Hiawatha

One of the things that make international adoption such a gas is the myriad of forms, documents and exams that you have to complete in order to qualify for parenthood. One of the things my beloved Ruth at the SW agency "forgot" to tell me I needed in the state of Georgia is an online parenting course that is worth 8 credit hours. I have no idea how much all of the other paperwork I've filled out is worth or who sets the standards for these credits. I think I could probably qualify for a doctorate at this stage. I'm sure I could find out about the standards and committees in charge of these things if I dug deep enough, but at this point, they tell me to fill out a form, take a course, get a shot or drop my drawers for this adoption and I pretty much do it. I don't care if it's interesting, meaningful, or educational. I'm an automaton now. I may weep tears of frustration while doing it, but I will sit down and hammer it out. The bloom is off the rose.

So Justin and I have to take this online course which is about 19 different chapters and a slide show on each chapter with homework questions that you must turn in to your social worker. So, once informed that this is another necessity in the obtaining of B the G, I diligently sat down at the computer to tackle it. I knew I was in trouble when the first instruction given to me in Chapter 1, The Image of Your Child is to draw a picture of your future baby. I do believe I said out loud, "That is the stupidest thing ever." and skipped ahead onto Question 2, which asks you question about your drawing. Peeking ahead, I realize all of the question in Chapter 1 are about this picture of your future baby and different aspects of your feelings about what your child will look like. Now I'm no dummy. You can't be to apply for international adoption. In fact they should offer a degree in it. Perhaps a doctorate.... I know they are trying to prepare you for the fact that your future child is probably not going to resemble you in any way. If you have made it this far in international adoption, and you haven't considered this possibility, you really shouldn't be allowed to go any further.

I'm going to brag a little here and tell you there are a lot of things I can be rated as marginally good to pretty competant in doing. I'm quite good at training my neurotic pound puppy who already knows how to come, sit, roll over and high five. I can change all the locks in my house and key them the same. I can make a banana bread that will make you smack your lips and I can recommend a wine to go with pretty much anything you're eating. But I can't draw. Even my stick figures look like I did them with my left-hand. I'm right-handed. But here I am stuck with my credit hours to fulfill so I am forced to draw a picture of my future baby. If I could figue out how to scan and post something one day, I will because what I drew was...a papoose. I drew a face and then the head sort or went all the way around the baby. I stuck in a little comma-like chin to differentiate between the head and the body - clever that - and there was my baby. And strangely, I recognized this baby. It looked just like a little black-eyed papoose from my Hiawatha book I read as a kid, albeit much, much more poorly illustrated. I put a feather coming out of the head part, just to go along with the theme. I spent a lot of time on the feather. It was much easier for me to draw as I know what feathers look like.

Now I have to answer questions about the drawing. Questions like "What part of the drawing did you spend the most time on?" That one was easy. But then it asks me "Why?' And "What does this tell you?" I sepnt a lot of time on the feather coming out of B the G's head because it's the only thing I was comfortable drawing. It's a really lame answer. It tells me that I'm a rotten drawr-er. I am failing already.

Next question - "Is it what you want?" No! I wish I could draw a beautiful chubba wubba baby with spit bubbles in a Gymboree onesie giving me the thumbs up. But if somebody stuck this little Hiawatha in my arms and said "Here's your baby." I know I would smooth his little feather, change his leather diapers and saddle up my pinto pony for the long flight home. And then I think A-Ha! Maybe I actually have passed the test, even with my body-deprived picture of B the G. I am thinking about the faceless baby of my future and know that I'll be ok not having any clue or concern with what the child looks like. I am open to the glorious mystery of it, and I am thinking exactly as an adoptive mother should be. At least for Chapter 1.