We have a relatively new hamburger place in town called Burgers, Shakes, and Fries. The kids love to go there and after some public ice skating this Saturday, Mom took them in.
Given that the menu is on the front of the building, it is relatively easy to order. Lev got the burger and the shake, but substituted onion rings for fries. I, of course, didn't know what he ordered because I wasn't there, but I later found out.
At midnight, I went in to check on the boys on my way to bed and Lev was up and complaining dearly about his stomach hurting. I brought him into the bathroom and introduced him to the porcelain god. With a mighty roar that lived up to his namesake (Lev means "lion" if you did not know), he showed me what he ordered (chocolate shake...if you're wondering).
He so did not like the feeling of throwing up that he made peace with the previously aforementioned god and vowed never to eat unhealthily again. Before putting him back to bed, we retold him the story of a similar incident while trying to bring him home from Russia. I dug up that excerpt for you from our 2004 traveling emails:
October 18, 2004—
The next morning we left the hotel at about 6:20 AM to catch an 8:00 flight. It had started to snow and we dragged the kids out of a deep sleep, fed them, dressed them (in full winter gear, still fearing the Snorkel Coat Police), shoved them in the car, drove 20 minutes to the airport, went through baggage, put them on the plane, and peeled off their jackets. The boys just took everything in with eyes as big as those telephoto lenses used by sports photographers at tennis matches to shoot more rolls of film than my wedding just to get one picture of Andre Aggassi hitting a backhand for Page 46 of their newspaper.
It was on this day that I fully understood the value of de-icing an airplane. The flight was delayed while they de-iced. When finished, we taxied out to the runway, which was about four miles from the terminal (I thought we were driving the plane to Moscow). We took a left at the rock that looked like a bear, and a right at the bear that looked like a rock, until we finally started accelerating down the runway for take-off. Now the only reason I knew it was the runway was because we were accelerating at great speed because IT WASN’T PLOWED!!! So, I could only conclude that anyone who thought plowing an airplane runway wasn’t important, but felt compelled to invest in the technology and equipment of de-icing, must believe that de-icing is important, because damn if I didn’t think plowing was important.
The flight attendants were young, sweet, and wonderful; calming the boys in Russian for us until they eventually passed out. It was then that the heat came on in the plane. Every plane I have ever been in used air conditioning, but these Russians have something about heat that they just can’t get enough of. The vent was by my feet and I had to block it with one of the boy’s coats because it was burning my leg.
We landed in Moscow about two hours later merely to start our day. We let everyone off the plane first so we could gather up our gear, which now included two boys, but thought that since we were just going from plane to terminal to get our bags and then into the car and it was a pretty nice day in Moscow, we would just carry out their coats instead of trying to push the boys into them. All of a sudden, this nice, sweet, young, pretty flight attendant made one of the most incredible transformations I have ever seen in my life. Right before my very eyes, like a werewolf suddenly realizing the moon was full, she aged 35 years, gained 60 pounds, grew breasts the size of pumpkins, and, I swear to God, a giant mole appeared on her upper lip. Shopping bags actually appeared in her hands! "Must to put on coats and hats," she barked. I thought I even heard a gun cocking behind me but I didn’t dare turn around.
So now we are carrying two big balls of wool and Gore-Tex into the terminal, we meet our coordinator (who was very pleased to see how fully dressed the boys were), got our luggage, got into the van (which was preheated to 400 degrees, like an oven would be) and proceeded to drive from the Moscow airport to the boys’ visa photos and doctor appointment (part of the immigration process).
Now, to imagine Moscow traffic, you must picture the city of Boston, during the Big Dig, the Democratic National Convention is in town, there is a raging snowstorm, a breakdown in the Callahan Tunnel, and it’s rush hour. There, now you have Moscow traffic on Sunday at 4:00 AM. But unfortunately for us, it is a Thursday at about noon, so it is worse. The boys are bundled up, the van is a stick which the driver couldn’t get out of second gear, we are jerking backward and forward, the heat is cranked, the windows are closed, the gas fumes were unbearable, we are late for our appointment, and Lev suddenly expressed his opinion of the days events by expelling a projectile vomit that made Linda Blair look like she was only drooling. It went all over the nice new igloo he was wearing and all over the floor of the van. The amazing thing is that there was no warning before, or reaction after the event. I have to admit; though, in an odd sort of way, I was proud of him…he looked like so many of us did our freshman year of college when we simply would have been happy that we now had room for more beer.
First we go to get the boys’ visa photos. The car is parked at the street, we carry the boys down several alleys, then into the basement of a building (I am carrying the smelly, drippy Lev), take off the hats and coats, get the photos taken, put on the hats and coats, carry them back to the car, then bring them to the doctor’s office. Now all the clothes come off. I have to say that the doctor was fabulous, explaining to the boys that the purpose of the examination was to find all their tickle spots. They were never in any discomfort for those precious few moments. Meanwhile, AmazingWife has pulled clean clothes for Lev out of the suitcase to change at the doctor’s office because she is smart enough to realize that since the clothes will be off, it will not be a fuss to put new ones on, whereas at this point, my brain had all the consistency of porridge.
