it a shot.

Now Yelena is 31 years old, but looks around sixteen. She doesn’t know how to drive a car. Even so she was happy we pressured her to hop in the go-cart. What followed was very funny. Of course she didn’t know brake or accelerate or steer. She traveled at a speed to put her last in a snail marathon. Once in a while her foot, by mistake, hit the accelerator and she would crash into the tire barrier. But she was determined and methodically and oh so carefully completed her five laps. We thought several times she would cry but she never did. In fact she hugged and thanked Pippa when it was all over. We all laughed to think what a disaster the rest of the day would be if Yelana and Vassily switched places and Yelana was our driver and Vassily our translator!

So far, we have given Yelana: frisbee lessons; taught her to catch and throw a softball; play tag, bowl and drive a go-cart. We’ve even included her in the games we play with the kids in the car: counting every third person who passes by the car window and the “named” person must wear that person’s clothes, and another game of counting car makes, giving points for certain makes until someone reaches 100 points. We’ve played these car games and others like them with Olya forever. She’s very competitive and it really passes driving time very quickly. All these activities, Yelana tells us, has changed her mind about Americans. She had thought all Americans were fat and lazy, but says we are all so “sporty”.

At the same time we’re changing our mind about Ukraine or at least Kiev. Three and a half years ago we left with Olya thinking the place was very backwards, not cool, frumpy. That’s not the case. You can still see vestiges of the Soviet days but actually Kiev is a classy, modern city. The shops are plentiful and stocked with everything. Supermarkets are no different than ours except that the sausage, fish and dairy sections are about three times larger and loaded with things we have no idea what you do with. I have not had a bad meal yet since we’ve been here. The meals vary from working man’s lunch to elegant restaurants but always with fresh ingredients.

In fact we ended the day by walking through a new section of apartments still under construction near our place to a very nice Japanese restaurant, “Yakitoriya”. Andry didn’t want to eat there at first. After looking at the menu posted outside he clearly told us he wanted to go back to the apartment and eat tomatoes. He said he had never been to a Japanese restaurant. To his credit he let us convince him to go in. He and Olya ate everything on their plates and wanted more. We’ll go back there again, for sure.

The evening ended with the children moving into the vacated room of Pippa’s parents. They liked having their own room and said we must knock before entering. We’ll see. They went to bed watching a movie in Russian on Olya’s computer.

Broken Tooth, Nail File and Another Connection

2007-06-30T13:19:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, while eating a piece of pork, my back tooth broke in half leaving jagged edges. Not being able to decide which would be worse, going to a Ukrainian dentist or having my tongue sliced into raw hamburger by the remaining part of my tooth, I went to look for my fingernail file. (I can highly recommend a nail file as an emergency dental tool.) Now when my tongue touches the smooth, empty space where my tooth used to be I think of Maria and the children we also have in common.

Undoubtedly the children were better off in an orphanage than they were being raised in the home of their biological parents. However it happened, and we may never know the exact details, it was for the best that Nikolai and Maria had their parental rights terminated. But I still feel for Maria. I can see that she really loved and wanted the children. She just couldn’t provide a healthy and/or safe environment for them.

Loosing your children would have to be the worst thing a mother can experience. I wonder, what if I had been born to a single mother in a poor rural village, had limited education, no resources or opportunity, married at 18, had my first child at 19 and the man I married turned out to be the kind that was violent to me when he drank. Would I have had the where-with-all to change my situation? It was easier for me to think “yes” before I met Maria and saw her life.

I am so lucky to have my parents, my husband and my community!

The Three Musketeers, Among Other Things

2007-06-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

Since we had no legal procedures to take care of until after the upcoming weekend, on this Friday we had planned another easy day. We thought we would first go to the Children’s Railway in Sirez Park. It’s a narrow gauge train, run by children between the ages of nine to thirteen and goes for a few kilometers. The kids work on the railway as machinists, conductors, train drivers. They study trains all year and then hone their practical skills on this railway. When they get older, many actually work for the railway. Sounded like something our kids would like to do for a few hours.

Then we thought we would go to the National Botantical Garden as a special treat for Pippa’s parents. This would be their last day in Ukraine; they fly back to Florida on Saturday.

