To Russia (And Back) With Love

Kindergarten, Here I Come!

2008-08-26T21:57:00.001-04:00

Two Years Later...

2008-07-04T10:15:00.000-04:00

Every few months, I'll get a message from a random Internetizen asking something like, "Why don't you update your blog?" "Is everything okay?"

Sure, I promised nearly two years ago that there would be more to come. Then I thought about it some more.

This is a blog about our Russian adoption adventure. In the eight months between the time we brought Zoe home and I stopped actively blogging on a regular basis, I realized that more often than not, the blog was reaching for anything to do with Russian adoption. No longer was there a legitimate Russian-specific angle. No longer was there an adoption-specific angle. And I wondered why.

And it came to me. In eight months, our daughter was no longer an adopted Russian child. She was a typical, assimilated American three-year-old, fully bonded with her immediate and extended family. With typical American three-year-old attitude.

Now she's a typical, American five-year-old headed to kindergarten in two short months. With dozens of five-year-old girlfriends filling her calendar with playdates and birthday parties. Ballet, gymnastics, soccer and swimming classes behind her. A trail of broken-hearted boyfriends left behind in pre-school and summer camp. High School Musical 1&2 posters adorning the back of her bedroom door, and parents wishing to drive an icepick through their own skulls as they cater to her demands of repeated listening of the HSM soundtracks in the car.

On America's 232nd birthday, our birthday wish for you is that your dreams come true, just as ours have.

The Endless Summer

2006-09-06T13:54:00.000-04:00

Yes, we're still here. I'll be backfilling the last two months over the next week or so. Promise.

Thanks for bearing with me. And call off the dogs, will you?!

S dniom razhdjenia, America!

2006-07-06T05:54:00.000-04:00

God Bless America (with the apparent exception of Alaska and Hawaii) on Zoe's first Independence Day!

July 4th was marked with the usual food, fun, fireworks, the flag--and a fifth "F," a new friend--another little girl, almost three years old. Born in America, of Russian descent and bilingual. With a natural preference (along with her mother) for speaking Russian.

The Russian language isn't formally taught to children in the orphanages. Upon evaluation by an international adoption professional here shortly after arrival, we learned Zoe's Russian language skills were typical of a three-year-old Russian orphan--that is to say, well below her non-institutionalized three-year-old Russian peers. The Russian she knew was little more than a few basic phrases essential to her care, feeding and playtime in the orphanage.

From the moment the plane took off from Moscow, Zoe jettisoned her Russian vocabulary in favor of English, which she has picked up at a rapid pace. Over the last eight months, we've experimented with feeling out her Russian whenever we happened to find ourselves in the company of someone who speaks the language. Her reactions upon hearing the language seemed to range from fear and contempt in her first days home to confusion and shyness.

On a recent trip to the beach, we enlisted the aid of a few of the summer workers (largely Russian and Eastern European college students) we met at the shops and restaurants to see how she would react. Zoe's reaction was one of shyness, but she seemed to understand what they were saying, even though she didn't respond.

Getting back to July 4th...Zoe and her new friend Sasha hit it off right away and spent the entire time giggling, playing and chasing after each other, which wasn't surprising. But what was surprising was how they were communicating with each other...in Russian.

While the words and phrases coming from Zoe's mouth while playing with Sasha didn't exactly flow like a Dostoyevsky novel, they were familiar from our days in Russia. "Da" (yes), "nyet" (no), "spaseeba" (thank you), "eye-eye-eye!" (don't do that!), "kreseeba" (pretty) to name a few.

We enlisted Sasha's mother, with whom Zoe had also grown comfortable over several hours, to do a more thorough evaluation. Zoe clearly understood the complex things she was saying. Her responses in Russian were short, but appropriate.

Many adoptive parents seek out formal language classes in an effort to maintain their childrens' heritage. We realize the importance of maintaining heritage, but plan to do so emphasizing the Russian culture rather than the language.

Zoe is a huge Dora the Explorer fan, even picking up a few bits of Spanish from the show and accompanying storybooks. Given where America is heading in the not-so-distant future, I'm thinking Spanish will be a lot more practical and am tempted to give that a shot.

But for next few years, English is priority one for Zoe.