After that, Lev required an X-ray, but Daniel did not. So, I bundle up Lev like a load of laundry, follow a nurse out of the building, down an alley, into another building that could not have broken more fire codes if it had been made out of matchsticks, up an elevator that could barely fit the three of us, down several hallways, to a bench outside the waiting room, where the first Russian ever asked me to remove his hat and coat.
Let’s pause for a moment before we enter the x-ray room and pretend we are Lev, on this the first day of his exciting new life. It’s been a pretty cool day, so far, huh?
Now we go into the x-ray room, we take off Lev’s shirt in order to do a chest x-ray and stand him in front of a bright light that paints a giant "X" in the center of his chest. Of course, he reacts the same way any Iraqi insurgent would react when he suddenly realizes there is a small red laser dot on his chest. So there we are, having our first father and son moment; father wearing a lead shield proudly standing next to his son, gripping his wrists with one hand and holding them above his head, and grabbing his waist with the other hand to keep him steady in front of the bright light…while loving son is screaming in a hysterical frenzy that would have scared away sharks.
But let us remember, dear readers, that I did not come to Russia alone. Daniel, having realized his brother is now gone from this Disney-ride of a day, begins his own Chernobyl-like meltdown providing Kerrie with her very own parental bonding experience.
With my Kodak moment with Lev now complete, I proceed to dress him again, carry him back through the hospital labyrinth where Kerrie has regained control of Daniel. We go back to the heated van and off to the President Hotel to check in. At long last, we are able to settle into a quiet, comfortable place. Except, of course, the hotel that specializes in these adoption programs, and has accepted our reservation for 4, and provided us with a suite of rooms, seems to have neglected to provide us with beds for the children. Four hours later, two cribs are pushed into the room.
So after this wonderful, fun-filled day, we get to reward our children by putting them in jail (mind you, in the baby home they slept in beds, not cribs). So Daddy proceeds to pull the mattresses out of the cribs and place them on the floor with the blankets and pillows in order to prevent one final breakdown before the end of the day, when what happened next totally made this whole experience worthwhile. Although it took a little figuring out to determine what Lev was saying (he is 3 and a half years old and speaking in Russian), he explained to me that the mattresses belonged in the cribs and he indicated which one he would sleep in and which one his brother would sleep in.
Mommy and Daddy collapsed in exhaustion while these resilient little boys went happily to sleep behind bars.
The next day we took the boys to the American Embassy where there were 40 other families carrying lumps of laundry with a creamy, delicious filling. At this point, we stopped caring about wrapping up our children like pigs-in-a-blanket and dressed them as we would at home. We were dropped off at the embassy, as our driver and interpreter were not allowed inside, and stood in a short line to enter the building. The building is on a busy street in Moscow and the façade is about 30 feet from the curb. In between is a chain link fence that is only about 4 feet high with a Marine on one side and a Russian soldier on the other. I think the guy standing next to the Russian soldier was a member of the Snorkel Coat Police, but at this point I did not care; I was on American soil and if my kid didn’t want to wear a hat then dagnammit he wasn’t going to wear a hat.
It was on this day that I fully understood the value of de-icing an airplane. The flight was delayed while they de-iced. When finished, we taxied out to the runway, which was about four miles from the terminal (I thought we were driving the plane to Moscow). We took a left at the rock that looked like a bear, and a right at the bear that looked like a rock, until we finally started accelerating down the runway for take-off. Now the only reason I knew it was the runway was because we were accelerating at great speed because IT WASN’T PLOWED!!! So, I could only conclude that anyone who thought plowing an airplane runway wasn’t important, but felt compelled to invest in the technology and equipment of de-icing, must believe that de-icing is important, because damn if I didn’t think plowing was important.
The flight attendants were young, sweet, and wonderful; calming the boys in Russian for us until they eventually passed out. It was then that the heat came on in the plane. Every plane I have ever been in used air conditioning, but these Russians have something about heat that they just can’t get enough of. The vent was by my feet and I had to block it with one of the boy’s coats because it was burning my leg.
We landed in Moscow about two hours later merely to start our day. We let everyone off the plane first so we could gather up our gear, which now included two boys, but thought that since we were just going from plane to terminal to get our bags and then into the car and it was a pretty nice day in Moscow, we would just carry out their coats instead of trying to push the boys into them. All of a sudden, this nice, sweet, young, pretty flight attendant made one of the most incredible transformations I have ever seen in my life. Right before my very eyes, like a werewolf suddenly realizing the moon was full, she aged 35 years, gained 60 pounds, grew breasts the size of pumpkins, and, I swear to God, a giant mole appeared on her upper lip. Shopping bags actually appeared in her hands! "Must to put on coats and hats," she barked. I thought I even heard a gun cocking behind me but I didn’t dare turn around.
So now we are carrying two big balls of wool and Gore-Tex into the terminal, we meet our coordinator (who was very pleased to see how fully dressed the boys were), got our luggage, got into the van (which was preheated to 400 degrees, like an oven would be) and proceeded to drive from the Moscow airport to the boys’ visa photos and doctor appointment (part of the immigration process).
