Fingerprinting is a Serious Business - One that Requires a Certain Kind of Shoe

Two blog posts in one week? I must have a statistics final exam coming up. Procrastinate now!

I do have some good news to share on the adoption front. We had to get our fingerprints done by the US Immigration Place (which is probably not its actual name). We were told all kinds of disheartening things. Once your mail in your packet of paperwork, along with about $1000 (to roll each of my fingers for about 3 seconds), they send you an appointment date and time. In other words, you don't get to choose when you go in. Maybe it will be in two weeks, maybe a month. Maybe early in the morning or smack dab in the middle of your work day. Getting your fingerprints done by the government is like a surprise party. That you're charged for. And with fewer balloons. And less happiness.

Side Note: I have to add a little note here so the rest of this makes sense. A couple weeks ago a coworker begged me to work for her on a certain Friday. I don't work during the week usually. I work one day a week, most often on Saturday or Sunday. The rest of the time I stay home. Because I like being a kept woman. This certain coworker was desperate and she was looking at me with sad bunny rabbit eyes so I said yes.

You can see where this is going, I'm sure. A couple days after I acquiesced I got our fingerprint appointment letters in the mail. Yup, we were due that specific Friday, some three weeks away. The appointment place is about 1.5 hours away from the hospital and they sort of frown on not being in the ER when you're supposed to be there. As a employee, that is. If you're a patient though, the general rule of thumb is if you're not having a heart attack or holding your own head in your hands, stay home.

So yes, of course, our appointment is the one day of the week I had offered to work. Darn my kind heart! A friend of ours who has adopted from China and is in the process again told me that you could try to just walk into the fingerprinting place but it was very iffy. She was turned away cold a couple times and basically harassed by the guards another time and made it by the skin of her teeth once or twice. I'm nothing if not unrealistically hopeful so I decided we should just walk in. I figured that God had this all under control and He wants our little girl to come home quickly like we do. I made childcare arrangements (thank God for wonderful friends!) and we decided to try our luck this past Friday.

Matt suggested we dress nicely so we seem like respectable people. He was going to take a couple hours of vacation time and go during work hours so he was already looking good. For me, though, I had to gussy up a little bit. Makeup, nice clothes, ironed hair. And my secret weapon - fancy witch shoes. These things have ridiculously pointed toes, the kind that make angry red streaks on your feet and make you groan with pleasure when the instruments of pain and torture are removed. That's when you know they're fancy.

Note my calves are not pictured. Nor will they probably ever be again after the boots fiasco of 2012.

Fancy as in "I shop at Pottery Barn and wear pants that button." Not fancy as in "Meet me at Motel 6 in 15 minutes." That's an entirely different kind of fancy.

So Friday morning I dropped the kids off and drove into the big city to pick Matt up from work. We prayed beforehand, that the guards would show us kindness and grace and let us in. I had to admonish Matt to walk more slowly as it's hard for me to hobble along in fancy witch high heels. To which he replied that I might be better off with a broom.

My heart was beating so fast as we stood at the door, waiting for the guard to come out and inspect us. She told me to throw away my gum (oh, government agencies) and took our licenses and appointment papers. She made sure the names matched then guided us in with a smile. That's right. She didn't even look at our appointment date. We went through the metal detector and on into the fingerprinting area. The lady there noted that our dates weren't for a few more weeks but shrugged it off. We were in and out in about 7 minutes. It was fantastic. I managed to hold in my squeal of glee until we were in the car, in case they became suspicious that we had gotten away with something devious.

Really, though, it's so like God to do things like that. He sets before us a task, a purpose and then makes sure it happens. This adoption thing is all God and we're just along for the ride.

Matt and I had a nice little lunch together before he had to get back to work. I drove because it was just more convenient since I was already in my car. Of course, this meant I had to endure all sorts of little snipes about my driving. It's like having the Grand Vizier of Transportation riding shotgun. At one point I was remarking on some architecture across the street when Matt practically screamed at me to turn faster. Really, that big truck wasn't going to hit us. At least I'm pretty sure it wasn't. So when I dropped him off at work he gave me his sexy yet rugged smile and said "Be safe. And aware. So be safe and aware."

What an arrogant punk. A cute punk but a punk nonetheless.

And then I drove out of the parking lot and promptly traveled 7 miles in the wrong direction. At least the Dictator wasn't there for that snafu. Whew.