Further complicating the language issue in our family is Zoe's cousin, of Hispanic descent, who begins tenth-grade foreign language class this fall. Her language of choice? Russian.

Yo quiero borscht!

Я хочу Taco Bell!

God Bless America.

A Sticky Situation

2006-06-28T06:42:00.000-04:00

So you're three years old, you've had your dinner followed by your bath, and you've brushed your teeth. Sounds like the perfect pre-bedtime ritual to me.

I made the mistake of promising Zoe dessert if she ate all her dinner. After leaving the table following completion of her entree for the aforementioned bath and toothbrushing under Mama's supervision, little did I suspect she would return to the kitchen--white t-shirt, wet hair and all--demanding I hold to my dessert promise. And, catching me preparing a highly-radioactive microwave s'more for Jesse, guess what she wanted for herself?

Years of formal legal training extracted from watching Judge Judy told me that Zoe's leaving the table constituted a breach of the dessert contract and I would ultimately prevail in court after a protracted, ugly, expensive legal battle...but how could I say no? Not when one of my favorite musicals is Oliver! and a former orphan is looking me square in the eye to ask, "Please Papa, I want s'more."

Next month, Zoe returns to the pediatric dentist for a checkup. Surprisingly, the dentist found her teeth to be in in remarkably good shape compared to what we were expecting to hear on her first visit shortly after bringing her home.

Six months later on a highly sugar-laden diet? Hmmmmm....

Going For The Gold

2006-06-10T22:34:00.000-04:00

Just in case the WNBA doesn't come-a-callin', there's always the balance beam and parallel bars. In a moving ceremony following the completion of another session of gymnastics, Zoe received another medal for the family trophy case while standing against a backdrop of an officially-licensed U.S. Olympic Committee beach towel. (Okay, so technically all the kids got medals...but Zoe really was the best.)

But as good as she is, she's no Vera Sessina, another native Yekaterinburger and rhythmic gymnastics champ.

Well, not yet anyway.

Hoop Dreams

2006-06-08T06:09:00.001-04:00

What could make a Papa prouder than to find out his child is a star athlete in training? The thought that she might one day discover a cure for cancer or bring world peace suddenly goes out the window when she picks up a basketball and displays a natural talent for the game.

I've harbored a lot of resentment towards Russians and basketball, going back to the 1972 Olympics, when the gold medal dreams of a nine-year-old American boy were shattered by the most blatantly biased refereeing ever witnessed on the hardwood.

Paybacks are hell. You'll get yours in 2024.

Reading...well, sort of...

2006-06-04T22:13:00.000-04:00

Reading is now part of Zoe's bedtime ritual. At her insistence, Mama reads to her every night, sometimes two or three books. Jesse and I are also allowed to read to her on occasion. And now, she also reads to herself.
No, the words aren't really leaping out at her yet at age 3-1/2, but the letters are mastered and she has been exposed to the stories enough times that she will talk through a fairly close synopsis of each page.

A Memorable Memorial Day Weekend

2006-05-29T23:28:00.000-04:00

The nice thing about blogging is I can be incredibly lazy for a few weeks, then date a post I should have done weeks earlier with a timestamp of, say, May 29 at 11:28 p.m. so that it looks like I've been doing my job. Those who stumble onto the blog in the future are impressed that I'm always so timely, while regular readers are left scratching their heads wondering "Now how the hell did I miss that for two weeks?" Let's not forget to clear your cache every now and then, folks!

That having been said, we just wrapped up a great Memorial Day weekend!

Zoe got a major taste of family all weekend as all branches of Papa's Scherlis clan descended upon Baltimore for the first Family Reunion of the new millenium. Zoe met cousins from all parts of the country as we honored our ancestors who came from Russia to begin a new life new life in America over 100 years ago. So in addition to charming the crowd of 60, her presence was especially meaningful.

The weekend continued with a barbecue at Cousin Sharon's. In addition to meeting more new cousins (this time from Mom's family), Zoe--somewhat exhausted by 48 hours of Scherlis shenanigans, was content to just kick back and kibitz with Pop-Pop.

Zoe and Jesse took time out to enjoy the spacious grounds of Chateau Rabinoroll, the San Simeon of Reisterstown.

The "art shot"

For Aunt Har and Cousin Sharon, who've never made the blog.