When Vasily and Yelana arrived however, we changed our plan. Vasilly suggested that it might be a good idea to first check out the State Hospital to see about getting Maria’s teeth fixed there. It’s where he goes for dental work and he gave it a good recommendation. He assured us it was “near by” and so we drove for a long, long time to an old soviet-looking apartment complex on the edge of Kiev on the other side of town from our apartment. As are all the soviet-era structures this one was very shoddy from the outside.

number of “horoshos” at the end and we were on our way apparently with something worked out for 2:00 Monday afternoon.

We had not traveled far before the kids spotted an amusement park. We agreed to check it out. At the entrance however, we came onto a bowling alley, Olya’s favorite thing to do in this world. The whole herd of us snail-walked inside and everybody put on bowling shoes expect me. The flat screen TVs all over the place were showing the USA playing Argentina in Copa America. (Argentina spanked the USA very badly). Pippa even convinced Yelana to bowl. Her first time. Pippa as usual whipped everyone else with Olya the easy second placer. This was also Andry’s first bowling experience.

The bowling alley had a Wild West theme and was very elegant, complete with all the automation of Lucky Strike Lanes in South Beach. A very expensive restaurant as part of the place, video game arcade, a kiddy room and toilets of polished marble and the latest tricks in flushing, hand washing and drying.

After a very long game (six people playing) Vasilly wanted to take us “a little out of town” for lunch. Twenty minutes later we were in the country. After a while we began passing these very large compounds, each with a different theme. We passed the Wild West, Bali, another with a giant jug outside, and stopped at one with a Three Musketeers theme. It’s hard to describe. There were several acres of small elegant-rustic cottages with white tablecloth covered tables, alI in a park-like setting. Paths between large trees and flower areas; duck ponds, play areas with a very large inflatable jumping castle and outside eating areas with wicker chairs. A few medieval style red banners kept the musketeers theme alive.

We ate in the large lodge although for a 100 grivnas ($20) we could have rented one of the cottages. Excellent food, a really good Georgian cabernet, special pancakes with bananas and chocolate for dessert and attentive service. We all agreed Vasilly had made a good suggestion.

Leaving this place, we decided to check out another one down the road. Yelana explained that these places were for well-to-do people from Kiev who came to escape the bustle of the city for a few days. The owners of each complex tried to outdo the other. There’s a lot of money floating around in Kiev these days.

We stopped at a military-themed complex. I suspect it was another example of the nostalgic return of the glory of the Soviet era. The posters and accoutrements all suggested this. The staff wore Soviet army and navy uniforms. At the gate we were greeted with a brandy shot and a small toast topped with a dollop of garlic infused lard that had some sort of berry balanced on top. We thanked them and pretended to eat and drink. A pretty naval officer showed us the rooms in the lodge: each room different from the other, all large plasma TVs, extremely elegant bathrooms and while military-like, all the furniture and furnishings looked like a million dollars had been spent on them.

But Olya and Andry flipped out over the two-story cottage the pretty naval officer showed us. A wonderful Finnish sauna and a bathroom fit for Bill Gates if he was on a weekend hideaway with Paris Hilton.

The cottage overlooked a lake where many people were fishing from their outside dining room tables. We saw someone catch a five-inch fish, the pretty naval officer assured us we could catch a two foot long monster if we had patience. They will supply the pole.
Olya was jumping in the air by this point begging for us to come to this place. Translating for Andry she said he felt exactly the same way. And actually, I thought it would be a good thing to do when we are between legal procedures with an empty day on our hands. So we promised and headed back to the apartment; it was 6:45 pm by this time.

Pippa however convinced me to “stop by” the botanical garden since it was on the way home. I agreed to a ride-by that turned into a walk-around. (Pippa interjecting here.) Ron snuck back to the car with the kids racing each other to catch up with him. When my parents and I got back to the car the-impatient-ones asked, “Where have you been?” We explained that we stopped at the fountain at the entrance of the garden, and like people do at the Fountain of Trivi in Italy, turned our backs, made a wish, and each threw in a Ukrainian coin. The “making a wish” part got Olya and she begged me to tell my wish. Eveyone knows it’s bad luck to tell wishes so I told her I wouldn’t tell but she could probably guess my wish. I asked her, “What’s the most important thing in the world to me right now?” Her eyes flew open as she realized what my wish had been. Then she asked my parents to tell their wishes. They just smiled at her and she realized the three of us had all wished for the same thing. (okay, back to Ron.)

