Day 13 – Where Have All The Fruit Loops Gone?

I want to start this off by saying that we know we’re not the first people on planet earth to do this. Plenty of other people have adopted three (or even more) kids. Heck, some parents hit that number or more the old-fashioned way all at once. So, just know I write this with the humility it deserves, at the same time…who’s idea was this again?

I kid, but I gotta write something that will get you to click that “read more” link, don’t I? When I started writing this it was the end of week one and I was sitting at a kitchen table having just witnessed the second near meltdown over breakfast in as many days, it is now nearly a week later (this is already sounding like a war documentary). Our preschooler decided that there wasn’t enough cereal in the bowl to start out with so ergo, logically, none should be eaten. Instead, we started with repeating the same phrase over and over (eventually translated by the oldest as “too little, too little, too little”) with ever more increasing volume and whininess. The simple fix, of course, is to just put more in the bowl (even I can figure that one out) but alas, the last ring of fruit loopy goodness had already been poured into someone else’s bowl by then. On a side note, this prompts yet another trip to the store before tomorrow just like every other day this week, I’m fairly certain we’re just adopting stomachs with legs at this point. Before things could get too far out of hand I deployed the Mickey Basham Sr “serious” voice that can be understood in any language and we bypassed meltdown and moved immediately into sulking. The bad cop having done his job, we waited until the other two had finished and moved on to greener pastures for good cop to do her thing. The process is being refined as we go, but mom definitely has that little one’s number as there was giggling and eating before ten minutes was up. I, on the other hand, made more coffee and watched in wonder as a newly minted mom pulled a sullen little kiddo back to life with the kind of love and kisses only mom’s can seem to produce.

So, how did we get here? Earlier last week we slept in for what we thought would be the last time in years and prepared ourselves to go to the local ministry office that handles such things and sign the papers to take on temporary custody of this particular cast of circus monkeys. It took a little longer than planned but it was important that certain paperwork be 100% correct. You see, some of that paperwork is what is taken to the U.S. Embassy in Budapest to get their American visas, passports, etc…, lest we have to come all the way back to Debrecen in a panic to get it corrected in time for the flight home. We spent a good bit of time correcting every misspelling of Tennessee and taking out any maiden names that had crept in as it has to match the name on the Passports. We also had some confusion about the kid’s names. It is in this instance that we have to get any new names added to the paperwork for the kids. The folks in this office weren’t convinced they were the ones to do that. Thankfully, Adam was on hand to get it sorted out. We couldn’t speak the language but working in an industry that requires being nice to people even when you want to pull your hair out I could tell he was handling it like a pro. The ladies in that office were pleasantly surprised that we were going to keep their names. In Hungary each person only has two, a first and last name. While I could see maybe changing the name of an infant, we had long ago decided that unless the name was going to cause them a lot of heartache and trouble back in the States we didn’t want to change it. Instead, we added middle names. Those being honored will be notified (or warned, we’re not sure yet).

With paperwork in hand, some for the Embassy, and some to show a curious police officer who might think a couple of Americans just picked up some kids wandering in the frozen food isle at InterSpar, we jumped in the van for a last trip to the foster home. It’s hard to express the emotions at that point. Just a few blocks away were three children who were going to leave their home of a few years for a new one, with a temporary stop in between. We are going to be their parents, or so the movie would go. Reality is a bit different.

At the moment, we get to act like parents before the kids really look at us that way. It makes for an interesting dynamic. It mostly shows up when we have to say “no” and mean it, and you can see the, “I thought you were just a cool adult,” thing in their eyes. For us it has meant a learning curve. Taking nieces and nephews for a little while is one thing, setting permanent expectations and having to play good cop/bad cop is something else. Add in the language barrier and a preschooler and I’m pretty sure we’d have been in the TGIF lineup. With the learning curve being so steep, there is a bit of competition for what takes the top slot. The fact that there are three of them is a top contender. Going from not being parents at all to being outnumbered has been interesting. Fortunately, they (generally) like to be around each other so keeping track of them isn’t that bad. The differences in age, however, can be an issue. The oldest and the youngest tend to be allied against the middle, which sounds vaguely familiar for some reason (for more information on this topic, ask the middle child in my family). Because of that we sometimes have to tip the scales a little and make some executive decisions that some (cough, cough, the youngest and oldest) might consider unfair. Language also, as you can imagine, is another contender, and is a bit of a doubled edged sword. It’s easy to ignore squabbles and idle chatter because your brain isn’t really listening to it (whining, on the other hand, sounds exactly the same…). The sharper side of the blade is that even the most basic communication is complicated. Hungarian is the third most complex language in the world so trying to get things like arguments and specific needs resolved turns into a lesson in both patience and near alien communication. To date, things like, “I want a specific pair of socks,” with the youngest can reach Chernobyl like proportions before we get it right.  

We are learning though, and so are they. Some English is already being spoken, with even more being understood. Things like “it’s bed time”, “go take a shower”, and “No, you can’t have your tablet right now,” are understood. We’re still working on, “are you hungry,” and, “do you need to use the bathroom,” though they have started to remember when we’re out just to look us in the eye and say, “toilet.”  It works well enough. The youngest is the one we hear from the most, a mix of constant chatter, whining, and the ever present “Nem”.  The oldest communicates the most but is easily bored and impatient which means there is a short period of time in which we can get good translation done.  It is the middle child that we hear from the least. Ironically though, this one has begun to translate for the other two.  Turn about being fair play, they have taught us some important Hungarian words as well. “Nem,” means no, “Egan,” means yes, and “Nem tu dom,” means I don’t know. However, considering their ages the most important word they felt we needed to learn was, “pookie.”  It means fart. We’re officially parents of young children.

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