Where you been?

2006-05-21T23:01:00.000-04:00

No, I haven't forgotten about the loyal legion of fans out there. We've just been mired down in the typical routine with the kids around here. Preschool all week, gymnastics and birthday parties on the weekends. And chicken pox.

Last weekend, Jesse had a few spots on his upper body. I thought to myself...couldn't be. Dr. Mom, of course, had the gut instinct that we were looking at chicken pox. Wait a minute, not possible...he had the varicella vaccine years ago. At the doctor's the next morning, we learned that the vaccine isn't fullproof (85% success rate) and we were looking at a mild, but very real case of chicken pox. So we scrambled to arrange coverage for Jesse all week since school wasn't an option. So where did this put Zoe? As longtime readers may remember, Zoe had the real deal when we first met her, almost jeopardizing that first trip to Russia. So she wasn't about to catch them again. I had them when I was about Jesse's age. And Sari had the varicella vaccine, which seemed to hold up to do its job for one of us anyway.

What does all this have to do with anything? Not much, but it's the only lame excuse I have for a lack of vigilence to blogging detail.
So we've been somewhat homebound without many photo ops of late. But we finally got out today to celebrate cousin Lila's birthday at a brunch thrown by Grandma & Grandpa. Pancakes are now near the top of Zoe's dietary staples--she craves them for breakfast, lunch & dinner and is eating a lot of them. I suspect it's not so much the pancakes as it is the syrup, just the latest in a long line of sweets that have fallen into favor. We'd probably get the same enthusiasm if we offered corrugated cardboard topped with a little Log Cabin.

Uncle Gary taught Zoe some of the finer points of the game of cribbage. And she put them to good use by hammering the birthday girl.

Rest assured, we're still out here working for you. Look for more bloggable material in the days to come.

Lazy Weekend

2006-05-08T06:09:00.000-04:00

With nothing on our typically busy weekend schedule Saturday afternoon, we took an impromptu ride to the mountains and hiked the Appalachian Trail. Not the full 2,174 miles, but a fairly exhausting 1/4 mile portion of it in Washington Monument State Park.

This was not the only monumental occurrence to come out of our Saturday in rural Maryland. Zoe spied a little girl holding a new puppy outside the entrance of a store in which we were shopping. She led me to the dog, but kept her distance. "Sweet Pea" was adorable, but not to the point that Zoe would allow herself to pet her, but she was clearly tempted and got within two feet. Instead, Zoe grabbed onto my arm and maneuvered it, like a robotic device, to pet Sweet Pea on her behalf.

The moment lost some of its charm when Sweet Pea's heavily-tattooed, Red Man cap-wearing owner arrived and tried to encourage Zoe to pet her. "She might nip at you a little, but it's okay...she's just teething." Zoe, of course, refused. As much as I love dogs, family allergies and irresponsibility have always been obstacles to ownership and, as a consequence, I don't know a whole lot about them.

"What kind of breed is this? I don't recognize it," I asked, continuing to stroke Sweet Pea in an effort to encourage Zoe to follow.

"Oh, she's a mix. Half beagle and half pitbull."

As little as I know about dogs, the thought of Sweet Pea's pitbull half locking her jaws onto one of us brought a quick end to this canine Kodak moment.

Yesterday turned into just another lazy Sunday.

Uncle Gary, Aunt Dian and cousin Emmy came early to take some of our old unisex baby clothes and other assorted baby stuff off our hands. Next weekend is our annual community yard sale; the remainder of the "under 3" stuff up in our attic will be finding new homes at that time, as well.

A visit from Bubbe, Pop-Pop (dubbed "Poppy" to easily distinguish his name from "Papa") and other relatives for a dinner barbecue highlighted the day.

Zoe charmed and performed for the audience. This time she did Twinkle, Twinkle and totally nailed it. The inevitable comparisons to Peggy Lee, Celine Dion and Mrs. Miller were made. Matches were lit as the crowd demanded an encore, but the tempermental star simply walked offstage, in need of chocolate milk and a potty break.

Russo-American Idol!

2006-04-24T21:01:00.000-04:00

You've seen the pics...now, thanks to the wonders of YouTube, almost live, here's Zoe's multimedia debut!