A vareneky supper and a last card game of Crazy Eight between Jim, Andry and Olya, a routine they all look forward to. (Back to Pippa. Ron forgot a cute part.) When Olya had to draw cards, because she didn’t have the correct one, my dad in a funny high voice would tell her, “draw again little girl.” When my father had to draw, both children in even higher and funnier little voices would tell him, “draw again little grandfather, draw again.”

Very early in the morning my parents leave Ukraine for Florida. At bedtime they said their last goodbyes to the children. As my father tucked in Andry and explained he was saying goodbye because he was leaving early in the morning. Andry smiled and told him “no.” It really seems like Andry is enjoying his new, extended family. Hopefully, in a few weeks, he will officially be our son.

Racing Cars, Art on a Pin Head and Making Borscht

2007-06-28T12:58:00.000-07:00

The very famous and quite beautiful Pecherskaya Lavra (catacombs) monastery with all its gilded onion domes is literally within walking distance of our apartment. Pippa and I had been here years before when we came to adopt Olya and so we knew her parents would really enjoy this place.

In addition to the temples over the caves there are very interesting museums. One of the strangest is a museum of sculptures displayed on pin heads – one exhibit was a flea wearing shoes made of gold. All are viewed from a line of high-powered microscopes. The kids got a kick out of this museum.

But Pippa and her mom really got their kicks from the museum that houses traditional Ukrainian folk art, furniture and clothing. There was everything from a magnificent collection of Ukrainian painted eggs (ancient to present day); farm implements, farm furniture and textiles and clothing of ancient Ukrainians to the similar clothing still worn everyday in the Carpathian mountains. The glassware and pottery both old and new was breath-taking. Much of the painting felt like Pennsylvania German, but even more detailed and sophisticated. The director of this museum was a very friendly woman who took a special shine to Pippa. She spent a lot time (hours, I can tell you honestly because I waited for her) telling Pippa in great detail about the techniques, the artists, upcoming festivals in our area––in fact she even shared the living artists’ phone numbers. Pippa was quite excited to learn about a village of artists that is on a list of places we must visit (only a 10 hour drive, of course).

I also was impressed by the friendliness of the museums’ staff. Each room had a security person, an older woman making sure no one touched anything or failed to visit a room of art. When they saw how genuinely interested we were in the work they would come over and in great detail give us (my mother, Yelana and me) the history of a piece explaining the region and symbolism in the piece.

But all this wasn’t that interesting to Andry and Olya. Besides they were starving. Fortunately we were only a 3 minute walk away from our favorite restaurant USSR, which is decorated from stuff from the soviet days. The children’s mood really brightened when we said they could eat in the soviet era car that had its front end sticking our of the front of the restaurant and its convertible (topless) passenger space inside the restaurant.

It was a very pleasant lunch; Olya and Andry sat with Pippa’s parents in the car and Pippa, Slava (our regular diver’s son who was taking over for the day), Yelana (our translator) and I sat at a table across from them. Great food and service and cherry vereneky for dessert.

Keeping with the ‘car theme” we headed out to the go-cart race track. A fairly serious place for Ukrainian guys who fantasize about a grand prix. Pippa was too anxious to let the kids do it until I suggested that she go in the first car followed by Olya in her car, Andry in his car and me in the last car. We signed a contract in Ukrainian and they fitted us with all the helmets and driving gloves. A quick driving lesson (in Ukrainian) and we’re off.

The plan about keeping our places didn’t even begin to work. But we all drove slowly as the Ukrainian burly boys weaved in and out of our parade. Olya who normally drives like a bat out of Hades in her own go-cart took things very, very easy. Andry was a good driver too. We all had fun.

That evening Yelana taught Pippa and her mom how to make traditional borsch for our dinner. We all loved the soup but the kids inhaled it. Just about bedtime, all hell broke loose. I thought the Germans were back, dropping bombs on Kiev once again. But it was only fireworks going off in the parking lot next to our building; a magnificent sight from our 18th floor apartment windows. But the sound was amazingly loud. All of us admitted to being a little queasy. There was a sense of what Kiev must have sounded like in 1943.

Dumpster Diving in Kiev

2007-06-27T16:50:00.000-07:00

Imagine an entire family–-father, mother, little girl and little boy–– in long, yellow gloves scouring through a big dumpster behind a famous park restaurant. Well, that’s exactly what we were doing Wednesday.