Now, to imagine Moscow traffic, you must picture the city of Boston, during the Big Dig, the Democratic National Convention is in town, there is a raging snowstorm, a breakdown in the Callahan Tunnel, and it’s rush hour. There, now you have Moscow traffic on Sunday at 4:00 AM. But unfortunately for us, it is a Thursday at about noon, so it is worse. The boys are bundled up, the van is a stick which the driver couldn’t get out of second gear, we are jerking backward and forward, the heat is cranked, the windows are closed, the gas fumes were unbearable, we are late for our appointment, and Lev suddenly expressed his opinion of the days events by expelling a projectile vomit that made Linda Blair look like she was only drooling. It went all over the nice new igloo he was wearing and all over the floor of the van. The amazing thing is that there was no warning before, or reaction after the event. I have to admit; though, in an odd sort of way, I was proud of him…he looked like so many of us did our freshman year of college when we simply would have been happy that we now had room for more beer.
First we go to get the boys’ visa photos. The car is parked at the street, we carry the boys down several alleys, then into the basement of a building (I am carrying the smelly, drippy Lev), take off the hats and coats, get the photos taken, put on the hats and coats, carry them back to the car, then bring them to the doctor’s office. Now all the clothes come off. I have to say that the doctor was fabulous, explaining to the boys that the purpose of the examination was to find all their tickle spots. They were never in any discomfort for those precious few moments. Meanwhile, AmazingWife has pulled clean clothes for Lev out of the suitcase to change at the doctor’s office because she is smart enough to realize that since the clothes will be off, it will not be a fuss to put new ones on, whereas at this point, my brain had all the consistency of porridge.
After that, Lev required an X-ray, but Daniel did not. So, I bundle up Lev like a load of laundry, follow a nurse out of the building, down an alley, into another building that could not have broken more fire codes if it had been made out of matchsticks, up an elevator that could barely fit the three of us, down several hallways, to a bench outside the waiting room, where the first Russian ever asked me to remove his hat and coat.
Let’s pause for a moment before we enter the x-ray room and pretend we are Lev, on this the first day of his exciting new life. It’s been a pretty cool day, so far, huh?
Now we go into the x-ray room, we take off Lev’s shirt in order to do a chest x-ray and stand him in front of a bright light that paints a giant "X" in the center of his chest. Of course, he reacts the same way any Iraqi insurgent would react when he suddenly realizes there is a small red laser dot on his chest. So there we are, having our first father and son moment; father wearing a lead shield proudly standing next to his son, gripping his wrists with one hand and holding them above his head, and grabbing his waist with the other hand to keep him steady in front of the bright light…while loving son is screaming in a hysterical frenzy that would have scared away sharks.
But let us remember, dear readers, that I did not come to Russia alone. Daniel, having realized his brother is now gone from this Disney-ride of a day, begins his own Chernobyl-like meltdown providing Kerrie with her very own parental bonding experience.
With my Kodak moment with Lev now complete, I proceed to dress him again, carry him back through the hospital labyrinth where Kerrie has regained control of Daniel. We go back to the heated van and off to the President Hotel to check in. At long last, we are able to settle into a quiet, comfortable place. Except, of course, the hotel that specializes in these adoption programs, and has accepted our reservation for 4, and provided us with a suite of rooms, seems to have neglected to provide us with beds for the children. Four hours later, two cribs are pushed into the room.
So after this wonderful, fun-filled day, we get to reward our children by putting them in jail (mind you, in the baby home they slept in beds, not cribs). So Daddy proceeds to pull the mattresses out of the cribs and place them on the floor with the blankets and pillows in order to prevent one final breakdown before the end of the day, when what happened next totally made this whole experience worthwhile. Although it took a little figuring out to determine what Lev was saying (he is 3 and a half years old and speaking in Russian), he explained to me that the mattresses belonged in the cribs and he indicated which one he would sleep in and which one his brother would sleep in.
Mommy and Daddy collapsed in exhaustion while these resilient little boys went happily to sleep behind bars.
The next day we took the boys to the American Embassy where there were 40 other families carrying lumps of laundry with a creamy, delicious filling. At this point, we stopped caring about wrapping up our children like pigs-in-a-blanket and dressed them as we would at home. We were dropped off at the embassy, as our driver and interpreter were not allowed inside, and stood in a short line to enter the building. The building is on a busy street in Moscow and the façade is about 30 feet from the curb. In between is a chain link fence that is only about 4 feet high with a Marine on one side and a Russian soldier on the other. I think the guy standing next to the Russian soldier was a member of the Snorkel Coat Police, but at this point I did not care; I was on American soil and if my kid didn’t want to wear a hat then dagnammit he wasn’t going to wear a hat.
The embassy visit was a brief interview, some paperwork and off we went. The next morning we took the van to the airport three hours before flight time (after settling on the cost of cleanup that I am sure will show up somewhere in a Russian accounting ledger as "vomit expense").