As you can see, a YouTubed video loses a little in the translation--mostly the sound getting out of synch with the video. But it "don't cost nothin'," so I'll be retrofitting the rest of the blog with video clips of Zoe's journey so far.

Reunited (And It Feels So Good)

2006-04-24T12:17:00.000-04:00

We were dressed to the nines for Zoe's second synagogue appearance in three weeks. Six months to the day after arriving in the U.S., Zoe was given her formal Hebrew name in a synagogue naming ceremony this past Saturday before a few close friends and relatives. In an emotional ceremony attended by a few close friends and relatives, Zoe was formally welcomed into the Jewish faith.

Adding to the tears of joy was the return of Zoe's friend Laira, who we last saw in the Frankfurt airport on her way home to suburban Chicago in October. Laira and Zoe were inseparable, just as the anxious parents were during our three trips to Russia together.

What would they remember of each other? From their first few moments together in the synagogue foyer following the ceremony, it didn't seem like much; they expressed little interest when we brought them together. Then Laira simply took off like a rocket, running through the halls of the synagogue. And Zoe took off after her. For the next hour, they continued to chase each other, held hands and hugged before moving on to the celebratory luncheon.
Also in attendance was Marilyn, another of the girls' orphanagemates introduced to this blog last month. Trying to get a great pose out of just one excited three-year-old girl is a daunting task. Multiply that by three, and...believe it or not, this is the best of several shots.
The Wolfes' visit moved to our house and, aided by big brother Jesse and Laira's big sister Stephanie, quickly evolved into the mother of all playdates. Toys we hadn't seen in years came out of hiding, finding their rightful place on the floor wherever four young children decided they belonged. Today, it just didn't matter. When all was said and done, the long-anticipated reunion lasted eleven hours.
And just when we thought the emotions couldn't run any higher, we got a call from Debbie, our agency director, who happened to be in the neighborhood. Debbie took time out from an otherwise busy week for her family to visit, ignoring numerous cellphone calls from the national media in favor of quality time with our girls.

"This is what I'm working for."

A labor of love. Nice work, if you can get it.

Down-de Ooshun, Hon!

2006-04-17T05:43:00.000-04:00

The promise of nice weather and a last-minute vacancy provided the perfect opportunity for a long weekend getaway, and Zoe's first visit to the family compound in Ocean City, or "down-de ooshun" if you've been practicing your Bawlmerese. From her first steps following Jesse onto the sand, she was hooked. Another beach baby!Zoe insisted on having her breakfast served al fresco every morning. Even the presence of numerous dogs out for an early-morning beach walk didn't seem to phase her...not when you're having chocolate milk and oatmeal in paradise.

The combination of Passover and Zoe's limited diet proved to be a challenge. Bread and oatmeal are two of the staples of her diet; would she enjoy matzah (if we presented it to her as a gigantic cracker, one of her other staples)? She rejected it earlier in the week at her first seder, refusing to even take a bite.

Out of respect for the holiday, we brought two boxes of matzah along for the weekend. This time Zoe actually took a bite before concluding "I don't like that." We tried feeding it to the seagulls, but they wouldn't get near it, either. I myself had two bites and thought to myself "Hey, this brand is really good," without realizing that I was actually eating the cardboard box.

We think that even He would understand our need to also have bread available during Passover to accomodate Zoe. A Fractured Prune donut, however, might be a different matter entirely.

The weather on the beach was warmer than we anticipated when we packed, so Saturday found us at the Wal-Mart buying Zoe her first bathing suit. She took instantly to the beach, running on the sand and helping to bury Jesse's legs. Mama taught her how to wash the sand off her hands using the tail end of an incoming wave; she lost her balance in the process of leaning over and took a tumble into the chilly Atlantic surf. But even after this minor slip and the repetitive dunking at the mikvah a few weeks ago, she still seems to love the concept of getting in the water to bathe or swim.

Zoe and Jesse had a blast and kept each other laughing all weekend. They are really starting to click and enjoying each other's company, constantly asking where the other is when they're apart, looking out for (and squealing on) one another.

Zoe's at an age where we can take her to an arcade and she'll jump onto the various machines to watch the demo, thinking she's actually playing them. Jesse caught on to this ploy about two years ago, so in exchange for his silence in not telling his sister that she really wasn't operating the machines, he was rewarded with $10 in quarters.

