The Airport

Last night I had the awesome and daunting task of bring the "blue group" of orphans down the escalators at the airport. Two years ago, I was one of those parents standing behind the blue banner welcoming the kids to America. I was one of those mothers holding my breath wondering if I'd recognize the boy who's picture I had taped to my office wall for two months. I remember wondering and worrying. 

Was he scared? 

Will he like us?
Will the clothes I bought fit?

How will we communicate? 

And I was wondering if he was meant to be ours? 

Did we know each other before?

In this life before? 

Was this the boy I had promised to find? 

But last night, I was a the top of the escalator, trying to put those tired, scared faces in an order and figuring out who goes to which family and who is paired with who. When I arrived at the top of the escalator the group before mine was almost sorted out. I was surprised to see how young these children looked, but more so, I was touched by the tiredness and concern in their eyes. What a huge scary experience. To travel for over 24 hours, 42 children with five adults. What brave little souls. It looked as if a few were on the verge of tears. As the first group descended to cheers and clapping it sounded like a roar from above the escalators and not knowing what the sound was or who it was for my group of children shuddered a little and looked around. Little did they know that the thunderous applause and excitement would soon be for them. As I pointed to pictures and sorted in my mind what child goes with what family, I wanted to hug each one of them and let them know it would be okay. Especially the little blond six year old. Oh, he is so tiny and cute. They are all so cute. The thing about Ukrainian orphans, is they look just like American children. Only a little forlorn and of course after traveling so long, a little un-kept, and there was that familiar orphan odor and need for baths and clean clothes. (My breathing technique that I perfect when visiting with the children in the orphanage in Ukraine came rushing back. The key is not to inhale deeply through the nose.)

I managed to not fall down the escalator and I was grinning like a Cheshire cat - like I had something to do with delivering these children? But I was just so proud and excited, I couldn't wait for these families to meet these kids. Moms had embraced me in the airport, sharing their excitement and fears. I had delivered a blue balloon for each child to each of the families. There were four colors, Red, Yellow, Green and Blue. I looked around at all these balloons representing each child and thought of the promise. The promise they represent. Although only a hosting program and not an adoption program, because of the opportunity to host, many hearts and homes are opened to adoption. Many of these children may be meeting their parents for the first time tonight and many of these parents may be embracing and introducing themselves to their children. It makes me teary to think about it.

(My cute Dev holding the extra blue balloons!)

Of course the nostalgia was over whelming. Remembering meeting Alex. Seeing his face for the first time. Making introductions. Alex was there at the airport last night, clad in his red Aeropostale shirt and spiky gelled hair. Grinning from ear to ear with his braces sparkling. My boy. Our boy. Our son. Two years ago, he arrived, scared, tired, un-kept and not smelling so great, and now look at him. He was going to try and help translate but was scared. He said he could understand what they were saying but he couldn't remember the words to say back. Later on the ride home Alex confided that he's the only one (out of his orphanage friends) that cannot speak Ukraine. James asked if that made him feel bad? " No." Was his nonchalant answer with his familiar shrug. I think in Alex's mind he is now "all the way American" and he wouldn't have it any other way. Two weeks after arriving home he told us "I no speak Ukraine. I American boy now." and he really hasn't. Of course back then he was choosing to not speak Ukraine, now he has no choice, he has forgotten it

On the way home I asked what he remembered about the airplane ride and meeting us for the first time. He only remembers being tired. Not scared. Just tired. 

I asked him about a few other hosting memories and he claims to not remember much. Not even the bath I gave him a week into the hosting experience due to his fake bath technique of rubbing shampoo on his hair and getting it wet and NEVER actually getting in the tub. He doesn't remember that at all. He wailed through the whole thing!  Although he does remember the bath he cried about when he had a scrape on his leg from learning to ride a bike. I could hear him crying and had thrown him a washcloth to cover himself so I could go in and help him with his leg. When I walked in he was using the washcloth to wipe his tears and cared nothing about his privacy. I think that was the moment I realized just how much this boy trusted me and needed a mom. 

Last night when I tucked Alex into bed I hugged him extra tight and told him how glad I was that he was ours and how glad I am that he's here to stay. He hugged me tight and kissed my cheek and told me he was glad he was here too.

(Sigh)

So now onward!

Things to see, parties to attend, memories to make!

Blessings to all our host families!

May your:

• Cooking be acceptable.

• The clothes you bought fit.

• Biological children be accepting.

• Patience be long.

• Love be strong

• Host children find joy in cleanliness

And...

May your pantomiming and charade skills be sharp! 

Love,
Wendy

And here's a couple pictures. I figured this is two big group shots and you can't really tell who's the orphan and who's not....right? So, it's okay to post this.....right? If not? Shhhhhh.