Maxim is, more often than not, a happy, sweet and generous boy. His normal behavior (and misbehavior) as a four-year old is perfectly acceptable, except that it's extremely difficult to discipline while providing him some understanding to why he is being corrected. This has provoked some incredible melt-downs where he turns away from every attempt to calm and comfort him. We're attempting to use the "time-in" method which so many international adoption books recommend. It's not easy. He doesn't want to be held and kept close. I'm guessing he's not accustomed to it. I pray this will change with time. With every interesting or chaotic instance, we hypothesize more about the orphanage experience... living with eighty to 100 children, all being cared for by a very small, underpaid, under-equipped staff in less than desirable conditions.
I'm guessing that this little guy, at four years old, has had to defend himself, his turf, his food and who knows what else more than he should have to in an entire lifetime. He can be a little rough playing with Evan, but we're slowly working out those behaviors. Evan wants to get rough and tumble, but he's slowly learning that playing in that manner, more often than not, provokes some pinching, punching and kicking from his little brother. We are doing our best to gently correct Maxim's behavior with love and "time ins" (sitting closely to us for a short period of time) and mostly, it seems to be working. It's going to take more than a week, though, I'm sure.
We had an incredibly difficult day yesterday, one that required lots of prayers and came with lots of tears (mostly on my part and Maxim's part) Jose was a trooper and somehow we survived to live another day. I'm hoping that memories of the outbursts will fade like memories of labor pains. Today is going much better. Maxim is a chatterbox and we feel awful that we can't understand him. I'm confident that he's very entertaining. One of the oddest feelings I get, though, is when we're on the playground behind the hotel. It's close enough to a residential area, that some locals come use it as their own personal park. I don't know what Maxim says to the other kids or their parents, but they don't seem to stick around long once we're there. His tone doesn'tsound malicious, but I haven't the foggiest idea if our cute little guy has a potty mouth or is talking like a drunken sailor. I assume those parents know that this hotel is full of American parents adopting children from the Russian orphanages. Maybe once they realize that the kids on the playground are from the orphanage, they don't want their kids playing with them. Like I said, I can only guess. It sure is interesting, though. Anyone other Vlad parents have the same experience?
I seem to be praying a lot more these days. I guess that's a good thing. God and I are having lots of conversations, mostly one-way, but once in a while I get a much needed sign that I've asked for. When you take on something as big as this, let me tell you, you ask for a lot of signs that you're on the right path. Somehow they seem to come when you're most desperate for direction or reassurance. I am confident that Maxim's guardian angels are helping too and smiling all the while that he's finally in a place of hope. I keep asking them to whisper gently to him in a language that he can understand that all is well, to be at peace, to be calm. It seems to help - thank heaven.
Ok, onto another interesting thing.... the fish:
Three days ago, we scheduled a driver to take us shopping. Our plan was to go the the GUM department store to try to do some souvenir shopping followed by a stop at the grocery store. Well, due to the incessantly pock-marked, pot-holed, construction-laden roads in combination with the VERY offensive driving style of Sergei, our little Maxim just couldn't help but vomit all over himself and the car just 20 minutes into the ride. We stopped, cleaned up, turned around and brought Jose, Evan and Max back to the hotel (where Maxim proceeded to hurl twice more on the sidewalk leading up to the front door) and then I went out again with Sergei to get some groceries.
Like I said in a previous post, one of my favorite things to do in a foreign country is wander the aisles of a local grocery store. It's super fascinating to me. I've decided what I like even more is to do that by myself. Our driver, Sergei, insisted on accompanying me AND pushing my cart for me. Not only could I NOT communicate with the man, I felt obligated to try to communicate what I was looking for, instead of just being left alone to wander and explore and joyously fill my cart. Halfway through the store, I did end up taking one of his recommendations (at least I think it was a recommendation) when we were in the fish area of the market. Jose and I LOVE smoked fish. I usually make smoked fish dip to put on crackers. Sergei noticed me studying the smoked fish in the deli case. He sign-language-questioned me if I wanted some. He somehow expressed to me that these, in specific, were REALLY good. (imagine a smile and a thumbs up) So I let him ask the lady behind the counter for one on my behalf. Here's what I got...
I have no idea what type of fish it is and I have never bought a smoked fish still dressed in it's own skin and tail, but I threw caution to the wind and said "what the heck, we'll figure out what to do with it when I get back to the hotel." Jose is still laughing. Here we are three days later and I'm afraid to touch the thing. It's got lots of fish bones and the skin is really hard and difficult to remove. Jose thinks I should use my charm and ask the cooks in the hotel restaurant for some help. I may just do that. Unless any of you out there know what to do with this thing so we can enjoy it. Good night all.
