It was a gray, chilly, October Wednesday. Thomas and I climbed into our '93 Ford Tempo, affectionately known as "Little Blue," attempting to ignore the rattling of the defunt automatic seatbelt, and headed for our destination. Our friend Susan, who truly has a gift for opening her home to family and friends, had invited us and several of our friends, to join her children in baking and decorating "fall" cookies. Thomas and I dutifully arrived with our small contribution to the event, store bought frosting, and together with six other children, rolled out, decorated, and ate sugar cookies shaped as ghosts, pumpkins, and sundry. We had a wonderful time, but even more exciting was Susan's announcement that she was expecting her third child.It was past Thomas' normal nap time when we arrived home. Since I covet my children's naps and the hours of quiet they allow me, I strongly encouraged Thomas to move quickly up the stairs and prepare for his nap routine. Noticing the flashing of the answering machine, I pressed play and listened to the messages: there were two, both from our social worker.
In my opinion, there are two phone calls that adoptive parents of international children desperately wait for: the referral call and the travel call. Even now I feel the nervousness I experienced after listening to our social worker's message: "Give me a call. I have good news." It was the referall call. I knew it, despite the fact that I had not expected this call for months. I tried to remain calm, but my trembling fingers betrayed me. I attempted to steady my wavering voice as our social worker answered. And then from her mouth came words I truly never ever expected to hear: "You have been given a referral - twin boys."
Perhaps I should not have been so surprised. After all, Jared and I had marked in our paper work that we would indeed accept twins. But twin boys? My goodness. The prospect made me absolutely giddy. Somehow I managed to maintain Thomas' nap routine, despite this life changing news. We read a book, said our prayers, I kissed my sweet prince, closed his door, and finally made it downstairs to dial Jared at work. "Our social worker called," I related. "You better sit down." Guessing it was our referral, he was excited, but did not believe it warranted changing his posture. Once I gave him the news, he wished he had sat down.
Twins. We only had one name picked out and now there were two. The paperwork on the children would not be received by us until the next day. And since Jared and I had previously determined not to tell anyone until we had officially accepted the referral, I could only call immediate family members, and pray that none of my friends would call since I knew I would not be able to share our joyful news. Later that day, an email was sent by our adoption agency. Attached to the email were five pictures of our sons, Jin-pyo and Jin-seo. You remember the ones. The two sweet faces. My children dressed in clothes decorated with elephants. Jin-pyo and Jin-seo holding hands. They were simply beautiful.
A day later the phone frenzy was launched as friends were called with our news. We needed another car seat, crib, high chair, a double stroller. Forget my notion of a Subaru Outback, we were going to need (gasp) a minivan. Our initial plan to have the baby room with Thomas was thwarted and Jared would have to relocate his office from our third bedroom and into the basement. (He is such a good sport.) Lists were drawn up with potential names - Stephen, William, Edward, George - which would it be? Jared liked Elliot, a derivative of Elijah, the Old Testament prophet. And finally so did I. Russell Jin-pyo and Elliot Jin-seo (who would later become Russell Matthew Jin-pyo and Elliot Andrew Jin-seo, after the tragic death of our cousin Matthew Andrew Tyrrell, may his memory be eternal).
As he did with Thomas' referral pictures, Jared had multiple copies developed. We hung two on our refrigerator, and as the days passed, Thomas and I began to talk to Russell and Elliot. And yes, they did answer back. With high, squeaky voices, they would greet us in the morning, in Korean or in English. And, Russell and Elliot, in the form of their frozen faces, would join us for breakfast. And when Thomas would ask if they wanted to join us for story time under the table, they always complied. Hoping to decrease sibling rivalry, Thomas and I journeyed out to Target (little did we know that those days were numbered) and he chose two Winnie-the-Pooh outfits, and firmly decided which was Russell's and which was Elliot's. And then we waited for the call that our precious ones were ready to travel home.
When I was received into the catachumenate of the Orthodox Church, the formidable priest Fr. Joseph inquired whether my name was Elizabeth. Much to my chagrin, it is not, just "Beth." Perhaps because Jared and I were received near a feast day commemorating St. John the Baptist, Fr. Joseph authoritatively declared that in the eyes of the Church, my name was now Elizabeth, after the mother of St. John the Baptist. And now, as I walk about, two children in a double stroller and one in a bjorn and people stop to comment on how full my hands are, I nod yes and smile, joy full in my heart. Like St. Elizabeth, I too can rejoice, for God has made the barren woman to be a joyful mother.
Beth
October 20, 2008