We probably won't be back to "The (Real) O.C." until later this summer, but three days was just the break we needed for now. And now we're back to the daily grind...

Let's Get This Party Started

2006-04-10T06:18:00.000-04:00

This weekend marked Zoe's first major family event--the combined celebrations of Uncle Bobby's big birthday and cousin Jamie's bat mitzvah.

On consecutive nights, she partied late into the evening. Even a poorly-timed flat tire couldn't stop Zoe's debut on the bimah in synagogue. A recap of photos from the weekend reveal her being held by no fewer than ten different friends and relatives. Here Bubbe Esther shares a hit with Mama.

While the DJ didn't have Zoe's classic medley of "Twinkle, Twinkle/The Alphabet Song/Baa Baa Black Sheep" available, Zoe took to the dance floor a few times. Here she is busting a move to "Shout!" with Mama. Now wai-ai-ai-ait a minute!

Tuesday In The Park

2006-04-04T20:04:00.000-04:00

Just Checking In...

2006-04-02T22:48:00.000-04:00

Blogging comes with its own set of challenges. Sometimes you've got a story, but your camera's nowhere in sight with which to document it. Occasionally you've got pictures, but no real story. And, if the regular visitors to this blog don't see some sort of update, they worry that something is wrong, or that I've gotten lazy or complacent.

Nothing incredibly monumental has happened since my last posting. In anticipation of a heavy spring social calendar beginning with an adoption welcoming party for a fellow Yekaterinburger (I'm not sure if this is the right term, but in case you're planning on opening a Russian fast-food restaurant, I've got dibs on the name), Zoe made her first visit to Mom's hair maven, Deedee, and got a complimentary once-over. Tomorrow morning, we get evaluated by the county for speech services.

We're in major spring cleaning mode. And nearly six months after returning home, we're still playing catch-up with any number of tasks on our to-do lists.

On my list: digitize the hardcopy package of photos of Zoe we received from the orphanage, documenting her stay there. Zoe arrived at Yekaterinburg Baby Home #2 in February 2004, after having spent her first 15 months in the hospital. Healthy as a horse, but there isn't always room at the orphanages and there was nowhere else for her to go.

I finally completed the massive scanning chore and there's now one item crossed off my list. And with that, here's the earliest photo we'll likely ever have. From March 2004: 16 months old, and six months before meeting. Zoe's baby picture.

Welcoming Zoe To The Tribe

2006-03-23T15:02:00.000-05:00

Our princess awoke this morning Orthodox (Russian). Tonight, she goes to sleep Conservative (Jewish).

This afternoon marked her religious conversion to Judaism through the process known as "tevillah," performed by Sari immersing her three times in the mikvah with accompanying prayers. Depending on your frame of reference, the mikvah is either a very small swimming pool or a very large bathtub--a "Jewcuzzi," if you will.* The ceremony was supervised by the bet din (a triumverate of clergy).

We had various discussions with our synagogue's rabbis about the process. The first question posed to us was which of us would do the dunking? We decided that it would probably be best if Sari did the honors. We based that decision largely because at the time (long before this week's PLG Day), we didn't think the plausible perception of attempting to drown Zoe would have particularly helped endear her to me.

The rabbi was, of course, delighted to perform the ceremony, but I think he wanted to save us all the trouble and asked if we were certain Zoe wasn't already Jewish (i.e. had a Jewish birthmother). We frankly don't know, but with the overall Jewish population of Russia at perhaps 1/10th of one percent, we felt this probably didn't warrant additional investigation.

Then there's the issue of nudity. Zoe would have to be au naturel, while Sari had the option of a bathing suit. Would Zoe be comfortable with everyone (clergy, brother, parents, grandparents, an aunt and uncle) watching? When you consider that running around the house naked fresh out of the tub seems to be one of her favorite pastimes, we weren't overly concerned. Sari, on the other hand, is a little more modest and opted for a one-piece.

Zoe had no clue as to what was about to happen and became visibly more upset with each dunk. There are very specific rules--she couldn't be held against Sari while dipped and we couldn't cover up her mouth and nose. And, as great as our communication is with each other, we couldn't convey to her that holding her breath wouldn't be a bad idea. So Sari's only strategy was to dip as quickly as possible. Zoe cried for about a minute when all was said and done, concluding "I don't like that bathtub."