After seeing a wonderful photo exhibit we went to the park with the great monument to Taras Sheschentko, Ukraine’s most important poet and artist, to have lunch at a restaurant in the park (much like Tavern on the Green in New York’s Central Park).

We were starving and ordered a typical Ukrainian big lunch of many courses for only $7 a piece. At the beginning of the meal, Olya as usual, took out her very expensive (tooth) retainer before she ate. Even though we had cautioned her not to cover it up (the retainer had been accidentally tossed in a trashcan at an airport cafe in NYC and Ron fortunately found it) Olya ignored our caution and put the retainer “into” the paper napkin so she would not have to look at the “gross” thing while she ate.

Of course, you can guess what happened. We left the restaurant, got into the car and into a terrible traffic jam on the way to the Zoopark. Then: “Mom, Mom! My retainer!”

I can’t say we rushed back because it is impossible to rush anywhere in Kiev’s traffic which is rush hour about six hours out of every eight. But we snail-drove to the restaurant, then rushed in. The waiter, a soviet-throwback in temperament even though he looked to be about twelve years old, burr-cut hairstyle, who was angry at us during the meal, was even angrier now, insisted there was no way the retainer could be found. All the tables had been cleaned long ago and everything thrown in the big trash dumpster behind the restaurant.

We offered him a reward and he stormed off with a great display of arm and shoulder tossing he probably learned from watching Soviet war films. In twenty minutes he returned to say it was impossible. A woman had looked and looked and could not find anything. Too bad. More shoulder rolling. We asked if we could go back and look for ourselves. Big shoulder roll, then a session with the manager who matched the waiter’s shoulder rolling but he agreed to let us try.

In the back of the restaurant, a helpful woman gave us a couple of pair of long yellow rubber gloves. Ron had a pair and Pippa and Andry split a pair.

In fifteen minutes of organized piece-by-piece garbage sifting, Andry’s sharp eyes found a soggy paper napkin complete with Olya’s undamaged blue plastic and stainless wire, very, expensive teeth retainer.

We took a victory photo of the family with arms raised high and big smiles (including Olya who, feeling overwhelmingly guilty, hadn’t spoken for a long time).

We washed our hands in the restaurant and and celebrated with Ukrainian (very thin, like a crepe) pancakes, coffee and kvas (the same drink sold from big yellow tanks all over Kiev, but safer to drink at the restaurant).

We made it to the Zoopark about two hours before closing time. It’s a dreadful zoo to begin with, but for some reason almost all the rides were not working. Thank goodness! We were frightened to ride the small roller-coaster and Ferris wheel three years ago because they looked so decrepit. Many of the animal exhibits had no animals. It looked like they may be redoing some of the enclosures. The single elephant and the single rhino were sadly still there. These herd animals were each alone in their too-small spaces. The rhino had worn a knee-high circular trench from walking in circles day-in and day-out for all of her life at this zoo. Really, really sad. I had seen this before when we took Olya there years ago and I didn’t want to see it again. But the kids didn’t seem to recognize the signs of depression in the animals and did all the things kids do at a zoo: ate popcorn, ice cream, bought crappy plastic trinkets, ran in and out of buildings and enjoyed being together.

On the way home we stopped at a supermarket, bought ready-to-boil vereneky for this night and the ingredients for borscht which Yelana will use tomorrow night to teach us how to make an authentic Ukrainan version. All of us love borscht.

We ate meat vereneky follwed by vereneky with cherries for dessert while we watched “Superman” on the big screen TV from our iPod which we finally figured out how to work with Carlos’ help. The two kids lay side by side on the sofa. Olya’s retainer was back in her mouth after being Cloroxed––altogether, another good day.

A Quiet Day Turns Out to Be an Important One

2007-06-25T14:39:00.000-07:00

We got up at 6:30 to get dressed-up to go to Bucha, the town of Andry’s school, less than an hour from Kiev. We had an appointment at 9:00 to meet “The Inspector.” Vlad called and told us the appointment had been pushed back until 3 in the afternoon. Good thing for me because I (Ron) had a very bad night with a flu-like cold that kept me awake all night. Andry and I went back to sleep for couple hours. Right before we left the children got the iChat system going with some of Andry's friends in Spain. All of us were so excited we crowded around the computer screen to watch Andry typing back and forth to Spain. Unfortunately, while we have internet connection in the apartment, it frequently cuts out. So the conversation was short.

