We Located Anya...Again!

See that small red dot? The one marking the region of Kemerovo? My daughter Anya is there somewhere.

So, as my friends reading this blog know, we lost touch with Anya in June, when she was moved out of the orphanage. We tried calling the orphanage weekly, still, in hopes of getting a sympathetic heart on the other end who would give us an idea of where she was. No luck. Since June it has only been prayers that have helped me to keep my sanity about this. I had to trust that God was keeping an eye on her, because not only could I not watch over her myself, I had no idea where she was anymore. Scary. And heartbreaking.

Well, last night we were able to secure some basic information that put my heart at ease. You see, God works in mysterious ways. Just when I was losing all hope, I received an email from Alex, a friend from Russia. He is the wonderful man who conducted the search to find Anya in the first place. Well, he was in the States and hoping to visit the Boston area for a few days, and could he see us. I arranged for Alex to stay at an apartment my parents own nearby, and last night he came over, gifts in hand, to see us. After catching up, Alex offered to call the orphanage himself. He is well-known in Russia, as a television journalist, and I knew it might very well open the lines of communication to have him call. The orphanage staff was sure to remember him from our last visit there, when Anya and Anastasia were the subject of a tv documentary.

So, Alex was dumbfounded that the orphanage director was not letting us know where Anya had been moved. After two failed calls, we waited an hour and called back. Alex finally spoke at length to someone in charge, and was able to confirm that Anya had been moved very nearby, to a dormitory attached to a trade school. They had put her in a program for learning how to paint (as in rooms and houses, not canvases). They would not give him the name of the trade school or a phone number, but Alex is sure he can secure this information once he gets back to Russia. He will also be checking into whether Anastasia and I could visit in December, for Christmas. I am just so relieved to know she is not on the streets. I trusted that God was caring for her, but I have to admit it is much less stressful knowing the facts!

In the meantime, I am going to have a translator help me place yet another call to the Ministry of Education in Kemerovo. (They oversee all adoptions in the region.) They had given me permission to proceed with an independent adoption just before I had an agency accept us. I'm going to call and explain the situation ( the bankrupt agency) and see if, once again, they would grant me permission to do this on my own. Independent adoptions are not allowed in the region right now, but I am pretty sure the Head of the MOE can do whatever she deems appropriate. In our last conversation, she was very clear that she wanted Anya to be adopted by me. I have ten months to complete this.

Keep me in your prayers. Aside from the paperwork and finding facilitators and lawyers and translators in the region (and with my pigeon-Russian no less!), I need to also make up the funds that I lost to the bankrupt agency.

Prayers prayers prayers. I know God wants her home....

Helping My Daughter Love Herself

One day last year, after Anastasia had had a particularly horrible meltdown, I made her a list of some of the things that were really wonderful and special about her. I typed it up in a rainbow of colors and fonts (but I don't know how to paste it here in HTML, so it'll appear rather boring here...) Here is the list that still hangs over the desk in her room. I thought I'd share this idea with other moms. I know she reads it when I'm not in the room, because she will often repeat some of them to me when she is in a silly mood:

My Daughter Anastasia …

is Smart
is Kind
is Funny
is Artistic
is Beautiful
is caring of others
is a spectacular daughter
is a wonderful friend
has a big heart
has a quick mind that learns things very fast
has a beautiful singing voice
has amazing blue eyes that sparkle when she’s happy
has gorgeous hair (that everyone is jealous of!)
has a great smile that lights up my day
has outstanding athletic ability
can speak two languages fluently
can cook delicious food
can make people laugh very easily
can save money better than anyone I know
can dance a little TOO well…lol
can do gymnastics
can sew by hand and by machine
can paint amazing pictures
can make up beautiful songs
can do thousand piece puzzles
can rollerblade and skate

She is the BEST daughter in the World!

The Three of Us in Siberia..Too Long Ago

Here we are all together in Siberia in 2006. The girls were reunited for the first time since they were abandoned at ages 2.5 and 3.5. Don't they look alike?Anya is in the pink, Anastasia in the white.

Waiting for a Sister Who May Never Come Home....

I have mixed feelings about posting this, but as time is of the essence, I'm going to risk it. This is a feature article that appeared in a large area newspaper about us over two years ago. I am taking out any identifying info to deter the crazy people I know are out there. (Like the anti-adoption stalker I attracted a while back ...boy was SHE scary!) But I want others to know our story, and this is the best way.