The celebration moved from the mikvah to another institution for the area's Jewish community, with a family luncheon at the Parkway Deli. Faced with traditional choices such as matzo ball soup, corned beef and knishes, Zoe of course opted for her own traditional fare of applesauce, mac & cheese and chocolate milk.

Zoe's Russian Orthodox past is now forever part of our family's history; the inexpensive crucifix she received upon leaving the orphanage one of our most treasured pieces of jewelry. The blessings she received from a priest in Yekaterinburg have served us all well over the last five months.

Dos vidanya. And shalom.

*For my friend Michael Levy, an occasional contributor to neologism competitions worldwide: take that!

PLG Day!

2006-03-21T17:07:00.000-05:00

I am pleased to designate March 20, 2006 as the much-anticipated PLG Day promised to me since we met Zoe 18 months ago: the day Zoe officially became "Papa's Little Girl."

I entered Zoe's classroom at daycare for the pickup. Mama usually gets pickup duty and my appearance at daycare perhaps once a week has been greeted by tears and fears, running into the teachers' arms, refusing to hold my hand for the walk to the parking lot. This requires the assistance of a teacher, playing temporary havoc with their ratios.

On PLG Day, Zoe saw me at the classroom door, got up from her arts & crafts project, and ran into my arms. She put her coat on and reached for my hand and led me first to Jesse's classroom to get him, then to the parking lot.

Mama is home, but bogged down with strep and a fever, begs for privacy to keep the infection from spreading. I try to pay some bills and get in some computer time, but Zoe is all over me like a cheap suit, climbing into my chair with me, pleading to look at family photos on the computer.

I give her dinner; she smiles and thanks me as each item is delivered to the table. Then she and Mama have a much-needed hot shower, immediately afterwhich--hair still soaking wet--she asks me for a bath.

Then it's time for her favorite bedtime ritual--being picked up by the armpits and made to fly horizontally in the air while I'm supporting her from the floor. A vertical puff of breath sends her hair in all directions. I get a tickle in and bring her down to earth as she laughs hysterically. And, in bringing her down to earth, she gets a little peck on the cheek.

This has been going on for perhaps a few months. But on PLG Day, Zoe answered back with a peck on Papa's cheek. Not blowing a kiss after much prodding, but the real deal. Then a kiss for Mama (now sufficiently loaded with antibiotics).

This morning was fairly typical (and I'm still considering it part of PLG Day, which is a 24-hour period regardless of what the calendar says), finding Zoe in our bed in the early hours after having wandered into our room for her last few hours of sleep. I'm running late for work, but Zoe awakens and stops me cold in my tracks by dictating her breakfast order from the comfort of our bed. "Papa! Chocolate milk...hot cereal!" Work can wait--how can I say no to that?

Zoe finds her way to the kitchen, parks herself in her chair and wants to watch "artoons." I mix the chocolate milk and make her lunch while the oatmeal cooks, then park breakfast in front of her as I put my coat on.

"Papa work?" Yes, I explain, but I'll see her later. And as I've done every morning for the last few months, I planted one on her cheek on the way out the door, expecting nothing in response.

But on PLG Day, I stopped for a moment and turned my cheek. And got one back in return.

"Bye-bye, Papa!"

A car? Body piercing? Tattoo? Cell phone? A $200 pair of jeans? On PLG Day, they're all yours for the asking.

Seltzer?! U-Bet!

2006-03-15T17:33:00.000-05:00

It's the little things in life that can make a difference. And one of those things making a difference in our daily lives is a simple can of seltzer.
While many suburban couples are mixing equal parts of gin and vermouth, our version of the after-work martini is the egg cream, a concoction consisting of seltzer (carbonated water), Fox's U-Bet chocolate syrup, and milk. A twelve-ounce can of seltzer is sufficient for two egg creams, with about two ounces to spare.

Zoe has no interest in trying an egg cream, which is sort of surprising seeing as two of the three ingredients form chocolate milk, which she demands at every meal. But she nonetheless takes great interest in watching me mix them, laughing as the foamy white head rushes to the top of the glass while I plead with it to stop before it overflows. And she takes even more interest in the remaining seltzer.