Vassily got us to Bucha on time and Vlad was waiting for us outside of the Inspector’s office. We kept Andry and Olya in the van with Vassily, Jim and Cara while Pippa and I went inside with Vlad to meet the inspector. We thought we needed to keep Andry out of sight because we had been told the inspector did not know Andry was in our custody. The school director giving us permission to have Andry with us prior to the finalization of the adoption has been an incredibly wonderful opportunity and very, very unusual, we’ve been told. So unusual that it may not even be legal!

We were in the inspector’s office no more than a couple of minutes. It was anticlimactic. She only looked at one paper out of our entire inch thick dossier, punched some keys on a computer (the first one we’ve seen), smiled at us and it was time to go. She already knew our entire story AND that Andry was already with us! Outside Vlad told us he had to get some letter from her and take it to someone else. We were free for a few days at least.

Since we were already in the town where Andry’s school is we decided to stop by for a tour: Andry’s room, classroom, etc. It turns out that all the staff was busy preparing the school for a valedictorian event and asked us to come back at another time. However an administrator took Andry into her office for a short while. It turns out they needed a letter handwritten by him stating that he wanted to be adopted by us. He wrote the letter they needed. Psychologically, this was one of the most important things to Ron and me.

In the car on the way back to Kiev, Olya rolled all over Andry, pinching and pestering him as she does every single minute she is with him. Andry is unbelievably patient and loving with his sister. It’s as if they have never been apart.

Before we left Olya told Ron and me, “When Andry first comes home with us he is going to be very nice to me. Then, after a while, he’s going to tell me to get out of his room.” Ron and I told her she was probably right. We told Andry Olya’s prediction and asked if that’s what he would tell his pesky little sister. Andry said, “No, never.”

Our translator, who has been handling adoptions for over seven years, said she had never seen siblings that were separated for so long enjoy each other’s company as much as Olya and Andry do. She said in most cases when separated siblings are reunited they act as if they are strangers. These two act as if they are making up for lost time…five years. They like wearing matching shirts, eating the same foods and playing the same pranks on Ron, my parents and me.

We have started playing "telephone" in the car to keep us all occupied. Telephone is the game where one person thinks of a word or phrase and whispers it in the ear of the person next to them. This continues until the last person says what they heard. The results are always ridiculous even when everyone playing fluently speaks the same language and has perfect hearing. You can imagine what our games are like.

We stopped by the grocery store on the way home to pick up some sausages, beets, tomatoes, cucumbers and cherries. Olya was tired and got a piggy-back ride from her grandmother. Fortunately everyone perked up by the time we got home and helped prepare dinner. Andry sliced and cooked the sausages while Olya thoroughly scrubbed each cherry individually.

Andriyivshy Descent––A Long Downhill Ordeal

2007-06-23T18:26:00.000-07:00

Start at St.Andrew’s Church at the top of a quaint cobblestone street and end up in Podil (the Greenwich Village of Kiev) with a lot less Grivnas than you started with. Pippa and her mother, Cara, were in souvenir shopping HEAVEN; Jim, Pippa’s dad and I were in souvenir shopping HELL. Olya and Andry were happy as always just being together.

The street is lined with stalls of all kinds of Ukrainian crafts: pottery; embroidery; painted eggs, boxes, plates, platters, jewelry, traditional Ukrainian shawls, blouses, shirts and skirts, thousands of old things from World War II including: Russian uniforms, caps and medals, propaganda posters, old photos of Gorbachev and Stalin––new ones of Putin and George Bush; antique Russian cameras and modern tee shirts with photos of Lenin giving the finger. You get the idea. But there were some real gems in all the bad paintings and kitschy kitsch. I found one photographer whose work reminded me of Josef Sudek. When I said the name Sudek, the photographer beamed at me and was very proud of being associated with the great Czech photographer. So, I bought one of his photos.

Eventually Jim and I got smart and settled down at a coffee shop while the souvenir buying marathon went on. Olya and Andry kept running back into the coffee shop for more Grivnas. As it turned out they were buying surprise presents for all of us that they gave to us in a special ceremony back at the apartment. We all got matching Ukrainian T-shirts.

