Please forgive the infrequent posts right now.  In the Ukraine, you either have to go to an internet cafe or center to use Wi-Fi, but first you need to be able to find one, and second, you need to have purchased a time card at another location.  As you can see, this presents all sorts of problems, the greatest of which is simply buying the card, then understanding the instructions on the back of it.  I’m doing my best.

Because of a computer shut-down at the court house this morning, our “judgment” is delayed (they have to re-type it because it was erased in the system).  Our translator cannot pick it up until noon, so we can’t make it to Liliana’s village in time to exchange her birth certificate and get her new I.D. number.  He tells us that will happen tomorrow.  [Can I just ask what on earth they were doing for those 10 days we had to wait here in Yalta?  Turns out it’s just a formality, like everything else.  There’s no practical reason for it.  Grrr.]

Our translator (newly assigned to us) is horrible at translating.  He tells us to pack small bags for Simferopol, because we’re staying there in a hotel tonight, so that tomorrow we can go to Liliana’s village, return to Simferopol to get the documents apostilled, then start the passport process (which takes 3-5 business days).  When we go to the apartment to pick up our one suitcase that we’ve packed for the night, the translator starts talking about the five nights we’ll be staying in Simferopol.  I look at him incredulously and say, “I thought we were staying one night.  You told us to leave everything behind.”

“Things change,” he says.  “Now you are picking up daughter and go to Simferopol for good.  We work from there.”

Dan’s already gone up to the apartment to get our packed bag, so I have to go tell him that we have to pack up everything.  It’s another irritation that’s been the norm of this adoption, and we’re both at that breaking point.  Yep, that easily.

The good news is that we get to pick Liliana up from the orphanage–for good.  Of course, her favorite caregiver is there, and when we give the caregiver Liliana’s new clothes (all adopting parents have to bring their own clothes, since the orphanage needs to keep the clothes they have), Liliana breaks down.  She cries through the whole changing clothes thing, then is momentarily silent as the caregiver goes into the eating area and into the bathroom area to allow Liliana to say good-bye to all her friends.

By the time I’m walking down the hallway with my daughter, I’m crying, too.  What turmoil must be in her heart and what confusion this will cause.

Once we’re at the apartment in Simferopol, we unpack our luggage and make up the beds.  Liliana is the most talkative she’s ever been, though we don’t understand a word she’s saying.  She brings us our shoes over and over again (the habit of taking your shoes off at the door is similar to Minnesota homes…and I guess Japanese homes…to protect the floors from mud and outside dirt).  She hides from Dan and wants him to find her and tickle her.  We give her her first bath, and she takes to the water like a fish.  We get her ready for bed, and all is good…until we lay her down.  Then she screams.  I mean these are real gut-wrenching screams.  The kind that exhausts her so much, she falls into a deep sleep 20 minutes into it–with me singing to her and stroking her head.

At one point earlier in the evening, at the height of her joyful exuberance, she goes to the apartment door and says something.  Probably something along the lines of, “Okay, we’ve had our fun.  Now take me back to the orphanage, so I can sleep in my own bed.”

But she doesn’t get her wish.  Now comes the hard part–of her adjusting in the midst of these crazy moves from apartment to apartment.  First, here in Simferopol, next in Kiev, then onto a hotel in Amsterdam, then finally in our home in Rochester.  Of course, she’ll think her real home is another temporary destination, so it might take her a while to settle in.  No one tells you how hard this part is, probably because it’s different for every child.