Once again, THESE are the people protecting us from foreign terrorists setting up training camps
and stuff. This is only the very latest in a seemingly endless string of unbelievably incompetent mistakes made by the INS/BCIS (now part of Homeland Security, yay!) on members of my family _alone_. I could go through some examples, but I don't know if people would believe me. So, yesterday, in honor of the one-year-anniversary of Bubla's Gotcha Day (well, mom-gotcha, anyway), we received his Resident Alien ("green," though mine was pink and this one's white) card. Along with this came the 3rd (THIRD) copy of the same exact letter we got about a week ago (two copies on the same day), instructing Bubla to wait because he will hear from the government within 30 days about receiving his Green card. I will skip the sad, sad tale about our completely pointless trip to the BCIS office (where you have to stand in line even if you have an appointment) on Thursday, I'll just point out two facts the U.S. government might like to know.
1. Bubla is a United States citizen. He has a passport, luckily still in my possesssion. (I am firmly hoping to get him a U.S. birth certificate, thanks to a wonderful employee of City Hall named Brenda, so that I can brandish it in the face of any and all arrogant BCIS employees who insist I have to pay $200 (+?) for a Citizenship certificate. The only fee that makes more sense than making me pay for their mistake in not giving it to him automatically is the additional thousands of dollars they require us to pay before they'll let our second child into the country, even though we finished a homestudy a year ago and haven't become child-molesters since then. (A guy standing behind us in line on Thursday, completely unaware of us, was looking at some bulletin board info - I assume it was the fees - and remarked, "Wow, they really don't like orphans.")
2. Czechoslovakia was last an existing country in 1992. Now can everyone count with me - how many years ago was that? Now how many years old is this little boy, hold up your fingers! That's right, two. Good job, immigration officers! So do you think he could have been born in a country that hasn't existed for fourteen years? Put your thinking caps on! Now, you might be aware that one of the 9/11 terrorists had some dealings in Prague shortly before that incident...I just thought that in general, you might want to know which _existing_ country has that city as its capital.
Now that I have out of the way, on to much more pleasant narration. Today is the one-year anniversary of my bringing Bubla home to the Prague apartment, after we spent over 24 hours together at the orphanage (if I remember correctly, he tried to eat the phone during my efforts to introduce him to his faraway daddy). Since Wednesday, which was one year after THE CALL, I have been happily reliving all the emotions of the original events, maybe even more sappily, since I'm not overwhelmed by practicalities this time around.
Yesterday, we celebrated by going to the Science Museum with Bubla's best friend Jonah and his mom. There were lots of buttons to push, some of which even made parts of trains move. There were live animals and water play, too. I was glad we were able to do something special, and practiced commenting on pregnant ladies with early versions of Bubla's adoption story. After nap, I scrambled to catch the last few minutes of the warm weather and daylight by heading to the playground. As we were getting ready, out of nowhere, Bubla started singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. He sang three different parts (okay, very loose approximations thereof, but the melody and rhythm were unmistakeable), which almost made up the whole song, though not necessarily in that order. I was so stunned I burst out crying (I hugged Bubla and managed to freak him out enough that he hasn't repeated anywhere near as much of the song since - okay, that's probably more because he can't wait to get to the "yay!" and clapping-for-himself part - after, say, "how I wa-wa," finito.) He had tried to join in a bit when his Early Intervention OT sang it the day before, but obviously they must do this song in daycare. We certainly didn't teach it to him. I keep trying to get him to sing parts of songs, but obviously he - sigh - has a preference for English.
When the joy over my son's accomplishment had subsided slightly, I put him on my back and rushed downstairs, only to find that a)it was raining, and b)he had no shoes on. So we went to the library, where he played on the cushions and recognized a chimp photo as "monkey," even though he learned the word by looking at sock puppets. His powers of association never cease to amaze me.
And this morning, at breakfast, which he actually eats now thanks to the medicine, he sang the first phrase of "Twinkle" again. The singing was already better. I recognized "tinkuh, tinkuh," and "how I wa-wa." The rest was probably a secretly coded report on homeland security.
1. Bubla is a United States citizen. He has a passport, luckily still in my possesssion. (I am firmly hoping to get him a U.S. birth certificate, thanks to a wonderful employee of City Hall named Brenda, so that I can brandish it in the face of any and all arrogant BCIS employees who insist I have to pay $200 (+?) for a Citizenship certificate. The only fee that makes more sense than making me pay for their mistake in not giving it to him automatically is the additional thousands of dollars they require us to pay before they'll let our second child into the country, even though we finished a homestudy a year ago and haven't become child-molesters since then. (A guy standing behind us in line on Thursday, completely unaware of us, was looking at some bulletin board info - I assume it was the fees - and remarked, "Wow, they really don't like orphans.")
2. Czechoslovakia was last an existing country in 1992. Now can everyone count with me - how many years ago was that? Now how many years old is this little boy, hold up your fingers! That's right, two. Good job, immigration officers! So do you think he could have been born in a country that hasn't existed for fourteen years? Put your thinking caps on! Now, you might be aware that one of the 9/11 terrorists had some dealings in Prague shortly before that incident...I just thought that in general, you might want to know which _existing_ country has that city as its capital.
Now that I have out of the way, on to much more pleasant narration. Today is the one-year anniversary of my bringing Bubla home to the Prague apartment, after we spent over 24 hours together at the orphanage (if I remember correctly, he tried to eat the phone during my efforts to introduce him to his faraway daddy). Since Wednesday, which was one year after THE CALL, I have been happily reliving all the emotions of the original events, maybe even more sappily, since I'm not overwhelmed by practicalities this time around.
Yesterday, we celebrated by going to the Science Museum with Bubla's best friend Jonah and his mom. There were lots of buttons to push, some of which even made parts of trains move. There were live animals and water play, too. I was glad we were able to do something special, and practiced commenting on pregnant ladies with early versions of Bubla's adoption story. After nap, I scrambled to catch the last few minutes of the warm weather and daylight by heading to the playground. As we were getting ready, out of nowhere, Bubla started singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. He sang three different parts (okay, very loose approximations thereof, but the melody and rhythm were unmistakeable), which almost made up the whole song, though not necessarily in that order. I was so stunned I burst out crying (I hugged Bubla and managed to freak him out enough that he hasn't repeated anywhere near as much of the song since - okay, that's probably more because he can't wait to get to the "yay!" and clapping-for-himself part - after, say, "how I wa-wa," finito.) He had tried to join in a bit when his Early Intervention OT sang it the day before, but obviously they must do this song in daycare. We certainly didn't teach it to him. I keep trying to get him to sing parts of songs, but obviously he - sigh - has a preference for English.
When the joy over my son's accomplishment had subsided slightly, I put him on my back and rushed downstairs, only to find that a)it was raining, and b)he had no shoes on. So we went to the library, where he played on the cushions and recognized a chimp photo as "monkey," even though he learned the word by looking at sock puppets. His powers of association never cease to amaze me.
And this morning, at breakfast, which he actually eats now thanks to the medicine, he sang the first phrase of "Twinkle" again. The singing was already better. I recognized "tinkuh, tinkuh," and "how I wa-wa." The rest was probably a secretly coded report on homeland security.