Today, I write to you as the legal mother of Liliana.  [The picture above is the court room where they pronounced us Liliana’s parents.]  Court went well (it was all so very official, even though the judge was bored out of his mind), and now we wait 10 days for the very ominous sounding “judgment day.”  When we ask our translator what these 10 days were for, she says, “For the prosecutor to have time to express concerns, or for you to back out, if you need to.”  Well, from our vantage point in the courtroom, the prosecutor could have cared less, and we’re not giving Liliana back anytime soon, so it’s frustrating that we’re, literally, wasting time.

Our translator meets us at the orphanage at 11, so she can translate our messages of thanks to the director.  We’ve brought a duffle bag of beautiful clothes (thanks, Sara and Donna!), a monetary gift (which was subtly suggested by the director of the adoption program…this is something we wish we would have known about earlier), and our gifts for the caregivers, director, and head nurse.  The way it’s been explained to us here is that gifts are not obligatory, but everyone gives them.  For everything.  The frustrating thing is not having known exactly what to give.  No one state-side seemed to know, and now that we’re here, we realize that this whole gift-giving thing is taken very seriously.  So, we buy more and more gifts.  Makeup sets and jewelry seem to be the rage for women.  A couple of times the translator has asked us for gifts, so that she can “reward” people along the way.

We only wish we would have known the importance of gift-giving here.  It’s really an affront not to give, and even more, maybe, to give the wrong thing, and if you haven’t calculated it into your bottom line, it’s quite surprising how fast it adds up.

In the afternoon, I have a wicked headache that slowly turns into a migraine, so I head back to the apartment, while Dan goes with the translator and Liliana to get her passport pictures taken.  Dan relates later that Liliana screams bloody murder when he picks her up, but when the translator explains to her, “We’re going to see some cars, some motorcycles, and some people.  Then we’ll come right back to your favorite teacher,” Liliana immediately stops crying, and she’s pleasant the rest of the trip.  Ach.  I wish we knew enough Russian to alleviate her fears.  No wonder she has these days of doubt.  Who are we?  And what do we want with her?  And we’re helpless to explain it to her!

The days this week have been difficult.  The illness that sapped our strength, coupled with Liliana’s confusion, has drained us, and yet we know that we have to forge our way through this to get to the other side.

The killer: we’re here three more weeks!  I think I’m going to go mad.