To this day, Anya is not home. I have been holding in the following bad news for months, and decided it's time to talk about it and, hopefully, get some help: The agency that finally agreed to help us bring Anya home has gone bankrupt. I am at square one again, and only have 10 months before she turns 18 , when adoption is not an option. I am looking for miracles here. Here is my daughter's story, and mine as well... Anastasia, adopted daughter of Keri _______is hoping her older sister can leave Russia and join her new family. (Globe Staff Photo )

Here is the article:

The frail-looking girl with sad blue eyes didn't speak a word of English. She had lived most of her 12 years in a Russian orphanage after being removed from her home and an abusive mother, according to an adoption agency file. And, the file said, she had epilepsy.

Yet when Keri gazed at the picture of the girl as it slowly loaded on her e-mail, she knew her destiny. The local teacher who longed to be a mom would travel thousands of miles to Siberia and spend nearly $30,000 to adopt Anastasia, nicknamed ''Nastia," and bring her home.

The road from Boston to Siberia and back again wasn't easy. Keri, 40, had saved for five years and still needed financial help from her family for the eight-month adoption process, which required two trips to Russia.

But Nastia's arrival last May is just the beginning of the story. The newcomer kept speaking of a faint memory she had of an older sister. When Keri first met Nastia months earlier in Siberia, she thought the girl had merely dreamed and wished so hard for a sister to rescue her from the orphanage that she was confused. But on the day the adoption became official in a Siberian courtroom, Russian officials handed Keri records that indicated that Nastia did, indeed, have an older sister, named Anya, born in ____. It did not, however, provide any information on her whereabouts.

Now Keri, well known in the region for teaching theater, is in the midst of a real-life international drama of her own. She hopes it will culminate with a reunion of the two sisters, who were separated when both were removed from their home about 12 years ago.Keri aims to adopt Anya, but the clock is ticking. US immigration laws mandate that petitions to adopt a former orphan's sibling be filed before that sibling turns 18. After that, Russian officials often don't grant exit visas, specialists said.

If Anya doesn't get out, ''her chance for any kind of normal life is zero," said Keri, who has started the paperwork and has been squirreling away cash.

But Keri is worried time will run out before she has amassed enough money, roughly $25,000, to complete the adoption process.

Life for Russian orphans can be grim, with many relegated to a lifelong underclass in their country and afforded few opportunities after leaving government care, according to a 1998 report by Human Rights Watch. Little has changed in Russian orphanages since the group's report, and prospects for young women who ''graduate" from the facilities remain especially bleak, said Diederik Lohman, a senior researcher at Human Rights Watch.

''What you see frequently are children coming out of orphanages who are unable to find jobs and turn to the street, and that obviously involves prostitution for young women," Lohman said. ''There is a lot of drug use and homelessness."

For Keri, getting Anya out has become pivotal. Just finding her was the stuff of high drama.
Shortly after Nastia's adoption, Keri scoured Internet chat rooms, trying to learn whether other parents managed to adopt Russian siblings. Through the kindness of strangers and the serendipity of cyberspace, Keri eventually found a private investigator who specializes in tracking down siblings of Russian orphans. Keri also connected with a woman in Virginia who had adopted a boy from the same Siberian orphanage where Nastia was raised. The woman offered to fund the detective's work, which has cost about $1,000, Keri said.

The investigator started by locating Nastia's and Anya's birth mother in a remote Siberian prison.

''There aren't even roads where she is,"Keri said. ''And there is no phone."

The woman said she thought Anya was in an orphanage known as Detsky Dom number six in Kemerovo, Siberia -- the same region where Keri attended court to finalize Nastia's adoption last May. Keri again scoured the Internet and found a phone number for that orphanage. On the day before Thanksgiving, Nastia dialed the number, but the news wasn't good. The person who answered said Detsky Dom number six had closed years ago.

''Nastia sobbed," Keri said.

Undeterred, Keri went back online and found a listing of all the orphanages in Kemerovo. There were about 20, Keri said. Nastia dialed, and on the very first try, the voice on the other end said yes, Anya lived there, but she was out. Call again, the voice instructed. A few hours later, around midnight on Thanksgiving Day, Nastia dialed back and Anya answered.

''The first thing she said to Anya on the phone is, 'I have a nice mother and she can be your mother, too,' " Keri said.

Since that call, the two sisters have spoken several times.