She pleads for the leftovers, but this is one of the tougher words to pronounce. "Setzer, Papa!" The magical property of seltzer--its ability to induce a nice, healthy burp--is intriguing to her. She takes a swig, and before she can put the can down, lets loose with a barrage that would put the late Foster Brooks to shame. "'Scuse me!" We both laugh hysterically.

On an occasional egg creamless night, Zoe will request seltzer at bedtime. And there's no way I can refuse, seeing as 1) it's just water, 2) she's wearing a pullup, and 3) it makes for an incredible bonding experience as we take turns sipping, belching and hugging.

I somehow knew life with Zoe would be a gas. Little did I know that gas would turn out to be carbon dioxide.

Papa's Postscript: Less than 48 hours after posting, Zoe had her first egg cream, proclaiming "I like that!"

A Change Of Venue; A Change Of Seasons

2006-03-11T14:04:00.000-05:00

Yekaterinburg, Russia, September 2005

Six months ago, they were Elena and Zita...just two of hundreds of thousands of Russian orphans, frolicking in the leaves outside their orphanage half a world away.

Little did we know last fall while shooting photos of our future daughter along with her orphanagemates that these two would be re-united halfway across the world on a picture-perfect faux-Spring day for a playdate. Today, Elena and Zita are Zoe (right) and Marilyn (left), both comfortably situated in their American homes. Marilyn arrived home in February with her Mama and is doing great.

Zoe was the hostess with the mostest, even sharing some of her toys with Marilyn. The weather gave Zoe her first real opportunity to explore the backyard of the house, a place we've managed to keep secret from her since October.

There's no denying there's a resemblance between the girls, who are three months apart in age, leading us to half-jokingly speculate that they could be distant cousins. In fact, our neighbor experienced the Patty Duke Show effect when she saw Marilyn in our driveway. Part of it may be that they clearly share the same Yekaterinburg hair stylist.

So, you can lose your mind (when Russians are two of a kind), but looks are where the similarities end. A lot of the assumptions we made about some of Zoe's quirks and fears being rooted in orphanage life were disproven by Marilyn. Marilyn doesn't have a problem with dogs--Zoe is still terrified. Marilyn eats everything her Mama eats--Zoe is still largely on her limited diet. Finally, Marilyn doesn't seem to have the same issue Zoe has with men, as I was able to get a big thank-you hug at the end of this, our first playdate together. Zoe is just about at this comfort level with me after five months home, and only then because I'm her Papa.

Look for more Yekaterinburg reunions in the weeks and months to come.

It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over

2006-03-06T14:38:00.000-05:00

Zoe is home. Zoe is ours. But the paperwork continues.

Two major assignments we'll be working on over the next few months:

The first is Zoe's post-placement progress report, the first of which we're required to provide to the region within six months of her adoption. I assured the judge in Yekaterinburg that it would be with great pride that I would submit these to the ministry. And I meant it, although I'm in denial that time is flying by as quickly as it has.

With no real consequences to the adoptive parents once their children are safely on U.S. soil, some aren't taking this responsibility so seriously. Unfortunately, their agencies are getting "dinged" for their apathy and denied accreditation because of these unfiled reports. Which means those prospective parents currently in the process using these agencies are forced to wait...and wait....and wait.

The second assignment is the process of readoption, a formal legal "slam dunk" ensuring that Zoe has the same rights as if she were adopted in the U.S.

Rest assured, nobody is going to take Zoe away, and she is a U.S. citizen...not to mention a dependent on our 2005 tax return.

Mr. Mom

2006-03-06T13:39:00.000-05:00

With Sari away for a weekend of frozen beach fun with her group of mommy girlfriends, I had the chance to play Mr. Mom. Separation was difficult, but Zoe soon got the hang of it Saturday morning as I took her to gymnastics class, jumping along beside her. She reveled at the miracle of watching Krispy Kreme donuts being manufactured right before our very eyes, taking a single lick off of three different varieties. She cooperated all weekend, held my hand in parking lots and allowed me to help her into her carseat. And, with no female alternatives available from the group of deserted husbands who went out to dinner with their kids Saturday night, she even requested that I hold her, as captured by the miracle known as the low-resolution camera phone.