Jim and I missed a special moment that the others had listening to a singing concert of a twelve-year-old girl with a voice like an angel. I hear she was dressed in a white lace dress and gloves and had a hot dog in one hand. Speaking of angels, I broke down and agreed to stopping at another church on the way back from the souvenir street. However, I insisted on a condition––that I could sit in the car and wait for them. I was exhausted from the day. You need to know that we started at ten in the morning and did not leave until after five in the afternoon. So while I didn’t write much about this day, it was a long day, believe me.

Play Day

2007-06-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

A new driver today, “Slava,” the son of Vassily, a carbon copy of his father. The plan is for him to take us on a cultural tour of Kiev. I agreed to the plan, but modified it so the kids would not go berserk. I limited the schedule to only one church, St. Sophia’s, and suggested we stop at “Mister Snak,” a chain of fast food restaurants with quite good sandwiches, to buy what we need for a picnic at one of the many parks. We stopped at a sporting goods store near our apartment and bought a soccer ball and a basketball. We also carried the four softball gloves, neon yellow softballs and Frisbee we had brought from home.

We rushed through St. Sophia’s. Actually, the kids just ran around the grounds and the most interesting thing was the man with the giant hair and equally large moustache who was sitting on a park bench singing folk songs and playing a large lute-like instrument. His voice was really good, almost opera quality. (Speaking of opera, I’m trying to convince the kids or someone to go with me to the National Opera. No takers so far.) Doing their best version of “are we there yet” the kids kept pleading for the park we had promised. Slava very agreeably did just that although Yelana, our translator, told us that it is not a typical practice of Ukrainians to take a picnic lunch.

That wasn’t the case at the park we went to. This one, at the edge of town, seemed to be an old one. The grass was overgrown, the playground had rusted monkey bars and slide and there were several families cooking shish-kabobs on small fires they had built. No one seems to pick up their trash. My guess is that this park was well cared for in the Soviet days, but in the new free enterprise system in Ukraine, no one has found a way to make money from park maintenance.

Pippa got the Frisbee session going right away. She grew up on the Florida beaches and so does a great “Gidget Goes to the Beach” imitation. Andry was very impressed with her mastery of the Frisbee. Tiring of the Frisbee after a half hour of having it bounce off my chest, I got Andry to kick the soccer ball. He has some skills and has obviously played some in Ukraine or Spain in the summer with his host “brother”. He’ll do ok in Miami. But we both had a tough time in the tall, un-cut grass. So we put on the gloves and Olya, Andry and I played catch. Andry has a rocket arm just like his sister. Where did that come from? He’s still got to work on his catching, however. We tried to teach Yelana, how to catch and throw the ball. She was hopeless, but good-natured about it. She had already failed her Frisbee lesson. She told us that she had previously thought most Americans were fat and not athletic. But not this “sporty” family.

Next came a furious game of tag. Both Yelana and Slava were shocked when the children included them by tagging them and saying “you’re it!” When tagged, Slava (he’s in his mid twenties) came as fast as he could after me but I made sure he never came close. I think he was surprised. Eventually we all tired and packed it up to go. We carefully picked up our trash as if we would set a lesson for the entire country.

Pippa gave the kids their choice of another church or a boat ride. (What do you think?) She knew her parents were dying to see all the churches in Ukraine. But the kids saved me, as I think Pippa knew they would when she gave them the choice.

The boat ride was pleasant. The sky had turned dark and a light drizzle began. It was fine with us; we sat around a table inside and had coffee and tea and chatted with Yelana about our plans to help Maria and her struggle with poverty and an abusive husband. It was also an opportunity to ask Andry a few more questions about Maria’s situation.

Apparently, although divorced, Maria lets Nikolai live with her as long as he does not drink and he hasn’t for six months. They had talked about coming to Kiev and finding a job. Maria’s aunt lives in Kiev and offered them some help. Nothing became of this because Maria’s mother got sick and there is still the problem of Nikolai’s invalid father who they need to take care of.

We also learned that Andry’s Spanish summer host family gave him 50 Euro. Andry gave half of the money to Maria. The Spanish family also gave him a cell phone to they could talk with him on the phone but Nikolai took the phone away from Andry.