''I tell her people no punch her," said Nastia, now 13. She is still learning English but has already discovered that the scary American society she saw portrayed on Russian TV is not the life she now knows in Massachusetts. The little girl who once owned few clothes and shared shoes with other children in the orphanage now has her own Cinderella-themed room -- a sea of pink crammed with clothes, books, DVDs, a cellphone, a cat named Puck, and a sheltie, Henry.

''Anastasia is very lucky she got adopted. There are so many people who want to adopt young, healthy children, but with older kids, it's tough," said E, president of _______, the agency that Keri used to adopt Nastia.

E was happy to hear that the once-frail child Russian authorities diagnosed as having epilepsy has shown no signs of the disorder since her adoption. Russia can be ''very secretive" and its healthcare system very isolated, making it difficult to get reliable information about each child, E said.

Yet there are thousands of Russian orphans who remain in limbo as Russian nationalist politicians argue against international adoptions, fearing that the movement will drain the country of its future, said Lohman, the Human Rights Watch researcher.

''You have thousands of children who are completely abandoned, whom the state is not taking care of properly and who have a much better future if they could come to loving parents in the US," Lohman said. ''It's a bizarre kind of situation."

As the debate continues, one mom in Massachusetts is working feverishly to alter the course for one Russian orphan. A girl named Anya.

Sarah Palin Has Nothing On Me

So, I missed the debate due to the fact that my daughter was having a meltdown. I was really looking forward to watching it, but I got to witness my own set of fireworks instead..lol.

Anastasia has had a very rough few days. It actually started with the 'fire drill' day mentioned in my last post. She hasn't quite calmed down since then. They are a really powerful trigger for her, though I don't know why. Anyway, everything is compounded by the fact that I had to start her on three separate medications on the same day. She is on antibiotics for a tooth/gum infection, in prep for the surgery she is having this coming Wednesday. She also has pain meds for the tooth pain, and then there is the celexa she was recently prescribed.

I have held off on psych meds for three and a half years. I didn't want to have her go on meds if at all possible, and I wanted to be sure I tried tried everything else first. Well, I have. The therapist and psychiatrist both agree that it is time to try meds. I trust both of them implicitly. They are incredibly well versed in trauma issues with adolescents, and both have a very respected reputation in my area. Anastasia and I have being seeing H, the therapist, since early May. Dr. Z, the psychiatrist became part of the mix only 6 weeks ago.

So I want to keep a record of how she responds to the meds, side effects, anything I notice out of the ordinary. Since I have off-the-charts ADD, if I do not write about it as it is happening, I will forget. So forgive the inevitable boring posts as I chronicle the meds journey. It's just easier for me to do that here than risk losing a notebook filled with my observations. Plus, maybe it will help someone. Thus far, she is complaining of abdominal pain. It seems to be gone today, but was pretty steady over the past three days. I hope it was just an initial reaction. She is also saying she is very tired. (She does not connect either of these to the meds, by the way. She thinks she is just 'getting sick.') The only other new thing I've noticed is something that happened last night. I was preparing dinner and she came to sit at the counter and talk to me while I cooked the pelmeni. "Mom, I feel something, but I don't know what."

What does it feel like?" I asked.

" Well, it's kind of like scared and sad but not."

" Do you feel stressed about something?"

"No. Name some other feelings." she replied.

" Is it anxiety?"

"No."

" Is it maybe a feeling of being overwhelmed?" I added.

" No, not that either."

So I kept listing feelings, and nothing fit.

" Mom, I know its something that people feel alot. And I know you told me about this feeling before, but I can't remember the name ."

So I kept going and I eventually ran out of emotions. She kept sitting there looking very lost and sad. Finally she said, " I remember now: depressed. I feel depressed. That' it."

So I first went over and gave her a big hug, then I turned down the stove and we went to her room to cuddle for a bit. She explained what it felt like. "Sad and lost and like nothing is good in the world and stuff."

Now this may seem like a negative, but I'm thinking it might be a breakthrough. My daughter has the inhibited form of RAD. She is defiant, angry, aggressive, rude, confrontational, and generally not likable a good part of the time. She has never been overtly depressed and it is very difficult for her to feel/express sadness. Obviously the 'sad' is in there, there is just so much of it that she has put up a wall to keep herself safe from those feelings. I know she thinks they could kill her.

So, we talk and talk, and I listen to her explaining the 'yucky' feeling. And I tell her how normal it is to feel that way sometimes, and that the feeling will not stay, and that when she feels that way there are lots of things we can do to help: we can cuddle, we can talk about it, we can cry...

