(Day 7) Movies and Mayhem

How can you say no to a 16 year old boy who types this note late on a Friday night? I was just about to rally the troops to brush teeth and file dutifully to bed and then he made his move. I realize 9:25 isn't late for normal people, but for this haggered host mama and papa it may as well have been 2am. But up we went to settle into the movie room for a showing of Despicable Me.

I questioned the whole activity, wondering how much they would really enjoy a movie in a language they didn't understand. Alina played a game on the iPad, but Sasha kept his gaze securely fixed on the screen and even laughed in all the right places. Just to make sure he was really getting the storyline, I tried helping him along.

"Da," he said. ('yes' in Russian, although he probably really meant 'duh')

Then the tender scene came on where the old man, Gru, completely engrossed with the nefarious life's work he had before him, was forced to stop and read a goodnight story to the 3 orphan children temporarily living in his home. He resisted, made excuses, and finally gave in. At first he rushed through, complaining about the stupidity of a book about kittens and mittens. But as he continued, something began to change. He felt. And in the mere minutes it took him to finish the book, we saw him love. Perhaps for the first time in his whole life.

I looked over at Sasha and wondered if he understood. I typed him a message.

"Yeazzz," he said. 

I knew just how Gru felt.

After the movie was over, Ilona appeared at the door. She had come to tell us that Papa had tears in his eyes. For some reason, she and Aaron didn't join us for the movie and I found out why. After we all went upstairs, Aaron found Ilona downstairs curled up on the couch, snuggled up to Ellie Mae. He said she looked sad. He asked her if she missed Ukraine. She said a little. Then he asked her if she brought any books with her that they could look through together. She produced a small photo album, which contained perhaps every picture of her 13 year life history that she possesses. Naturally as they looked through the pictures together, the emotions overcame Aaron. I wonder if Ilona ever saw her papa cry. And I wonder if she understood why this papa would cry.

About 3 days into this journey, Aaron came home from work and we were in our room talking about the days events. He said, "Tara, I need these kids." 

"For what?!" I asked.

"Forever."

That's why this papa cried.

That same night (day 3) Faith came to tell me that she had found the girls curled up in little balls on their beds. They had spent the first few nights in our house shivering from the blowing A/C, but hadn't said anything. Faith closed the A/C vent, but they were still cold. As I tucked them into bed, I got them each an extra blanket and made sure they were comfortable. Through my broken Russian/English/charades I told them this, "If you're cold, if you're hot, if you're sad, if you're hungry, if you feel bad....tell me. Please tell me."

Ilona just looked at me and said, "Tada - I love you."

Then Alina said, "Tada - I love you."

These tender little moments are mere bookends on the shelves of our cluttered everyday lives. 

This morning we loaded the entire crew up for another shopping trip, starting with Wal Mart. After giggling at bras and painstakingly picking out clothes that passed approval, all 9 of us crowded into the checkout stand. If you watch the 2013 edition of "People of Wal Mart" I'm sure we'll be in it. With $400 less in our bank account and nerves starting to twitch, Aaron and I walked hand in hand to the parking lot with pasted on calm facades.

Academy sports store was next and despite our numbers, we were doing remarkably well meshing normally into society. That is until we got close to the bathroom and I called out, "Sasha pee pee? Ilona pee pee?" in my loud mom voice. (FYI I didn't start that...the kids say that to me when we are in public and they need a bathroom. I've tried to teach them to say bathroom but they just stare blankly and say pee pee. I just go with it.) A man next to me glanced down to see which 2 year old I was talking to. One of those times you wish life had an exit button.

When we finished at Academy and rolled along to Costco Aaron made a verbal game plan with me. I know if he would have had a chalkboard he would have sketched it out for me. This was serious. He said, "You take all the kids and get them pizza. Keep them in the food court and don't let them out. I'll run and grab the groceries and meet you in front." I say this with all the political correctness I can muster, but we both laughed as he commented that it was like we are on a perpetual field trip with 7 special needs kids.