The hour’s ride came to an end and now it was pouring rain. We rushed toward our van but halfway there Andry stopped and stood for a while in the rain to wait for Jim and Cara who aren’t quite as quick as the rest of the group. (He seems to really enjoy being in this family.) To get out of the rain we stopped at one of the tent booths along the way for the kids to shoot lines of cans with a replica of a Kalishnikov. Both kids are very good with a gun, Andry is super; he won championships in Spain.

The evening ended with a walk from the apartment to a nearby Chinese restaurant. The food was surprisingly good, but we declined the “frog paws” and the “chicken stomachs.”

Andry Feels Like Our Son Already

2007-06-22T17:35:00.000-07:00

No legal obligations or appointments today. We took it easy and walked over to the “Defense of the Motherland” monument, Kiev’s version of our Statue of Liberty. To get there we had to climb a dozen flights of stairs and Cara got pretty winded halfway up. The children showed how helpful they could be by each taking one of her hands and pulling her up the remaining flights.

The monument commemorates World War II and the ravages on their country as well as their glorious victory. Under the giant statue of the woman holding her sword aloft is a museum of the war. Really powerful as you wander through seeing the relics of the weapons knowing they were used on the very land we were walking on. World War II didn’t happen overseas to the Ukrainians; over ten million of them perished.

We took lots of photos of Olya and Andry climbing all over the Soviet tanks parked in front of the museum. We also took funny shots of the kids mimicking the massive figures in the war sculptures on the grounds.

After we left the memorial we walked to a restaurant, “CCCP” (USSR). Wonderful Ukrainian food in an environment of traditional farm decoration and the waiters in traditional costume.

We walked back to our apartment through the embassy area. Our apartment is in a very historic area near the war memorial, the National Botanical Garden and the historic Percherska Lavra, the cave and monastery that is still a pilgrimage site. We’re also within walking distance of the Metro and a lot of shops and cafes. As we walked along Andry dazzeled us with his knowledge of cars. He called out the name of every car as it whizzed by. Olya, also, is wild about cars.

Later back at the apartment Ron and I relaxed while my parents took the kids outside to play catch. We had brought from the States a suitcase filled with softballs, gloves and a Frisbee. We thought it would be fun to play in the downtime. Plus it would give Andry a headstart on American sports he hasn’t played before. When they came back up to the apartment Mom reported that, like Olya, Andry has a naturally powerful arm. Though, at least for now, she can out-catch him. Mom had had a wonderful time playing with her grandkids. She asked Andry if Hanah, Maria’s “authentic babushka-styled” mother who is a few years older than my mother, ever played catch with him. What a picture that put in all of our heads!!! Andry laughed and said, “no”. Ron then went down to play a little more catch with the kids. After a few lessons Andry began to catch just about every ball. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Upstairs I (Pippa) practiced multiplication with kids; Olya knows the names of the numbers in English and Andry knows the multiplication answers. The kids both cheated, helping the other. Then Andry played his regular Crazy-8 card game with my father beating him at least five to one. They have a great rivalry going and really enjoy ribbing each other. It’s fun to hear Andry in his half Spanish and broken English with a heavy Ukrainian accent. (He calls spades “spaces” – so cute.)

Getting them to bed was a challenge. They kept calling us to them. When we came to check on them one of them would double back down a different hallway to our bedroom, then hide under the covers on Pippa’s side of the bed. Already Andry is accepting bedtime routine with us which includes play and a lot of affectionate hugs and kisses. Both kids love Ron’s rough tickling sessions that Andry calls something that sounds like “cuskillos”. But Ron’s not nearly as rough as Olya. She’s fearless and relentless while Andry is far more gentle.

Andry Tells Us Sad Stories

2007-06-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

Vassily picked us up and we drove for about forty minutes outside of Kiev to the Museum of Folk Architecture and Rural Life. This is a site of six restored Ukrainian villages much in the style of Colonial Williamsburg but much bigger. It’s really quite special and should not be missed. In fact, it was here three and a half years ago that Pippa and I finally got our phone call from the National Adoption Center for our appointment which resulted in finding Olya.

The kids loved running and playing on the trails which run through great fields of yellow flowers to the villages which are filled with cherry trees and both wild and planted flowers. By this time Andry had my big Canon camera, Olya had her little Nikon and the kids were photographing every flower and bee in the fields. Most of the pictures in this post are theirs. Olya was taking a lot of self portraits of her face with the flowers behind her. She also photographed every cherry on every cherry tree in every village. Good thing I have a dozen 4G memory cards. I’ll need to download them all on the computer tonight and clear them up for another day.

