Welcoming Zoe To The Tribe 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!

  ¶ 3:02 PM 2 comments

  PLG Day! 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.  ¶ 5:07 PM 3 comments

  Seltzer?! U-Bet! 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!"  ¶ 5:33 PM 2 comments

  A Change Of Venue; A Change Of Seasons

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.

  ¶ 2:04 PM 2 comments

  It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over 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.

  ¶ 2:38 PM 1 comments

  Mr. Mom 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.  ¶ 1:39 PM 1 comments