We eventually processed some of it and then she was hungry and we moved on to dinner. I do not know if this is the celexa already kicking in, or the pain meds lowering her defenses, but my intuition tells me it is good. I'm sure some this is because she has been trying to avoid feelings about school this week. She had another terrible day yesterday where the school social worker forbid her from calling me when she felt she really needed to talk to me. I had put it in her IEP that if she needed to talk to me, she be allowed to call from the school. I was really angry to hear she was denied that right. The social worker, whom I assumed was very knowledgeable and understanding, seems to have hit a brick wall when it comes to RAD. I told her yesterday that I knew she didn't read the materials I gave her based on how she was responding to Anastasia's behavior. I could tell by her silence that I was right.

Anyway, the therapist and I are meeting with her, the principal and the head of Special Ed on Monday. I set up the meeting. I want them all to be on the same page. I want them to be more understanding. If things don't work out, I will go back to unschooling. The only reason she went back this fall is because she wanted to try, but it is killing her self-esteem. Even last night she asked me if she was a "bad girl" because that is how the Social Worker makes her feel. " You don't make me feel like that, mom, and I'm really mean to you sometimes. You even have a reason to think I'm a bad girl and you don't." She's becoming so self-aware it's wonderful to see.

I told her that H ( the therapist) and I would fix things at the school. " OK, but I'm not trusting Ms. J___ anymore. I'm done with her. She doesn't like me and I can tell."

How sad our kids have to feel this way about the adults that are in place to help them.

Alphabet Soup, Without a Spoon

I really want this blog to be about my daughter primarily. I want others to understand her better. Well, what I really want is others' complete unconditional acceptance and love for her, but that's not likely to happen in this lifetime. So, instead, I'll settle for at least opening up some minds to maybe making room for her, not being so quick to judge. For myself, I'd love for other grown-ups to stop thinking they know better than me when it comes to my daughter. Because they don't. I know this will be a lifelong struggle for me, but I'm willing to struggle with daily it if it means enlightening even one person.

So, on to the soup. I thought I'd start by telling you about Anastasia's alphabet soup. Well, that's what it looks like when you lump all her diagnosis together. And, don't get me wrong, I do not post these to garner sympathy. I simply want others to get a better picture of my daughter's unique challenges. Educating others about these things is important to me. As overwhelming as they seem when put down on paper, in the end they are just labels that help to explain my daughter, but they do not define her.

Let's see, there is, of course RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder, for any newcomers), and then the PTSD ( Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), and then the SID (Sensory Integration Disorder), and now her doctor is suggesting some OCD. That's alot of letters for one little girl! There are also the non-alphabet ones like her Nystagmus, which is an involuntary eye movement which usually results in some degree of visual loss. This also affects her reading ability. Then there is the Rumination Disorder. Rumination disorder is an eating disorder in which a person brings back up and re-chews partially digested food that has already been swallowed. In most cases, the re-chewed food is then swallowed again; but occasionally, the person will spit it out. This disorder is caused by early neglect, which causes the child to engage in self-comfort. This is causing her remaining teeth to rot and also causes alot of discomfort in her throat. So far, there is not much that can be done for this.

There are many other minor concerns, but the above are the ones that make her life most difficult. Even the most educated people in our sphere sometimes underestimate the power of these issues over my daughter. Case in point: I heard my daughter's school would be conducting a fire drill last week. From experience, I know that these drills elicit a very intense trauma response from my daughter. She cannot even think when they happen-- she works completely from a place of fear. Well, I tried to let the school social worker know that, but she was quick to acknowledge she had a handle on the situation, and I trusted her. I assumed that she would take Anastasia out of the building before the drill. I was wrong. When I came to pick her up later that day, the social worker wanted to speak to me at length about Anastasia's 'inappropriate behavior' during the fire drill. What did my daughter do? She refused to listen (she couldn't listen), she 'talked back' (she was terrified) she kept chattering (common RAD symptom when dysregulated), and once outside, she barreled into the parking lot away from the masses, instead of 'following proper protocol' and staying with the group (of course she did!)

Now, this woman is a clinical social worker. I respect her. I have a close working relationship with her, and I informed her to the best of my ability, even giving her books on RAD and trauma response. I don't think she read them. So now, she has informed me she is putting Anastasia on a behavioral contract. Why does she not understand that my daughter cannot contract to behave through a traumatic experience, such as this fire drill? It is not humanly possible for her. Think for a moment of being in the midst of a crisis. Your life is in danger. Do you do your best thinking then? No. For Anastasia it is far worse.