Halfway through the complex we sat in a quaint restaurant and had a very nice meal of shishlick (shish kebob), borscht (which both Olya and Andry love), vareniki (little dumplings filled with things; Olya and Andry loved vareniki filled with cherries), potato pancakes, identical to German potato pancakes and, of course, Chicken Kiev.

We convinced Andry to tell some stories about himself and Olya when they were children together. This is the time of Olya’s history which we had not been able to fill. Olya has been very anxious to know things “about when she was little,” meaning before she was with us. Olya was in heaven as Andry told a few little stories about how she climbed a cherry tree that her two older brothers couldn’t and how a fish she caught pulled her into the water. Olya loved them.

Winding our way back through the other villages we stopped for a short break on the steps of an old restored onion-domed wooden church. Andry had begun to tell us a little about the fire that we believed had caused the long scar on Olya’s bottom.

It seems they kept an open fire in an “oven” in a detached shed. Olya, standing on one leg, playing, tripped and fell against the stove. A spark from the fire lit some straw nearby setting the little shed on fire. The fire was put out and Olya went to the hospital.

From this story Andry went on to tell us about Nikolai’s (the biological father) abuse. Andry told that Nikolai often got drunk and beat Maria. He didn’t know if Nikolai had broken her nose (her nose has been broken badly) but he did know that Nikolai had busted out all of Maria’s front teeth. He said that Nikolai did not often try to hit Olya or Andry. Everything would have been worse for all the children except that Maria stepped in and got the beatings instead of the children. A year ago Andry was there when Nikolai got drunk and started beating Maria. Andry called the police and they came and took Nikolai to jail. However, he paid a fine and was released. Wife-beating is not that serious in Ukraine according to Yelana, our translator.

Andry told us that Maria divorced Nikolai about that time but that Nikolai would not leave the house, which belongs to Maria’s mother. He said there are too many things he made for the house to leave. We can’t imagine what he might have made or repaired. Nothing is visible and there is absolutely nothing of material value in that house. Maria told Nikolai that he could stay if he stopped drinking. We hear that he has been sober for the last six months. That’s a relief to hear!

That was the end of the stories. We expect there will be more.

In the evening Olya and Andry made distorted self-portraits on the computer for hours laughing at their long twisted noses and curly heads. I went into our bedroom watching CNN (each bedroom has a TV). But more than anything I was brainstorming on ideas on how we could help Maria. When Pippa came to bed I wasn’t surprised to find out she had been worrying about Maria as well and how to help her.

We agreed very quickly on one thing. We should find a way to get her new teeth. We’re likely to be in Ukraine for another month. That gives us some time. Maria’s birthday, we found out, is July 27. Perhaps we could have our driver, Vassily, go and bring her here to Kiev; she could stay in our apartment overnight; we could have a birthday party––presents––useful things––clothes, whatever, and Maria could have a special time with the children. Then, the following day, a trip to a dentist to get fitted for new front teeth. It wouldn’t be difficult to arrange for Vassily to take Maria back to the dentist for additional times as necessary even after we are back home. If Kiev is too far for her to mentally accept, surely there is a dentist in one of the small towns nearer her village.

She’s only 32; being able to smile freely again would have to be great for her self-confidence. Perhaps not having to show the result of Nikolai’s violence and past (present?) control over her would be even more important. Or maybe Nikolai would be jealous of her gift or of her improved looks. Or maybe the idea of visiting a dentist would be too frightening for Maria.

Monetarily helping Maria is not a problem for us. But finding a way to get the money to her without Nikolai getting his paws on it is another. Would being a little better off cause him to go back to drinking? We know we must return to Maria’s area again because we have to get Andry’s birth certificate. So we plan to stop at a bank in the nearest town to set up an account for Maria if we can be assured that Nikolai won’t have access.

But somehow we feel, there has to be a way that will help Maria help herself. Andry tells us that she decorates eggs in the traditional Ukrainian style. From the look of her house, she is certainly creative. Perhaps we could help her find an outlet for her craft. I don’t know. Even as I write this, I know how far-fetched this idea really is. But we haven’t stopped thinking on this. Tomorrow is another day.