Ward and I took turns calling our family and friends to let them know that Thorin would always be their grandson, nephew, cousin, and friend. Saying it each time made it more real. This was our birth announcement, as much as his adoption ceremony would be eight months later.
We took Thorin to dinner to celebrate. He didn’t know what we were celebrating exactly because we had shielded him as best we could from the unknown, or at least hoped we had. We hugged and kissed him throughout the meal. Ward and I would spontaneously break into laughter followed by tears. Thorin clapped wildly as he laughed. He made the sign for “more” over and over again.
Our conversation was a running loop, followed by Ward kissing me then Thorin.
“Thorin, we love you so much!”
“Thank you,” he signed.
Our waitress asked, “Is it somebody’s birthday?”
Looking up at her smiling, I wondered what she would say if I told her we were celebrating the birth of our family. Instead, I told her a close truth.
“No, we’re just very happy to be together.”
As I ate, I realized the tight band I felt across my chest for months was gone. My breathing was easier and more expansive. I felt buoyed and grounded at the same time. As I gazed at Thorin, I was struck how he looked to me. Like the first time I saw him, he was in sharp focus, and everything else was a blur.
Back home, we all fell into a sound sleep. At about three o’clock in the morning, I was awakened by a vivid dream: I saw calendar pages floating one after another like a clichéd film montage showing the passage of time. It was funny to me that the dream was so literal, but the sensation it raised in me felt like a great whoosh, pulling me out of bed.
In a still dreamy state, I went downstairs in search of my appointment book—I know that makes me a troglodyte. I flipped the pages backward until I found the day we had gotten the first call from Linda about Thorin. I then counted forward to the present; it was one day shy of nine months. My mom had been right. Our long labor had been the length of a pregnancy.
Three days later, Linda emailed to inform us that she and Karen would still be visiting until we could adopt Thorin, but their visits would be more pro forma. She explained we would be notified at some point of our adoption date and our status officially had changed from foster parents to pre-adoptive parents. We could make more independent decisions but we still needed to notify DHHS first. It was a parenting promotion.
The first order of business was finding a new preschool for Thorin. I couldn’t continue to bring him to my office and actually get work done; plus he needed to be with other children during the day.
After some careful investigating, I located a school highly recommended by both parents and professionals and scheduled a tour. When we pulled into the parking lot, Ward and I found a single-story brick building with painted window sashes. The entryway was framed with a homey post and beam front. On both sides of the entrance, there were well-groomed shrubs along with some small trees.
At the door, Ward pulled the handle and discovered it was locked. To the left of the door was a keypad with an intercom. A cheery voice answered after Ward pushed the call button.
“Hello Pecks! I will be out soon!”
I wondered how they knew it was us, as I scanned the doorway for a camera. As we waited, Ward pointed to the twelve-feet-high enclosure with red and green playground equipment peeking over the fence on the other side of the parking lot.
“That’s must be some playground! I’m liking what I see.”
I tapped Ward’s shoulder. “Hey, how can I make a surprise visit if the doors are locked?”
“Let’s assume you won’t need to carry out any surprise visits here, Kari.”
The woman who answered the door was peppy and athletic looking. Her red shorts and green-striped polo shirt matched the building, making her look like an illustration in a children’s book.
“I’m Louise, one of the directors of the school! Come on in!” As she talked, The Love Boat theme played in my head—she reminded me of Julie, the cruise director.
Our tour began in the spacious lobby. On one side, there were vertical, multicolored cubbies with coats and backpacks hanging inside. The other side had a large aquarium filled with exotic fish. Next to that was a bookshelf filled with both resource materials and children’s books, and the far end was a glass wall that looked into the school’s office.
“This look great!” said Ward enthusiastically.
“Thanks! Sorry about the door. We keep it locked after morning drop-off. Safer that way, right?”
“Can I drop by anytime?” I could feel a gentle nudge in my back from Ward.
“Of course! It’d be great if you let us know when you were coming, though.”
“That seems more than reasonable,” said Ward as he cast a look in my direction.
I narrowed my eyes; I knew I would most certainly not be giving them notice the first time I dropped by.
A staff person walked into the room wearing a headset. She smiled and then spoke quietly into her mouthpiece, “The Pecks are coming your way soon,” after which she reached out her hand to shake ours.
Louise pointed to the windows and said, “We have blackout shades that we can deploy as part of our lockdown protocol.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “We take safety very seriously. Unfortunately, the reality is school-place violence happens. Whether by noncustodial parents or even strangers.”
I hadn’t even thought about those possibilities