I thank God for Heather Forbes and her books for teaching me the science behind my mother's intuition. Science proves my daughter cannot think during these episodes. (I'll post more on this later, don't you worry...)

Anyway, I am becoming preachy, which I do not want to do. I need to go pick her up from school shortly. (She is on a modified program). I'm meeting with the social worker next week, and am bringing Anastasia's therapist along. I'm hoping she can help bridge the gap. Please let me know what you think. Any good ideas of how to get the social worker to see things from my daughter's perspective?

Chipmunk #7

There is a chipmunk living in our kitchen, behind the refridgerator.

Puck, our cat, brought him in about three days ago. Yes, we've tried to catch him and put him back out into 'the wild', but it's just not working. He's simply way too fast for us. Funny thing is, this is chipmunk #7 this week Yes, I said week. The first three were brought in dead, on three successive days. Well, at least they were dead when I found them in the morning. The fourth one was brought in 'live'. I came home from work and Anastasia met me at the door with a giant fishnet in her hand, "Mom, we have a visitor..."

So, after an hour of chasing this one about the house, I managed to corner him under a bookcase, and grasped him with two hands (screaming the whole time, mind you) and put him in a giant empty fishbowl, and slapped a book on top before he could scramble out again. Anastasia was delighted. "CAN WE KEEP HIM MOM???" The caps might give you some idea of the decibel level at which this was delivered at me. "No, honey. He needs to go outside. I'm sure he has a family."

I use the family line often, because it has, thus far, been the only thing that meets with her approval. If I say we can't keep him for any other reason, she finds a loophole. The idea of a little chipmunk family waiting for him is too much for her. She has to give in.

So, we take Lucky ( she has named him already) outside to the far edge of the woods near our house and let him go. This chipmunk should win an oscar; he stopped just outside said fishbowl, turned to look at us, and hopped up to a nearby rock, where he just sat there for a moment, considering us. I kid you not.

" MOM! HE'S SAYING THANK YOU!!!" (Same decibel level being used here. My ears hurt.) "Yes, honey, I think he is." And after a few moments, Lucky rushes off into a pile of autumn leaves, and is gone. Then I have to listen to four hours of " Mom, I think we made a mistake. We should have kept him." Later it's " Mom, I miss Lucky.." said with the mournful tone of a grieving widow. Finally, the next day, all is well. Then the next day comes , and I hear..

" MOM!!!!!!!!!!!" A screech emanates from the kitchen that is so desperate and bone-chilling it can only mean my daughter must be under attack by a bevy of spiders. Nope. Worse. There is a severed chipmunk head resting in the middle of the kitchen floor, with tiny bloody footprints leading away from it to the cellar. This was Chipmunk #5, may he rest in peace. A day of revenge ensued, with my daughter chasing the cat with a broom, calling her a murderer. "Honey, you cannot scare kitty like that. It's her instinct to go after the chipmunks. She can't help it." My daughter looks at me with disgust. "Mom, it's your fault. You baby her. She's not a baby. She is ten years old, and she could stop murdering if she really wanted to. You just don't punish her and now she thinks it's ok."

So, I played referee between my poor cat and my ruthless daughter for the day. The next morning there is a large dead chipmunk in the same location as the head of the previous day.

" I hate that kitty. She is going to hell..." My daughter announces as she hands me a roll of papertowels to clean up Chipmunk #6. " Honey, please do not use that word."

Fast forward two days. We have closed off all possible entries into the house so Kitty cannot turn the kitchen into yet another crime scene. We block the dog-door, we close the window she uses as her own personal entrance, and we keep her under close watch.

Well, not close enough.

At 7:30am Friday, we go together to let the dogs into the yard for their morning pee. In an instant, Puck is racing into the house with - you guessed it -- chipmunk #7. Bedlam ensues. Somehow my daughter manages to bat the chipmunk out of Kitty's mouth, and it runs around the house like nothing you've ever seen.

" MOM! He's in the bathroom! Wait! Now he's in the kitchen! He's in YOUR room! He's in the closet!" My daughter races room to room, with the two dogs in hot pursuit. Finally the poor thing races behind the fridge, and the race is over.

I just tossed a handful of sunflower seeds to him before I started this post. I can't bear the thought of the poor little thing starving. I know, I'm weird. We're going to do our best to catch him and release him tomorrow, but I honestly needed a break. I've been doing chipmunk rescue
for ten days, and I'm plain exhausted.