Frequent phone calls to/from Sari were requested; each promising a special present for being a good listener upon her return Sunday. Zoe could speak of nothing else but the present all weekend, seeking affirmation that she was, in fact, a good listener. Nothing, that is, except for repeated on-demand listenings of the songs "Bananaphone" and "5 Little Monkeys" in the car. My understanding is that the CIA was using these tactics in Abu Ghraib to extract confessions until the prisoners began begging for bamboo shoots under the fingernails instead.

Zoe's persistence proved to be a blessing as well over the weekend. Whereas Zoe will get herself dressed without prompting or oversight, Jesse is now discovering the joys of sleeping in and isn't always entirely cooperative in the mornings. So, faced with the task of getting him ready for Sunday school, I simply deputized Zoe to wake him and ensure he got dressed.

Zoe locked onto the assignment like a pitbull onto a mailman's left calf, and within five minutes Jesse emerged yawning, but attired. Zoe is sincere when she says "I want to help" when she witnesses us doing mundane chores like setting the table or loading and emptying the dishwasher, all of which involves handling glassware and cutlery with which we're not entirely comfortable. So we've finally found the perfect assignment to keep both of them in check--sic her on Jesse. In short--she don't take no cah-keys from her big brother and is beginning to express herself when she feels an instance of juvenile injustice has been committed.

Mommy finally arrived home Sunday evening with Zoe's present: a "Daddy's Little Girl" cap. Immediately, Zoe was anything but Daddy's Little Girl, but wore the cap out of ignorance. I couldn't hold her hand or put her in her car seat once Mommy was around. But for 36 magical hours, she was--by default--all mine.

"Jesse Did It!"

2006-02-23T07:12:00.000-05:00

Zoe has been exploring her artistic freedom over the last few weeks, using (mostly) washable writing implements throughout the house on any number of media: important papers, furniture and walls. We've addressed these incidents with her as they've occurred much as we did with Jesse at that age and realize it's a phase. You deal with it, hope they understand and move on to a more appropriate medium.

So I was naturally upset, but not totally shocked to walk into our bedroom to find a green magic-markered zig-zag pattern on my nightstand the other night, while Zoe and Jesse were sprawled out on our bed watching television.

"Zoe, did you draw on the furniture?!"
"No," (momentary pause to think, then pointing an accusatory finger) "...Jesse did it!" While shocked at witnessing the first bald-faced lie to pass through her lips and the subsequent attempt to pin the rap on her brother, I was impressed with 1) the perfect English, and 2) the spontaneity with which the charge was redirected.

Stories like this make me realize that this blog is no longer about an adopted Russian orphan; it's now about a typical American three-year-old (albeit one with a really cool accent). How long this sort of thing remains bloggable, I'm not sure, but I'll keep plugging away for the time being.

Seaside Holiday

2006-02-21T09:23:00.000-05:00

The Miss America pageant may have left Atlantic City, but America's Playground is still a draw for us. Zoe joined Jesse for a long weekend in becoming the fifth generation of our families to enjoy the Jersey shore.

A.C.'s answer to the brilliant "What Happens In Vegas..." marketing campaign is "Always Turned On." In the middle of February, the only thing we could count on being always turned on was the gas fireplace.

In addition to seeing the ocean for the first time, Zoe took her first venture into a swimming pool, and loved it. We were comforted with the knowledge that she's not afraid of the water, knowing the big dip that awaits sometime over the next few months.

As an experiment, I employed a time-honored parenting tactic with Zoe to get some attention: reverse psychology. After tickling Zoe into submission, I ordered her to not tickle me in return. Which, being a three-year-old with a 'tude, she naturally went right ahead and did. With Zoe all caught up in the moment, I took it a step further and ordered her to not kiss me. Needless to say, five--count 'em, five--smooches were planted on my cheek accompanied by lots of laughter over my feigned protests. Hardly spontaneous, but I'll take what I can get, any way I can get it.

Newly-added to Zoe's diet over the weekend: decaf coffee, which we know she likes because 1) it's one of the few English words she can now pronounce perfectly, and 2) she's very comfortable ordering it in a restaurant. Warning: This is the sort of thing that can happen when you let grandparents babysit when you need a few hours of quality time in the casino.