It Is Official!

After 3 1/2 weeks of running all over the city of Kiev -- 200 Metro subway rides, 175 shuttle bus boardings, 142 miles walked through this huge, bustling city -- we finally have a new son!

Our facilitator called me (Trace) on Thursday morning after he met with the judge to go over last minute details for Thursday afternoon's initial court hearing and Friday morning's final court hearing where we would go before the judge and explain our desire to adopt this boy. He called as I was walking through downtown Kiev doing some sight-seeing with Lauren and Kaitlyn. (Megan has been sick and stayed home with mom.) He said that he had some very good news for us -- we would do both court hearings at once -- and it would be today at 4:00 p.m.! So we hurried past the two beautiful, ancient churches that we wanted to see and back to the metro to ride home and get dressed for the court appearance.

Stacie and I and all three girls met our facilitator at a stop on the metro. He had already been to the orphanage to get Sasha and a representative of the orphanage (the director is on vacation) and taken them to the courthouse. We then walked a couple miles to the courthouse, turned the corner to go in, and there was Sasha walking hurriedly towards us with a big smile on his face. As Stacie met him, they embraced for approximately three hours (okay, it seemed that way) and then we headed into the sterile looking building that apparently held a courtroom in which we would forever change our lives. We walked up four flights of stairs and our facilitator introduced us to a lady who was the state's "prosecuting attorney" -- we were trying to figure out what we were being prosecuted for after being in this country for so long and doing everything we were told. We also greeted the orphanage representative, who we have seen daily at the orphanage for almost four weeks now, but it seemed strange to see her in a setting other than the orphanage. We waited a few minutes and then in walked a lady who turned out to be the "inspector" with whom we had filed paperwork a couple weeks prior as she was responsible for reviewing the legal documents, insuring things on the Ukraine side were in order in terms of Sasha's legal guardianship, etc, etc. Seems we had everyone in the waiting room necessary to plead our case. I propped myself against the wall as I prepared for yet another hour-long wait, after which I was sure they would tell us that the judge had gone home for the day and to report back tomorrow, which seems to be the norm here rather than the exception. Amazingly, a lady soon popped her head in the door, spoke some Japanese or Greek or something, and immediately our facilitator motioned us to go into the hallway and down the hall. I was pretty sure she was taking us to some rubber room, where we would be detained until we met the next set of last minute requests.

Instead, we turned the corner and entered a small room, with chairs, a few tables, and no rubber on the walls. It was a much more intimate setting than we had pictured, but apparently this is where a Ukrainian judge would soon yell at us rich Americans and then list all the reasons why we were not fit to care for one of their children from this country. Our facilitator sat Stacie and I at the table about 10 feet in front of the judge's seat and put Sasha and the girls against the wall in a row of chairs. The facilitator sat next to us so that when we were soon shot by the Wicked Judge of the East and fell to the ground, he could quickly clean up the mess so that the next family could enter and the court could count their American $$$$ as well.

Unbelievably, a lady without horns and who appeared to be unarmed soon entered the room, looking strangely like a nice old grandmother who had just baked some Ukrainian cookies for us. She was accompanies by two other women, one to each side of her, who were to be our jurors. She spoke some Russian words, surely translated as "Tie up these unsuspecting Americans and take what little cash they may have left in their pockets and shoes." Instead, we sat in our chairs, and it seemed that a Ukrainian court hearing had begun as our facilitator began to translate as fast as he could listen and talk.

Okay... long story short...after much legal mumbo-jumbo and smiling across the room as to not tick off our Ukrainian Grandmother, she asked me to stand and she began asking me questions: "What is your name, What is your birthdate, What is your address, Why in the world are you here to add to your family when I see three beautiful, high-maintenance, very expensive girls in the backrow"... things of that nature. (She really did ask a couple of times why we would add to an already large family by Ukraine standards and how much money I made in America so I could support another child -- when I told her of my $4 million annual salary, she said maybe I could scrape by with the girls in the back row and another child and proceeded).

Following my interrogation, I sat down and Stacie stood up, and gave her testimony and life history. She added her sweet motherly appeal to the court, teared up a bit, and was immediately executed. (just kidding) Then they went around the room and appeared to ask similar mundane questions of the official people present and other legal stuff and as we listened to our facilitator attempt to keep up speaking English while listening in Russian, I leaned over, looked at Sasha and sort of shook my head and he smiled as if to say "Is this thing over yet????"

Then Sasha was asked to leave the room, as surely now was when they would bring out the big artillery, and they would not want their young Ukrainian orphan to witness such an execution. He took the form he was handed, along with a pen, and left the room no doubt wondering if he would ever see this American family again. After a lengthy interrogation and questions about why we would want to adopt this boy from their country, and if we were sure we were not getting some kickback from the corrupt American government (now if that is not the pot calling the kettle black...), we somehow convinced Grandma and her two helpers that we really simply fell in love with this boy two summers ago in Birmingham, felt led by the Lord to make him part of our family, and simply wanted to provide him with the same opportunities in America that we would provide to our biological children.

After we refused to change our story and as she was apparently running out of time before her next scandalous money laundering scheme, Grandma gave in. She said that the first court hearing was over we could now enter into the second court hearing, and asked us if we were okay with that. Did we have a choice? Of course it was okay with us as long as she would take us back to her Ukrainian flat and feed us meatloaf and mashed potatoes after the proceedings. She then progressed into ultra-turbo Russian speak and our facilitator gave up trying to translate and said this was a bunch of legalese blah blah blah and that we should simply smile and nod our heads. We gladly agreed. At one point, Sasha was brought back into the room, most likely very relieved to see us still alive, and he testified that he wanted to be adopted by us. We were so impressed with the bravery that he displayed in choosing to leave behind everything familiar to him to join our family.

We were finally told by our facilitator to stand as Grandma and her two helpers exited the room to put on their kevlar vests and refill their automatic weapons. They returned about five minutes later with their kevlar vests cleverly concealed inside their clothes. After a few more minutes of blah, blah, blah, they indicated that they, in their ultimate power, authority, and wisdom, approved of our adoption of this boy. They added that unless we had any more money on us, we needed to leave the court immediately with our new son. At least, that was the impression that we got.

They then left the small courtroom and our facilitator congratulated us. Stacie walked over to her new son, cried just a bit, and embraced him until the next morning when we brought them Kiev McDonald's Egg McMuffins at sunrise as she continued to cry and hold her son. We were finally able to break them apart, and I raised my hand towards Ryan (no longer Sasha) and he gave me a quick, firm high five like he normally does...but this one hurt!

We walked down four flights of stairs, exited the building, and told Ryan that we wanted to take him to the finest restaurant in Kiev to celebrate the occasion. He, of course, chose McDonald's and so this is where we had our first family meal with a boy other than me at the table. (This is where we have dined every time that either Sasha or Viktor has been allowed to pick, and I vow to never again enter a McDonald's after we leave this country, assuming we ever get back to the great United States of America.)

Ryan, no longer Sasha, enjoyed the meal and the day. So, it was a good day.